Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking (27 page)

Blood pounded in my ears—and I tried not to think about what was coming out of the back of my head. The rungs felt like they went on forever. The Redhead was below me, and I needed as much distance between us as possible. My hands cramped.

And then I was at the top. Ollie yanked on my backpack, helping me over the edge and into the Monster seats. During a game, these are the best seats in the park. I had no interest in the view, but was grateful that the clubs and restaurants on Lansdowne were decorated with miles of neon—their glow made it easier to see, as we were in the shadow of the stadium lights.

I spared a glance over the wall. The Redhead had maybe four rungs to go.

“Let’s go!” Ollie pulled me toward the left field bridge. We raced in front of the seats, no longer trying to hide from The Redhead or anyone else. Ollie wheezed like the Little Engine That Could. I hoped his lungs wouldn’t give out before he could take a hit from his inhaler.

We reached the bridge, and I slowed. I didn’t hear her boots. I dropped behind the seats and snuck a look: She was on her cell phone.

Crikey.

She wasn’t alone.

Ollie sucked on his inhaler.

“Go!” I whispered, and we started across the bridge.

In order to activate our exit strategy, we had to get all the way back to the “front” of the ballpark, and get into the players’
parking lot. It was a thin plan in perfect conditions, but now? Forget it. We’d never make it.

We crossed into the enclosed concourse outside of the third base luxury boxes. All of the doors were locked. We had no choice but to run straight through. Nowhere to hide.

Ollie asked me to stop, and we squished into a doorway. He took out his phone, fingers flying over the keys as he wheezed.

“You’re not calling the police, are you?” I asked. Although, seriously, at this point, it wasn’t a bad idea. We were, after all, carrying stolen property and being stalked by a bad guy.

He shook his head but didn’t speak. Whatever he was doing, he finished it fast and hit his inhaler.

“Let’s go.” The hall was empty. We kept going toward home plate, this time at a quieter, slower jog instead of an all-out sprint. No sounds except our own breathing.

That is, until the
shick-shick
of a shotgun.

Even if, like me and Ollie, you’ve never been around a gun, or fired one, or even seen one, you know that sound from movies, video games…whatever. And if you hear it in person, it goes through you like an ice needle.

It came from in front of us.

We froze.

And if I hadn’t spent nearly two hours in a bathroom, I probably would’ve peed my pants. Seriously.

The end of the concourse was in deep shadow, but when the boxy-shaped man stepped into view, the only feature I needed to see were his eyes: They made a snake’s seem warm.

Sully Cupcakes.

“I want the bag,” he said. “And the location of the rest of the art. No messing around. Or I’ll shoot your friend.” He pointed his gun at Ollie, who immediately started wheezing.

I didn’t doubt him for a second. I held my hands palms out, in surrender, and slipped the straps from my backpack off each shoulder. This’d be the second bag I’d lost to the bad guys. I put it on the ground and lightly kicked it in his direction. Doors to three luxury boxes were between him and us,
and the bag slid along to about the halfway point, and came to a stop.

He came closer, gun pointed at the ground, picked it up, and unzipped it. I guess the tissue paper blobs satisfied him, because he closed it and slung it over his shoulder (which, considering how big his shoulder was and how ratty and small my backpack was, would have made for a really funny picture…in a non-life-threatening situation).

“Where are the other pieces?” The gun was still at his side, but that didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop looking at it.

Everything I went through to find the pieces, to figure out Grumps’s plans, to keep my family safe…I mean, I knew I was in danger that whole time, but to actually see Danger, right in front of you, is a whole other piece of cheese. The Redhead, although creepy and annoying and stalker-y, had started to feel benign. She was totally after me, but it never seemed like she was going to
actually
hurt me—just vandalize my property and try to scare me.

This guy? All he needed was a reason. And maybe not even that.

“Pew in Old North Church,” I answered, not hesitating. “Gallery level.”

“Anything else I should know?”

The etchings. I didn’t know where they were. I skated my eyes to Ollie. He was wheezing away, hand clutching his…cell phone?

Please don’t get me—or you—killed,
I thought. Although this was
not
turning out to be the Best Summer Ever, I was
starting to appreciate the little things: Like even though I’d have to wear an ugly uniform to Boston Classics, I’d still live long enough to go to high school. Ollie and I could still hang out…you know, that stuff.

I shook my head. “That’s all I found.”

Sully Cupcakes tilted his head, evaluating me. I gulped. My heart was pounding so hard that it made the pain in my head recede a little.

“She’s lying, Daddy.” The Redhead’s patronizing purr came from behind us. “They found something in the state house.” I resisted the urge to spin around.

Daddy?!
Was this some kind of weird, “we’re dating but I’m going to call you Daddy” thing? Or was she actually…

“My daughter says you’re lying,” he said. Well, that explained a lot—crime as a family business. In a different situation, I’d find it ironic and funny. Ollie kept wheezing.

I gulped again. “We found a few pieces, but we left them there. Storeroom under the dome. Third floor. In a dresser.”

Sully nodded to The Redhead. “Tie them up,” he said. I guess he was satisfied with my answer. “We’ll take them down in the elevator.”

The Redhead’s boots clicked across the floor and she wrenched my arms tightly behind my back. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of wincing, so I bit my tongue when she pulled my arms harder than she needed to. The edges of my vision were gray, like they were wrapped in a sweater. The dizziness was back too.

Finished with me, she snapped in my ear, “You are such a
brat,” and jerked hard on my wrists. Jagged pain shot to my shoulders, and I sucked air through my teeth. I swear she was smiling when she walked over to Ollie.

“Need…my…inhaler,” he gasped. She let him take one pull off it before tying his arms.

Sully retreated into the shadowy end of the hallway, and The Redhead gestured for us to follow him. I was totally convinced that he was standing just to the side of us in the dark, waiting, ready to kill us on the spot. But that didn’t happen.

Instead, the four of us stood in a civilized line, waiting for the elevator.

And when it opened, it was filled with people.

FBI agents and SWAT team, mostly.

After the passing out (me), level-12 emergency-room-necessitating asthma attack (Ollie), and arrest (The Redhead and Sully Cupcakes), came Seeing My Mother in a Cop Car, Getting My Head Stitched Up, and Spending Two Nights in the Hospital. Since then, I’ve spent a lot of time in Witness Debriefing Room 2A in the FBI building in downtown Boston.

You know what? The vending machines here have lousy snacks.

I’ve had to tell my story over and over again, to different agents and police officers. It’s gotten to the point where I’m tempted to just throw in random details—a biker gang, or a flock of wild turkeys—just for variety. But that would be bad. Ollie’s in the same situation, but they have us separated—he’s in room 3D. They’re checking for inconsistencies in our story.

The only person—besides my mom, of course—who’s been with me the whole time? Agent Alan Goh. He’s been the lead investigator on the Gardner heist for the past fifteen years.

And when he wasn’t running down dead-end leads, he got into another hobby: geocaching.

That GI Goh guy, who Ollie was always competing with? Who gave him “suggestions” on a good, temperate hiding spot for the etchings and sketches?

Yeah. FBI agent.

You never know who you’re dealing with online.

It’s a good thing Ollie
did
ask for his help. It made Agent Goh suspicious. And when I called 911 about the paintings in the church? They found them, just never released that to the media. Agent Goh was hoping that whoever returned the paintings would hand over the rest of the art. So Agent Goh was the guy who wrangled the Sox tickets for us, gave Ollie some info about security cameras, and generally was letting us do everything while he watched from behind the scenes—which is why it was so easy for us to sneak into Fenway. So when Ollie posted a message about needing an escape route
from
Fenway Park ASAP, Agent Goh called in the cavalry. He had no idea he was dealing with a kid, but he was pretty certain that he was dealing with some high-level stolen property.

Score for Agent Goh.

“So, Margaret—” began the 465th state police officer I’d spoken to this week.

“Moxie,” Agent Goh corrected. I gave him an appreciative smile.

“So, Moxie, I think we’re done. Thank you for your time.” The officer finished his coffee and stood to leave, which was good, because I was seriously wiped out and my headache was back. The doctors told me I’d given myself a “severe” concussion
—the equivalent of getting hit by one of the Patriots’ linebackers. I told them I was a baseball fan.

“Thank you, officer.” My mom stood and shook his hand. The door closed as he left. “Is that all of them?” she directed at Agent Goh, who was in the same spot—head of the table, to my right—that he’d been in every day.

He checked something on his iPad—probably another cache. Although Agent Goh debriefed all day in the room with me, he and Ollie had eaten lunch together a few times, swapping cache sites and techniques. Ollie was psyched to learn that his geo-guru was in law enforcement.

“Yep,” he answered. Then, turning to me: “Moxie, you know how grateful we all are to you. Thanks again for your patience. The Gardner Museum would like to thank you and Ollie publicly for your role in all of this.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mom asked.

Agent Goh ran a hand through his spiky dark hair. Sully Cupcakes and The Redhead—whose name, I’d found out, was Fiona—were being held on lots and lots of charges, several of which included kidnapping and endangering children (me and Ollie). They’d never see the light of day again. But that didn’t mean everything was okay.

“If I were you, I’d keep my name out of the spotlight,” he said. “Moxie is going to be well-protected and perfectly safe, but it’s going to get crazier before it gets better.”

Tell me about it. The media was covering the story constantly, and although Ollie and I hadn’t yet been named as the kids involved—we were too young—it would only be a
matter of time before someone spilled who we were. And
that
would make starting high school by myself a freakin’ party. Couldn’t wait.

But after all that had happened, I knew I could handle it. So could Ollie.

“We had plans to go to New Hampshire next week,” Mom said. Ollie’s family had decided to send him to Wilderness Scout camp on the Boston Harbor Islands for a couple of weeks until things quieted down. Both of us needed a break.

“Great idea. Do that,” said Agent Goh. “I’ll let the office up there know where you’re staying and give you their number in case you need anything. And Moxie, the DA wanted me to let you know that your proof is going to be entered into evidence for the prosecution.”

A small wave of disappointment moved through me. I’d handed the proof over days ago, and I kind of missed it. Agent Goh assured me that I’d get it back after the trial.

I said good-bye and we headed for the elevator.

Mom had driven into town. We had a stop to make on our way home.

As we got in the car, she turned to me. “Doing okay?”

“My head hurts.” She gave me a painkiller and I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the window.

“Do you think Grumps will be mad at me?” I asked, eyes still closed. “I broke a lot of family rules.”

“Grumps will be glad that you are safe and that the art is
where it belongs,” she said. “And it’s my rules you should be worried about breaking, not his.”