Raising Rufus (14 page)

“Where are you going?” said Mrs. Tinker.

“My rifle.”

Martin gasped and went stiff as a ramrod.

“Forget that, Gordy,” said the sheriff. “I'll take him out right now, eh?”

“NOOOOO!”
Martin bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“Martin?” he could hear his mom exclaim.

“Holy geez, is he inside there?” his dad shouted.

“NOOOO! NO GUNS!”
Martin rocketed across the cellar and shot up the stairs, flying through the trapdoor.

As he raced over toward the lab area, his parents and Sheriff Grimes rushed in the side door.

“You can't shoot him!” Martin hollered. “He's not hurting anybody.
Please,
no guns, no shooting!”

His mom was slack-jawed. “You were
down there
with that thing?”

“Martin, what the bloody blazes is going on here?” his dad snapped.

“You got him all worked up,” Martin said loudly. “He's not vicious or anything, but you have to—you can't just—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. You
knew
that thing was down there?”

“Yeah. I mean…well, yeah. But—”

“For how long?”

“If everybody could just, you know, like, calm down—”

“
How long,
Martin?”

Now, with his dad scowling and everybody's eyes focused on him like lasers, Martin was starting to feel a bit daunted.

“Four and a half months.” He took a hard swallow and let out a puff of air. “I found him. I fed him, and raised him. He thinks I'm his mom.”

The silence was deafening. Everybody gaped at him as though he had just dropped a boulder on a priceless Ming vase.

“Oh, lord,” Mrs. Tinker droned, a vaguely astonished look of recognition on her face. “The deformed lizard…”

Martin gave a pained little grin and a tiny shrug.

“What
is
that thing, son?” Sheriff Grimes asked.

Martin hesitated. “It's um…it's a, um…” He cleared his throat and faked a cough, covering his mouth. “T. rex.”

“A what?” his dad said.

“T. rex.”

Now the silence was even heavier—until it was broken by two loud
roars
from below.

Mrs. Tinker let out a faint moan, and her knees buckled. The sheriff grabbed her arm and steadied her.

“But it's all okay now,” Martin said, with new purpose. “I told Mr. Eckhart, and he went over to the U, and they're gonna, they're gonna—”

“Who's Mr. Eckhart?” Mr. Tinker said sharply.

“My science teacher. He said he can help. He's gonna find a good place for him”—Rufus
roared
again, and Martin had to talk loudly to be heard over the din—“and so that'll work out really well because that way nobody—”

“All right, stop. Stop! Don't talk,” his dad interjected. “I need to think.” He started pacing, a look of intense concentration on his face.

“Look,” Mrs. Tinker said, “let's all just go in the house for now, okay? We can call the police, and then things can—”

“I'm already here, Ann,” said Sheriff Grimes, with barely concealed annoyance.

“Right, of course. Sorry.”

“Holy geez,” said Mr. Tinker, gaping down through the trapdoor. “Will you just
look
at that thing.”

Rufus let out another
roar.

“Can't we just leave him alone?” Martin implored. “He's not used to having all these people around.”

“I swear I thought I'd seen just about everything,” his dad muttered as he watched the scaly creature bobbing around below him.

“Okay, why don't you all just stay put for now,” said the sheriff. “I've got a tranquilizing rifle back at the station, I'll just go and—”

“No!” Martin shouted. “You can't shoot him!”

“Not with bullets, son. Just something to put him to sleep.”

As he headed for the door, Martin raced after him. “He doesn't need to sleep! You just got him all excited. You don't have to shoot him!”

His mom grabbed him by the arm. “All right, Martin, enough.”

“Why does he have to shoot him? He's not hurting anybody. I can handle him! Why can't we just wait until—”

“Martin, you need to be quiet!” his dad barked. “You go on up to the house. Go to your room and stay there. We'll deal with you later. Your mother and I need to talk.”

Martin looked up at his mom, a look of desperation on his face. She let go of his arm, but her eyes had the same chilly glare as his dad's. “Go on.”

And so, his heart leaden, Martin trudged out of the barn, across the yard, into the house, and up the stairs to his room. He could only imagine what they were talking about down there in the barn, but he tried hard not to think about it. Because the one thing he knew for sure was that the big loser in the deal was going to be Rufus.

F
or twenty minutes Martin paced in his room. It seemed like he might wear a hole in his shoes, but he didn't care. His mind kept getting yanked back to what his parents were probably talking about down there. Sell Rufus to some circus? Bring in a bunch of heartless researchers to dissect him like a frog? Shoot him in cold blood and mount his head on the wall like a moose? The possibilities were bad, worse, and unthinkable.

Martin kept stopping at the window to look out across the yard to the barn. Rufus wasn't roaring anymore, and the long silence was starting to drive Martin nuts. Finally, he saw his parents come out of the lab and head back to the house. They seemed calmer than before, but then the worst possible thing happened: Martin heard a car door slam out front, and moments later Sheriff Grimes was in the house again—and there was somebody with him. Martin quietly opened the bedroom door and tiptoed out onto the landing, from where he could see a sliver of the living room as they all gathered there. There was something long and dark in the sheriff's hand, and the sight of it made Martin's blood run cold. He'd never seen a tranquilizing rifle before, and he didn't like the looks of this one, not one bit.

The first one to talk was the man who came in with Sheriff Grimes, and Martin recognized the loud, boisterous voice immediately: Ben Fairfield.

“Hey there, Gordo! Annie. I understand there's something to see in your barn.”

“You heard that, huh?” Mr. Tinker said coolly.

“Yeah, how 'bout that,” the sheriff chirped. “Right when I pull up, who's driving by but Ben?”

“Oh, you know how it goes,” said Mr. Fairfield. “Wherever Frank is, that's where there's trouble. Ha ha haaa! So what do you think? Can we have a look?”

His parents mumbled something Martin couldn't make out; then the whole group headed toward the kitchen. Martin scurried back to the bedroom window and watched as they filed out into the backyard and made their way to the barn, gathering around a lower-level window.

Mr. Fairfield stooped down to look inside, and Martin could tell he saw Rufus down there, because he quickly jumped to his feet and looked at the other three, bug-eyed. A big grin spread across his face, and he stooped down to the window again. He watched Rufus for a bit; then, for some strange reason, he started laughing. He laughed harder, then leaned in close and made some weird barking noises, like he was trying to get a rise out of Rufus. Hooting like a chimpanzee, he tapped on the glass and waved his hands tauntingly.

Martin kicked the wall. This was just too much.

He bolted out of the room and raced down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out into the yard. He felt like marching right in there and giving them all a piece of his mind, but he thought better of it and ducked down behind the concrete birdbath in the center of the yard to watch and listen.

Mr. Fairfield wasn't laughing or waving his hands anymore, but he was still stooped down at the barn window, watching Rufus with an oversize smirk frozen on his face like a mask. Martin could see Rufus's head zipping back and forth as he paced restlessly inside.

“My oh my oh my,” Mr. Fairfield said, dragging out each syllable for maximum drama. “If that doesn't top it all.”

“You might want to stay back, Ben,” said Mrs. Tinker. “We don't want to get him too riled up.”

“My oh my oh my,” Mr. Fairfield said again, still staring down at Rufus. “So where'd that thing come from, Gordy?”

“Martin came up with it.”

“
Came up
with it?”

“Yeah, I dunno. He'll have to explain it.”

“My oh my oh my,” said Mr. Fairfield once more, in case anybody had missed it. Finally, he got up from the barn window and stepped over to Martin's parents. “So what are you gonna do with it?”

“That's, uh, to be determined,” Mr. Tinker said.

“Well, you can't keep it here,” said the sheriff. “You know that, right?”

“I know that, Frank,” said Mr. Tinker curtly. “Maybe you've got some bright idea of what to do with it.”

“Wait a minute, hold the phone,” Mr. Fairfield chimed in. “I think I might be able to help out in that regard.”

“How's that?” Martin's dad said.

“Let's try looking at this from a purely practical standpoint. What you've got down there is a tangible asset of some value.”

Martin stiffened. He knew this was coming.

“What we've got is a dangerous wild animal in our barn,” said Mrs. Tinker.

“Short-term problem.” Mr. Fairfield was still grinning. “Look, I'll just cut right to it, okay? How much you want for it?”

Martin's jaw clenched. He almost pushed over the birdbath.

Mr. Tinker ran his fingers across his scalp. “I dunno, Ben. I was thinking maybe it…belongs in a science lab or something.”

“Sure, sure, absolutely. I'm just saying there's no reason not to…maximize the short-term potential
first.
Then later
on
…”

Martin's mom and dad exchanged a look.

“I've got everything in place for it,” Mr. Fairfield said. “I can make it worth everybody's while.”

Martin's dad let out a long, drawn-out breath. “What've you got in mind?”

Martin had heard enough.

“He's not for sale!”

He sprang out from behind the birdbath and charged into the group, eyes ablaze, lips trembling. “
I
 found his egg, and he belongs to
me
!”

“Whoa, slow down there, bud,” his dad snapped. “You think that thing belongs to
you
?”

“I earned my own money and I fed him and I raised him!”

“Didn't I tell you to stay in your room? You need to get back up there right now.”

“I won't let you sell him!”

“Nobody's decided anything. Now get on up there. Go on.”

“If you sell my dinosaur, I'll—I'm gonna—I'm gonna—”

“
Martin.
Room. Now.”

Martin just stood there, shaking with anger. He'd never talked to his dad like this before, and even though it was kind of scary, somehow it felt completely right. He could sense it was throwing his dad off a bit too.

But Mr. Tinker did not back down. He walked straight up to Martin and hovered over him menacingly.

Martin stared up at him, jaw jutting out, trying hard not to blink. Then he looked over at his mom, hoping that maybe she would speak up for him. But she just stood there, showing no hint of sympathy. He looked back at his dad and said what he knew he shouldn't.

“You're a jerk!”

As he spun around and bolted across the yard toward the house, his mom let out a gasp. “Martin!”

He could hear her following him but pretended he didn't as he ran inside and let the door slam behind him. He knew where he was supposed to be headed, but when he got to the base of the stairs his legs just kept on going. He shot straight through the living room and out the front door.

There was a big maple tree at the side of the front yard, and something told him that was where he was going, so he ran straight over to it and started climbing. Maybe if he could just get high enough, he could somehow leave behind all the rotten, stupid stuff taking place at ground level.

Unfortunately he wasn't much of a climber, and he was still struggling to pull himself onto a low branch when his mom caught up.

“Martin, you do not get to talk like that! What are you doing? Come down from there.”

“Leave me alone.” His hand got pricked by a sharp twig. “Ow!”

“You're going to hurt yourself. Martin,
stop.
”

He pulled himself up onto the limb and tried to stand up to reach the next one, but his foot slipped and he dropped to the ground in a heap.

“Oh! Good lord!” his mom exclaimed.

She ran over to check if he was okay. Martin sat up quickly, but when she stooped down next to him, he turned away.

“Leave me alone!”

“You need to stop. Just take a breath, will you?”

Martin stared off into the trees, eyes narrowed, chest heaving, lips contorted. They sat there for a good minute or so without speaking, which was just fine with him, since he was in no mood for a chat. But he could tell she was pretty wound up herself.

Finally, she stood up again and let him have it.

“Martin, are you out of your
mind
? You were keeping that thing down there the whole summer, after I
told
you to get rid of it? What were you thinking?”

“He's not a thing! He's my friend.”

“Really? And what if me or your dad or somebody else had gone down there? How friendly would he have been then?”

“He wouldn't have hurt you.”

“Right, and you're such an expert on wild animals that you know
exactly
what they'll do. And oh, by the way, an animal that nobody has seen before,
ever.
”

As far as Martin was concerned, this was all getting completely off the subject. “Dad's gonna sell him, right?” he blurted out as he suddenly spun around to face her. “Both of you. You'll sell him to Mr. Fairfield, and then they'll make him into a freak show, and he'll be miserable the rest of his life.”

“We don't know that. It's all up in the air right now. Anyway, you had to know sooner or later
somebody
—”

“How can you take Dad's side? I thought you cared. He's a jerk!”

“Hey! You do not talk about your father that way!”

Martin drooped his head between his knees, forehead nearly to the ground. His mom paced around for a bit, letting out an occasional heavy breath. She stopped and studied him for a long time, and then, seeming much calmer, sat down next to him.

“You know, this may come as a shock to you…but your father loves you a lot more than you realize.”

He gave a disdainful splutter.

“Hey, I would know, don't you think? Let me tell you something. Back in high school, when I first met your dad, I thought he was a jerk too. Just this arrogant jock with a swelled head from having so many girls at his feet. Then one day during a game, he was going for a ball and he accidentally ran over a boy on the sideline. Broke the kid's collarbone. But you know what, he didn't just walk away. He stayed with the boy until the ambulance got there, and he visited him in the hospital and really went out of his way to be nice to him for the rest of the year. That's when I knew there was a sweet guy inside the tough outer shell.”

Martin lifted his head up just enough to deliver his sarcastic retort. “Well, the shell must have hatched, because the sweet guy is gone.”

With the beginnings of a smile, his mom reached over and rubbed his back. “He just wants to keep us all safe. So do I. You get that, don't you?”

Actually, Martin did kind of get that. What he didn't get was what anybody was going to do to keep
Rufus
safe.

“Come on,” she said, standing up. “Just go on up for now, and we'll all get together later and talk about it. We'll figure it all out.” She kept looking straight at him. “Okay, potato-puss?”

He threw her a sidelong sneer.

“Sorry,” she said with a half smile. “I can't help myself.”

Martin didn't smile, but he got up and trudged back into the house with her. He wanted to believe it would all work out. Maybe they really would listen to him, and maybe Rufus would get a decent deal out of it.

But when he got back up to his room and looked out the window, all his fears started bubbling up again. The three men were down there in the yard, talking. Sheriff Grimes had his stupid tranquilizing gun, and now Mr. Tinker had a long wooden stick and a big roll of telephone cord in his hands. Martin had seen that roll sitting in a corner of his barn lab, and now the stick and cord were obviously going to be put to some use he didn't even want to imagine.

Meanwhile, Mr. Fairfield was doing most of the talking, waving his hands around as he made his points. Martin tried to listen to what was being said. He couldn't make out much of it, but a few of Mr. Fairfield's louder phrases came through: “seven figures…cash cow…fifty-fifty
partnership…absolute
blockbuster…”