9
That evening, Jack and Weezy were biking north on Route 206 under a clear sky.
The storm had broken hard and mean just minutes after he‟d reached his house. Mr. Rosen had called from USED to tell him not to bother coming in—the storm would keep away any potential customers. So he‟d spent the afternoon with his father and his frantic mother.
She‟d heard about Cody Bockman and hadn‟t been able to sit still. She kept wanting to get an umbrella and go out searching for him in the storm. It never reached the point where Dad physically had to restrain her, but it had gotten close.
Jack felt the same way. Maybe worse. Should have seen Cody home. The kid must have kept on riding right past his house to who knew where.
The storm blew off to the east about five o‟clock. As soon as the rain stopped, Mom dragged his father into the car to drive around, looking.
Jack had gone over to Eddie and Weezy‟s and they‟d biked toward the Pines for their own search. But a deputy had waved them off, saying they didn‟t want fresh bike tracks messing up the trails.
Jack told him they weren‟t going to find anything old after the way it had rained, but his arguments fell on deaf ears.
As they‟d ridden back through Old Town, Weezy suggested they go watch the circus set up.
Eddie begged off—not interested. Jack knew he didn‟t want to make the trip up 206.
“I think I saw the pyramid,” Jack said as they neared the field where the circus set up every year.
Weezy nearly fell off her bike as she gave him a wide-eyed stare.
“You what? W-w-when? How?”
“Today, when we were talking to Mister Drexler.”
“And you didn‟t tell me?”
“I haven‟t had a chance. And hearing about Cody pretty much blew it out of my head until now.”
“Oh, yeah. I can see that.” She brightened. “But the pyramid—you think it‟s ours?”
He realized she was changing what he said.
“I said I thought I‟d seen something that might be it. Not even sure it was a pyramid, just looked like—”
“But it could have been.”
“Yeah, but—”
She skidded to a halt. Jack stopped a few feet ahead of her.
“We‟re going back.”
He stared at her. “And do what?”
“Find a way into the Lodge and get my pyramid back. I found it and—” “We found it.”
“Okay, we found it. It‟s our pyramid. And if our pyramid is in there, we are going to get it back.”
He wished he‟d never mentioned it.
“I can‟t believe I‟m saying this to you of all people, but you‟re not thinking, Weez. Think: steel door, barred windows … even if we got in we‟d be risking more trouble than it‟s worth.”
“Not to me.”
“It‟s worth ending up in jail?”
“It‟s proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That I‟m not crazy.”
“Nobody thinks you‟re crazy.”
Deep hurt peeked through her eyes. “Yeah, they do.”
Jack realized with a pang that she was talking about her folks, probably Eddie too.
“Well, if that‟s true, you‟ll only prove them right by getting caught trying to break into the Lodge.” That seemed to sink in, so he pressed it. “Look, let‟s give it some time, put it on a back burner. Maybe we can come up with something that won‟t land us in the backseat of Tim‟s patrol car.”
She looked away, then sighed. “Okay. For now. But promise me you‟ll find a way in, because if you think I‟m going to drop this, you‟re wrong.”
Jack had no illusions on that count.
10
A little farther north they came upon a scene of furious activity. The circus had chosen a spot halfway between the highway and the tree line that flowed into the Barrens. Seedy-looking roustabouts were rushing around, unloading trucks, assembling amusement rides, and raising tents. The show‟s one elephant trumpeted now and again as it hauled stuff through the mud; shouts and chatter and the clang of sledgehammers on spikes filled the air.
Jack guessed the storm had put them behind schedule. The field was quickly becoming a mud pie.
“They call these little circuses „mud shows,‟” Weezy said. “Now I can see why.”
“More like a mud bath. People better wear boots tomorrow.”
Weezy laughed. “Yeah. Waders.”
They stood in silence awhile, staring at the anthill activity.
Finally Weezy said, “I was thinking about what the deputy said—about Cody and the circus. He called them „shady types.‟ You think they might have anything to do with him disappearing?”
“You mean kidnapping?”
She shrugged. “I don‟t know. These mud shows usually hire their roustabouts from homeless shelters and skid-row hotels. Lots of them are alcoholics and druggies.”