Long Shot - Stine Megan (электронную книгу бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗

I’m going to die, Jupe thought. They’re going to drop me on my head — splat. That’s it. I’m dead. Any minute now, I’m dead.

“Come on — say something funny! Who’s the bird-brain now?” number 52 said with a laugh.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the two guys slowly pulled Jupe back up. They dropped him on the floor and walked away.

“Aiiiiiyyeee!” Pete seemed to come out of nowhere. In one smooth karate move he drop-kicked number 52. It startled the other guy and made him drop his guard.

That’s all that Jupe needed. He leaped at number 32, giving him a judo chop on the back of his neck.

“Behind you, Pete!” Jupe shouted.

The first guy had picked himself up and was sneaking up on Pete. But suddenly, to Jupe’s surprise, Bob came flying from the top of a car and tackled the guy from the side.

When the Costa Verde players saw that it was three against two, they decided to call it quits. They ran down the garage ramp and disappeared.

“You okay, Jupe?” Bob asked. Jupe was bent over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Jupe nodded and wiped his wet forehead on his sleeve. “They were just telling me what a great job I did as the parrot.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Pete said, helping Jupe to the car.

Pete opened the driver’s side door of the Ark and started to get in. “Hey, look at this!”

There on the leather seat was an envelope.

“Don’t touch it,” Jupe said. “Fingerprints.”

“I gotta find out what’s in it,” Pete said, reaching into the glove compartment. He pulled on a pair of driving gloves to open the envelope.

“More money,” said Bob, seeing the cash in Pete’s hands.

“And another note,” said Pete. He unfolded it and Jupe read it aloud.

“Play for Shoremont next fall and you will enjoy the sweetness and the rewards of victory!”

8

Rolling in Money

 “I like this case, Jupe,” Pete said the next morning, throwing his long legs up and across his kitchen table. He sliced most of a banana into his third bowl of breakfast cereal.

Jupe pushed away his half-eaten bowl of cereal and began eating half a sticky bun. “I don’t find anything likable about this case,” he said between bites. “For one thing, I’m sick of going to classes. It takes too much effort for too few results. Fortunately so many people cut class that no one notices whether I’m there or not.

“But what’s even more irritating is that we’re making no progress on the case. Last night I went over the note and the money we found in your car with everything but an electron microscope. Effort — one hundred percent. Results: zip. I didn’t find one clue as to who sent it to you.

“Our next move is to investigate the typewriter in Duggan’s office to see if the typeface matches the two notes you’ve gotten. But right now all we’re sure of is that somebody knew you were at the game and knows what your car looks like.”

Pete leaned farther back in his chair and wiped his mouth. “I can finish a whole bowl of cereal in the time it takes you to answer a question,” he said, smiling.

Jupe frowned at the criticism. “Just what is it you like so much about this case?”

“I liked the look on the bank teller’s face when I deposited the three thousand dollars last Monday. Today when I deposit a thousand more, she’s really going to flip.” Pete popped the unsliced remainder of the banana into his mouth.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” said Jupe, cutting a cheese danish in half. “You’re going to have to give the money back.”

“Jupe.” Pete suddenly focused on all the half-eaten food spread out in front of his well-padded friend. “I really don’t think your diet is going to work.”

“It’s working — slowly,” Jupe insisted. “I’ve lost half a pound in the past two weeks.”

“You probably sweated that off last night when those two jerks were roughing you up.”

Jupe shuddered, and his stomach turned over. The picture of him dangling over the edge of the parking garage was still crystal clear in his mind. “If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed, I would have fought harder myself. You and Bob arrived at the right — ” He was interrupted by the telephone. “I got it!” Pete shouted to his mom in the other room. He picked up the cordless phone in his kitchen. “Hello... Yeah, this is him.”

“This is he,” Jupe muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, I sure did,” Pete said, snapping his fingers to get Jupe’s attention. Pete’s voice dropped. “I got the note and the money last night... Yeah?”

It was driving Jupe crazy hearing only half the conversation.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Pete said. “I’d like to meet you, too. Where and when?”

Pete listened some more, nodding, and Jupe held his breath.

“Yeah, I know where that is,” Pete said. “In an hour?”

Jupe shook his head no and waved two fingers at Pete.

“How about two hours?” Pete asked. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

“Was it Duggan?” Jupe asked as soon as Pete had hung up.

“I don’t know,” Pete said. His face was angry and scared at the same time. “Sometimes it sounded like him and sometimes it didn’t. He was real friendly, Jupe. The piece of scum is breaking every law that means anything in college sports and he acts like we’re buddies.”

“That’s perfect,” Jupe said. “It means he thinks you’re playing along with him. Now tell me everything he said.”

“He asked if I got his envelope last night, and he said there was plenty more where that came from if I played ball with him. Some joke.”

“Then what?”

“He said he thought it was time we meet and talk about my future, and then he set the place — ten minutes north of here on the Coast Highway. Why’d you want me to make it two hours?”

“Because the microphone I used in the parrot costume is a wireless mike. If I hook it up to a portable transmitter — ”

“You can wire me for sound and hear everything that goes on!” Pete finished. “That’s great.”

“Let’s get over to the workshop and hook you up,” Jupe said.

Two hours later Pete turned off the Pacific Coast Highway at a scenic overlook. He talked the whole time he pulled into the parking lot, giving a full description for Jupe’s benefit. Jupe was squeezed into the trunk of the big Cadillac with a radio receiver tuned to the same frequency Pete was broadcasting on. The trunk lid was tied to look like it wouldn’t stay closed. In fact, it was tied that way so Jupe could get some air.

“Jupe, I hope you can hear me. Man, with this microphone and transmitter taped around my chest, I feel like I can’t breathe. There are a couple of cars parked here. One’s a Porsche 911 Targa. It’s blue and it’s bad. There are a few people looking around. One guy’s standing by himself without a camera. I bet that’s our guy. He’s medium height. About thirty, maybe. Aviator shades. He’s wearing a blue business shirt with a tie. He’s got the sleeves rolled, and he’s looking right at me now. I’ll try to let him do most of the talking. I stopped the car. He’s coming this way. Here I go.”

Pete stepped out of the car, tossing his sunglasses on the seat behind him.

“Hi, Pete,” said the man, slipping off his sunglasses and holding his hand out. Pete shook it, noticing the man had blue eyes.

“You want to talk in the car or look at the scenery?” the man asked.

“Uh, outside,” Pete said,

“Fine,” said the man, putting his sunglasses back on and walking back toward the railing overlooking the Pacific Ocean. “Let me say a couple of things. First, we think you’ve got the potential to become quite a basketball player.”

“You’ve been talking to Coach Duggan?”

The man smiled. “Maybe the first thing I should have said was not to ask me any questions, Pete. I’m going to tell you everything I want you to know.”

Why’s this guy so calm? Pete wondered. I guess he’s done this a hundred times.