Free The Adventures of Jack Lime by James Leck Page A

Walter stepped onto his front walk.
    â€œHello, Walter,” I said, getting up. “I think we both know why I’m here.”
    â€œWho are you?” he asked, stopping in his tracks.
    â€œYou want to play it that way?” I said. “That’s fine. Let’s play it coy. My name’s Jack Lime. You probably know my client, Tyrone Jonson.”
    â€œSure, I know Tyrone,” he said, playing the innocent rube.
    â€œStill playing it dumb? Well, I’m tired of that game, Walter. I’m really tired of it. So why don’t we cut to the chase.” I marched over to him. We were face to face. “You’ve got something that Tyrone wants back, and I’m here to collect it.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œSomething small and furry,” I said. “You like to get it to pose for dirty pictures. Ringing any bells?”
    â€œGet out of my way,” he said, and tried to push past me. I grabbed him and spun him around to face me again.
    â€œNo dice,” I said. “You’re not going anywhere until you fess up to the kidnapping and the blackmail scam you’ve been playing at. It’s a filthy graft, Hampton, and as sure as ten dimes make a dollar you’re the one pulling the strings.”
    That’s when Walter did some fancy judo moves that sent me back, then up, and then down to the ground. Before I knew what had hit me, he had his knee pressed into my back, and I was sucking face with the grass.
    â€œNow you listen to me, clown,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve got the rodent. He’s upstairs, in my room, probably asleep in an old toilet paper tube. It doesn’t matter if you know, or if Tyrone knows. Actually, this will make things much easier. You can be my messenger boy. Go tell Tyrone if he wants to see Carver alive, he’d better get me some research on the wind turbine project we’ve got for physics class. Tell him I want it by Friday, and it’d better be good.”
    â€œWhy would he do that?” I gasped, trying to get myself out of Walter’s wrestling hold.
    â€œBecause if he doesn’t, I’m going to feed Carver to my pet python, Cindy. How’s that sound?”
    â€œHow does he know you’ll give him Carver back?”
    â€œHe’ll get Carver back the day I leave for university next fall. And he’d better make sure that I’m going with a thirty-five-thousand-dollar check in my pocket. You got that?”
    I could feel him ease up on my back, so I shifted my weight quickly to my right. He slipped off, and I was about to pounce on him like a cat on a mouse. Unfortunately, that’s when my condition kicked in.
    I dreamed I was getting squeezed by a python. Two hamsters were up in a tree staring down at me. They were holding a sword in their tiny little hands. One of them wanted to drop it on me. The other one said they should wait. The python squeezed a little tighter. “Drop it!” the first hamster yelled in a high-pitched voice. “Wait!” the other one screamed. They struggled, and the sword slipped out of their hands. It fell toward me. Then I woke up.
    Wednesday, June 4, 4:47 p.m.
41 Main Street, Sam the Butcher’s
    There is no Sam at Sam the Butcher’s. There never was a Sam. The place is owned and operated by Luxemcorp Inc., the same company that owns all the stores in Iona (except The Diner). Luxemcorp just slaps hokey names on each store so people think they’re quaint, family-owned businesses. It was supposed to make everyone feel warm and fuzzy. Tyrone was sitting in the corner of the place reading a chemistry textbook. When I walked in, he jumped up.
    â€œJack! Am I glad to see you. I worked out the problem.”
    â€œI’ve got some news, too,” I said.
    â€œWhoever’s getting me to do this,” he started, ignoring me, “thinks that I don’t know about the whole garbage collection