Free I Got a D in Salami #2 by Henry Winkler Page A

lot of reddishblondish hair growing out of his ears. It’s not actually that much hair, but as far as I’m concerned, any hair growing out of your ears is a lot. I remember thinking that Vlady reminded me of a werewolf I saw once on a late-night movie when I slept over at Frankie’s. Papa Pete tells me not to look at his ears. He says that when a man can stuff a cabbage like Vlady can stuff a cabbage, what’s a little ear hair?
    Vlady had his back to us, and he was singing this Russian song he always sings. It is the saddest song you’ve ever heard. Once I asked Vlady what it was about.
    â€œA man looks for fish in Volga River,” he said. “No fish there, so he must eat only snow and stale bread. My family sings this song at parties, and we cry like babies.” Those Olefskis must be some really fun party animals.
    â€œHi, Vlady,” I said. “Where’s Carlos?”
    â€œHe is left,” Vlady said.
    Oh, no! “How long ago?”
    â€œMany minutes before,” Vlady answered in his thick Russian accent.
    We had counted on following Carlos. How else could we get to Mr. Gristediano’s? We didn’t even have his address.
    â€œThis is bad,” said Ashley. “A real fly in the ointment.”
    â€œNo flies here,” Vlady snapped. “I keep place clean.”
    â€œVlady,” said Frankie, saying every syllable very clearly. “Do you know the address where Carlos went?”
    â€œHe write on paper,” Vlady said, pointing to a pad of paper we keep by the phone to write down deliveries.
    Ashley grabbed the pad. The top sheet was blank. Obviously, Carlos had taken Mr. Gristediano’s address with him.
    â€œAnother fly in the ointment,” Ashley muttered.
    â€œPardon, Missy,” Vlady said, his blue eyes squinting at Ashley from under his big red eyebrows. “I say NO FLIES .”
    Frankie looked at the blank pad.
    â€œCarlos must go through a lot of pencils,” he said. “He writes hard. Look, every word leaves an impression on the paper underneath.”
    That was all I needed to hear.
    â€œVlady,” I said, “can I borrow your pencil?”
    He took the pencil from behind his ear and handed it to me. I wiped it off quickly, to make sure it didn’t have a loose ear hair on it. Then I laid it on its side and began rubbing the lead back and forth over the blank piece of paper. The paper turned gray, except the parts on which Carlos’s pencil had written the address, which stayed white. As I shaded over the whole page, little by little the address popped out.
    â€œI got it,” I yelled, looking at the piece of paper. “Five-forty-one Riverside Drive, apartment 4B.”
    I ripped the page off the pad.
    â€œLet’s jet,” I said. I looked around for Papa Pete. He had slid into one of the booths with a cup of coffee. “Come on, Papa Pete. We’ve got to hurry.”
    â€œI just got myself a Danish,” he said.
    â€œCan you take it to go?” Frankie asked.
    â€œIs it absolutely necessary?” asked Papa Pete.
    â€œAbso-one-hundred-percent-lutely,” said Frankie.
    â€œIn that case, I think I can,” said Papa Pete. He wrapped the Danish in a napkin and shoved it in his pocket.
    â€œPapa Pete, you are the greatest,” I said, dashing to the door and holding it open for him.
    â€œIs someone going to tell me what all this is about?” he asked.
    â€œNo time now,” I said. “Later.”
    â€œOkay, Hankie,” said Papa Pete. “The mystery continues.”
    â€œClose door,” Vlady called after us. “No flies.”
    I tucked Cheerio under my arm, and we tore out onto the street and headed down toward Riverside Drive. It was about four blocks to Mr. Gristediano’s apartment.
    â€œWe’ll never get there before Carlos does,” Frankie said.
    â€œI think we have a chance,” I said. I happen to know that Carlos is