Free The Odds Get Even by Natale Ghent Page B

hoping Mr. Martini would pick up the pace.
    Mr. Martini studied Boney’s face. “Why? Are you going to a convention or something?”
    “It’s really important.”
    Mr. Martini slowly craned his neck, gazing at the clock on the wall as he performed some mental calculations. “It’s going to take at least an hour to get these stains out.”
    Boney frowned. Mr. Martini considered him thoughtfully.
    “Do your parents know you’re out this late?”
    Boney tried to sound as adult as he could. “Yes, of course. I’ll be back in an hour, then.” He grabbed the pillowcase and Blaster gun and strode toward the door. As he reached for the handle, Mr. Martini called after him.
    “You forgot your ticket stub. You can’t pick up your dry cleaning without a ticket stub.”
    “Oh, yeah, thanks.”
    Mr. Martini fumbled with a giant roll of tickets, the roll uncoiling impudently each time he tried to tighten it. He struggled to tear a ticket from the roll. When at last he did, he slowly ripped the ticket in half and gave one side to Boney, but not before studying the number closely through the magnifying glass.
    “And just to let you know,” he said, “it’s seven dollars to clean soiled Elvis costumes after 10:30 p.m.”
    Boney nodded, took the ticket, and slipped through the door. Seven dollars?! he thought angrily. What a rip-off. But he had no choice. If he wanted to save Itchy from the circus he would have to shell out. And now he hadan hour to kill. He thought about going to the diner next door for a cup of hot chocolate, but that would cost even more money, so he decided to ride his Schwinn around instead. He checked his watch: 10:45. That gave him just enough time to get the suit cleaned and return it before Itchy’s dad got home from his show.
    Boney placed the blaster gun in the pillowcase and rolled it into a ball, stuffing it between the sissy bars on his bike. He mounted the bike and rode aimlessly through the streets for the longest time, not sure where to go. He looked in store windows and watched a cat hunting a mouse in front of the pet shop. He rode back and forth through the streetlights. He biked in circles in the Top Drawer Insurance parking lot. When he checked his watch again it was only 11:25. If he kept riding straight, he could ride all the way to the train tracks. To the right, he could loop around through town and back toward home. To the left lay the river and the haunted mill. Boney turned left.
    After several minutes, he found himself rolling down the street toward the river. He cycled slowly, and the haunted mill eventually came into view. The moon was bigger now, throwing more light on the old ruins.
    Boney dismounted, leaning his bike against some tangled bushes. He stepped cautiously to the edge of the stones and stood, peering into the walls. The crickets chirped loudly. Several bats fluttered from the treesoverhead, diving in and out of the moonlight after moths. The night breeze tickled the hairs on Boney’s arms, raising goosebumps on his skin. He thought about the ghost, the way it had risen, shimmering, from behind the pile of stones across the mill. Boney’s breathing grew shallow and light. He looked over at his bike, glistening against the dark bushes. A chill ran up his spine. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be here all alone so late. He swallowed hard.
    “Is anybody there?” he called.
    There was a rustling sound, and then silence.
    “Is anybody there?” Boney called out again.
    A low moan rose over the stones, and then an eerie voice growled. “Get out! Get out of my mill!”
    Boney streaked to the bushes and jumped on his bike, pedalling like a madman up and over the hill until he skidded to a halt outside the cleaners. He dropped his bike to the ground, grabbed the pillowcase, and burst breathlessly through the door.
    Mr. Martini stared indifferently back, his hands folded on top of the counter. “What’s the matter? Seen a ghost?”
    Boney shot a look over his