Free Amos's Killer Concert Caper by Gary Paulsen Page B

need to get those tickets this afternoon at the latest. They’re selling out fast.”
    Mr. Whitman leaned close to Dunc. “Who’s the skinny one with the beady eyes?”
    â€œThat’s my friend, Mr. Whitman. He’s going to help clean the center.”
    The little man looked Amos up and down, then he leaned close to Dunc again. “If I were you, son, I’d keep an eye on him.”
    Mr. Whitman unlocked the back door and hobbled down the stairs. He showed them where the cleaning supplies were kept. They were in a closet next to a door marked “Office.”
    â€œIs that your office, Mr. Whitman?” Dunc asked.
    â€œNo, sonny. The city doesn’t see fit to give me an office. That’s for those slick guys who manage the different shows that come in here. They use it while they’re here, and then I clean it for the next show.”
    Mr. Whitman handed Dunc a mop and Amos a push broom. “You boys start up there in the balcony section and work your way down. It’ll only take you two or three days to do the whole building.” The little man slapped Amos on the back as he hobbled away. “Don’t just stand there. Get to it, boy.”
    Amos tried to pick out the last row of seats in the shadows of the balcony. “Two or three days? This is going to take the rest of our lives.”
    â€œI wouldn’t worry too much about it,” a honey-smooth voice answered. A nice-looking young man, about twenty years old, walked up behind them. “The kids who come to the Road Kill concerts usually trash the place. If I were you, I wouldn’t spend too much time cleaning up before the concert. It’s after it that I’d worry about.”
    The young man stuck out his hand. “I’m Roy. Roy Freeman. I’m with the band.”
    Amos stared at him wide-eyed. “You’re—you’re Raunchy Roy.” Amos was in shock.
    The young man was embarrassed. “That’s my stage name. My manager thought of it. You guys can call me Roy.”
    Amos continued to stand there with his mouth open. Dunc reached out and shook the young man’s hand. “I’m Dunc.” He jerked his thumb toward Amos. “This is Amos. He wanted to see your concert, sowe’re cleaning the center to earn money to buy tickets.”
    â€œHey, maybe I can help.” Roy reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. “Here you go. On the house.”
    â€œWow.” Amos kept staring at him. “I actually know Raunchy Roy. Melissa is going to be so impressed.”
    â€œWho’s Melissa?” Roy asked.
    â€œThis girl he’s got a case for.” Dunc headed for the supply closet. “It was nice meeting you, Roy. Come on, Amos. We better get busy, or we won’t be through in time for the concert.”
    â€œHere.” Roy reached into his pocket again. “If Amos is taking Melissa, you’ll need another ticket.”
    Amos held up his hand. “Don’t bother. Dunc thinks your music stinks.”
    Dunc gave Amos a hard look. “I didn’t say it stinks.”
    â€œNo, you’re right. I think what you said was, they had the musical ability of leftover vegetables.”
    â€œAmos.”
    Roy smiled. “That’s okay. I understand. Probably more than you know. Hey, I have an idea. How would you guys like to come to one of our practice sets? Who knows, maybe you’ll hear something you’ll like.”
    â€œOh, hey, thanks for asking but—”
    Amos stepped around Dunc. “Sounds great. We’ll be there.”

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    They were in Dunc’s kitchen making lunch. Amos bit into his newest creation—a sour pickle, whipped cream, and potato chip sandwich. His face puckered. “I think it needs something.” Amos took another bite. “I don’t want to rub it in or anything, but you were way off base about Raunchy Roy and the band.”
    Dunc put a piece of