The Great Pet Heist

Luckily, Marco knew just what to say. He stepped forward and took Butterbean by the paw. “Butterbean, we have to do this. For Polo. And for Madison. We can’t let those men win. Don’t think of it as giving the coins back. This is a rescue mission.”

Butterbean’s ears perked up. She’d always wanted to go on a rescue mission. It was practically her dog destiny.

Butterbean licked Marco’s paw in excitement (along with half of his middle section. Marco pretended not to notice).

“Why didn’t you say so? Rescue mission? Sign me up!” Maybe she’d get one of those little barrels to wear around her neck—she’d seen Television dogs wearing those on lots of rescue missions. Of course it would have to be a small one, but Butterbean didn’t mind.

Walt patted Butterbean on the back. “Good. Oscar, you’ll need to get these coins back in the bag.”

Oscar nodded and hurried back into the office.

Walt sat down. “Now, Butterbean, what we’re planning is a three-pronged attack. Part one, Operation Distract. Part two, Operation Divide and Conquer. And part three, Operation Outside Authorities. Got it?”

“Got it.” Butterbean hoped she would be part of Operation Distract. Distracting was her specialty. She wasn’t so great at division.

“You’re Operation Distract, with me,” Walt said. Butterbean gave a small cheer. Walt ignored it. “Oscar, are the coins ready?”

“Done,” Oscar called back from the office, one foot on the coin bag.

“Good. Chad’s in place, so if you could just fly them up, we’ll be set. Wallace, Marco, ready for vent duty?”

“Ready!” Marco fist-bumped Wallace (who wasn’t quite ready) and raced into the vents. He was feeling much more optimistic now that he knew that Polo was alive.

“Wait, what? Me?” Wallace looked around nervously. He hadn’t realized he was part of the plan. He was thinking of himself as more of an interested bystander.

“Wallace, COME ON!” Marco yelled impatiently, his voice echoing in the vent.

“Oop. Okay. I mean… okay.” Wallace scurried toward the vent after Marco.

“Um, Walt?” Oscar’s voice came from overhead. “Potential problem here.”

Oscar had the bag in his claws and was hovering in the air. He wasn’t going anywhere, just hovering. “I’m having some trouble getting airborne,” he said. “I can’t seem to gain altitude.”

Walt’s eyes widened. Oscar was approximately three feet off the floor, which was not going to cut it. Not when they needed to go to an apartment on the ninth floor. “Well, you’re going to need to gain five stories of altitude. Fast. Or the plan won’t work.”

“Yes, I do realize that,” Oscar said, flapping his wings energetically. He still didn’t move.

“Um, about that,” he said finally. “I don’t see myself gaining five stories of altitude.”

“But you did it before!” Walt couldn’t believe Oscar was being so difficult. What was five stories to a bird? Five stories was nothing!

Oscar gave a sad smile. “Yes, that’s true. But before I was going down. Down isn’t a problem. Up is.” He flapped even more enthusiastically and rose another six inches off the floor.

“I volunteer!” Butterbean barked suddenly. “I’ll do it! Oh, please let me. I just have to take it upstairs, right? It’ll be fine! I can do it!”

Walt and Oscar both looked at Butterbean doubtfully.

“There’s no rule that it has to go in the window, right? We just need to get the bag up there?”

“Oscar?” Walt said.

“I think that would be best,” Oscar said, sinking to the floor. “I’ll stay here and watch the surveillance cameras. You’ll need to know if the Coin Man comes back.”

“That’s actually a better idea,” Walt said grudgingly. “We do need to know that. Okay, ready, Bean?”

“YAY!” Butterbean cheered, jumping up and dragging the bag away from Oscar.

“Keep cool, Bean,” Walt said, going to the door and pushing the handle down. “Let us know the minute he comes back,” she called to Oscar over her shoulder.

“Will do,” he said, walking slowly to the remote. He really did have a bad back.

Butterbean was already halfway down the hallway when Walt slipped out of the door. Butterbean jumped up and hit the elevator button.

“Hope it’s empty!” She hopped nervously from one foot to another while she waited. “Man, I hope the Coin Man isn’t in it when it opens. That would be the worst!”

“Don’t be silly,” Walt said, but she felt just as anxious. So many things could go wrong. She hadn’t had time to think though all the possible problems. Anything could happen.

The elevator binged, and Walt held her breath. The doors opened.

It wasn’t empty. Mrs. Power Walker was there, marching in place.

Butterbean didn’t hesitate. She dragged the bag into the elevator and sat down next to Mrs. Power Walker, wagging her tail and lolling her tongue out of the side of her mouth. Walt slipped in behind her.

Mrs. Power Walker looked down at Butterbean and smiled. “Oh, hello again. Eighth floor, right?” she said, pushing the button for Butterbean.

Butterbean wagged her tail harder. Eighth floor was not right, but she wasn’t going to say anything. She didn’t want to attract attention.

“Sixth floor,” the elevator voice said.

The doors opened. Bob the maintenance guy was standing in the hallway. He looked from Mrs. Power Walker to Butterbean to the bag. Then he looked at Walt. Walt shrugged.

“I’ll, uh, take the next one,” Bob said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

“Bye!” Mrs. Power Walker said cheerily, pushing the close door button.

“Bye.” Bob frowned at Butterbean and Walt. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said, narrowing his eyes as the doors closed.

“Oops!” Mrs. Power Walker said to Butterbean conspiratorially. She giggled. Butterbean thumped her tail on the floor.

“Seventh floor,” the elevator voice said.

“Bye, you two,” Mrs. Power Walker said as she power walked out of the elevator.

Butterbean waited until the doors had closed before she jumped up and hit the button for the ninth floor. Walt rolled her eyes.

“What? I didn’t want to be rude!” Butterbean said, sitting back down.

Marco and Wallace peered through the grate into the Coin Man’s apartment.

Wallace looked like he might throw up. “I shouldn’t even be here. I can’t believe you talked me into this. I ONLY GO TO THE EIGHTH FLOOR! I TOLD YOU THAT.”

“Yeah, but it’s fine, see?” Marco said, patting Wallace on the shoulder. “Nothing’s happening yet! It’s just that guy. Number Two.”

Through the grate they could see the second man perched nervously on the couch, cradling a drink in his hands. He also looked like he might throw up.

“Oh and look, it’s Chad! Hi, Chad!” Marco screamed, sticking his arm through the grate and waving.

Chad pulled himself up into the sink. He put two of his tentacles to his eyes and then pointed at the grate in a classic “I’m watching you” motion.

Marco waved a little less enthusiastically. “Looking good, Chad. Thanks for doing this!”

Wallace clutched Marco’s arm. “Should you be yelling and waving like that? With THAT PERSON sitting there?”

Marco didn’t get a chance to answer.

The elevator dinged outside. Marco looked at Wallace. “Here we go.” He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Butterbean dragged the coin bag into a shadowy nook near the elevator. “Same plan as before?” She didn’t really love the idea of another mouthful of dirty sock, but for Polo? Number Two’s dirty socks were no problem.

Walt grinned. “I thought we’d try something different this time.” She bent down and whispered in Butterbean’s ear.

Butterbean wagged her tail. She liked the new plan.

When they heard Marco’s whistle, she stood on her hind legs and rang the bell.

The Number Two Man was so startled by the doorbell that his hand jerked, sloshing part of his drink down his front. Muttering to himself, he put the drink onto the coffee table and hurried to the door, wiping his hands on his pants as he went.

He opened the door cautiously and looked out into the hallway.

Marco and Wallace pressed their faces to the grate to get a clear look.

There, in the hallway, sat Walt and Butterbean. They sat perfectly still in front of the door, staring silently at the man.

He went pale. “Oh no. No,” he said, backing away. Then he slammed the door in their faces.

Marco and Wallace looked at each other. “I wonder if that’s what was supposed to happen?” Marco said.

“Well, shoot. That’s not what was supposed to happen,” Walt muttered, twitching her tail. She’d been sure that if they sat quietly, he would come out to see what was going on. But no. “How are we supposed to get him out here? Ring the bell again, Butterbean.”

Butterbean stood up and rang the bell again.

No one answered.

“We should’ve just gone for the ankles,” Butterbean said. “Or we could’ve knocked him down, and I could’ve done the nostril probe.”

“Hey! Hey, Walt! It’s Marco! Up here!”

Walt and Butterbean peered up at the ceiling, following the voice to the corner, where they could see Marco peeking out from a small grate.

“Boy, you freaked him out,” Marco said. “Was it supposed to happen like that?”

“Obviously not,” Walt said grouchily. “I didn’t think he’d have such bad manners.”

“Okay, well, don’t worry. Chad said he has a plan,” Marco explained. “When I whistle, try the doorbell thing again. Chad said he’s had it with this guy, and he’s not wasting any more time. He’s going to take him out.”

“Oookay,” Walt said. That didn’t sound terrific. In fact, “take him out” sounded really, really bad.

“So Chad… um. He’s okay, right?” Marco interrupted her thoughts. “ ’Cause he sounded super grumpy. I mean SUPER grumpy. And maybe a little scary.” More than a little, actually.

Walt hesitated. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. Octopus. Good octopus,” she corrected herself. But now that she thought about it, how well did she know Chad? Not that well, to be honest. And a grumpy octopus was capable of doing, well, anything.

“I guess we’ll just wait for the signal, then,” Walt said, trying to sound confident. The whole thing had gone completely off the rails.

She just had to hope for the best. It was up to Chad now.

17

CHAD INCHED HIS WAY THROUGH the pipe. He couldn’t believe he had gotten mixed up in this whole mess. And for a few measly sardines! It absolutely was not worth it. Still, it would be a good story later on, as long as the others didn’t get themselves killed. Actually, it would be a good story either way. But he might as well try to keep them alive. Make himself the hero. Happy endings always went over better in octopus circles.

Chad slipped up the pipe and out through the sink drain overhead. Just as he’d thought, he was in the bathroom. And judging from the terrible decor, he was still in the Coin Man’s apartment.

A girl gasped. Madison, he guessed. Nice to see that she was alive, but he didn’t have time to chat.

“Holy cow, what is that?” Madison squealed, staring at him. Rude. Chad ignored her and slithered up to the medicine cabinet. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste. He rummaged around on the shelves, examining medicine bottles and tossing them aside.

“Oh, that’s just Chad!” A voice from the floor piped up. “Hey, Chad! It’s me, Polo!” Chad looked over his shoulder and saw Polo hopping up and down and waving. He gave a polite wave with one of his unoccupied tentacles while he uncapped a medicine bottle with the others. Just what he was looking for. He broke a pill in half.

“What are you doing in here?” Polo crawled up onto the cabinet next to him. “Are you rescuing us? Can I do anything to help?”

Chad frowned and tossed the rest of the pills aside. “No, I’ve got what I need. Sleeping pills. I’m going to drug his drink.”

Polo looked at the broken pill. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Chad snorted. “I’m not even giving him a whole pill. Just enough to knock him out while we set up the room. Sheesh.” Rats could be so jittery.

“Oh, good,” Polo said, trying to look relieved. “So we just wait here, then?”

Chad slid back into the sink. “Right. Stay alert. You may need to move fast.”

He disappeared down the drain, and then one eye popped back up. “Polo.”

“Yeah?” Polo peered down at him.

“Glad you’re not dead.”

Polo smiled. “Yeah, me too.”

When Chad crawled back up into the kitchen sink, the man was on the couch, looking from the front door to the bathroom door, like he was watching a tennis match. He seemed nervous, to say the least.

“I don’t get it,” Wallace said, watching the man. “What’s he so freaked out about? Walt and Butterbean aren’t scary. Well, maybe Walt, but Butterbean? Her name’s BUTTERBEAN, for goodness sake.”

Marco shrugged. “Humans are weird.”

Chad had already made his way over to the edge of the couch and was waving a tentacle at Marco in an irritated way, like he’d been doing it a long time. He was also making gestures with his other tentacles that Marco was pretty sure were bad words.

“Sorry, Chad!” Marco yelled.

He put his hands in his mouth and whistled.

The doorbell rang.

The man’s hand clenched the sofa so hard his knuckles turned white. He stared at the front door like it was going to explode.

The bell rang again. And again. And again. It sounded to Marco like Butterbean was just bouncing between the floor and the doorbell over and over. She could be very enthusiastic.

Finally, the Number Two Man had had enough. He got up, braced himself for a second, and then walked slowly toward the door.

Marco whistled again.

The man cautiously put his hand on the door handle, and then, taking a deep breath, he pulled it open. The cat and the dog sat in the doorway, just as they had before. And just as they had before, they silently stared back at him.

No one moved. No one except Chad.

In a flash, he slithered up to the coffee table and dropped the broken sleeping pill into the man’s drink. Then he speed-inched his way back to the sink. Once he was safely inside, Marco whistled again.

Without a sound, and without even looking at each other, Walt and Butterbean turned in unison and walked away down the hallway.

The man stood slack-jawed, watching them go. Then he slammed the door, raking his hands through his hair. He lurched back across the room, threw himself onto the couch, grabbed his drink, and gulped it down in one swift movement.

Marco and Wallace watched from the grate.

Chad watched from the sink.

Number Two’s eyelids drooped. In just a few minutes they had shut, and his head flopped back onto the sofa.

Marco whistled again as Chad scooted across the living room floor.

“Stupid carpets,” he muttered as he went. “Do you realize I have rug burns on THREE of my tentacles because of this? THREE. And I hardly even KNOW you guys.”

He reached up and opened the door. Walt and Butterbean rushed in, dragging the bag behind them.

“These rug burns are going to cost you EXTRA SARDINES,” Chad grumbled.

“Operation Distract is complete!” Butterbean trotted to the couch and dropped the bag with a thump. “In this end table here, Chad?”

“Right.” Chad unzipped the bag and then crawled onto the man’s lap. He reached a tentacle down toward the bag. “Actually, scooch it over a bit first.”

Butterbean nudged the bag closer to the man’s foot. Chad grabbed a bunch of coins with his tentacles and stuffed them into the man’s pockets. The man didn’t even move.

“He’s not dead, right?” Butterbean said, jumping up and examining him.

“With half a pill? Hardly. We’ll be lucky if we make it out of here before he wakes up,” Chad scoffed, passing coins from tentacle to tentacle. It was like he had his own relay system set up. It was very effective.

“Hey, Chad?” Walt said, peering inside the end table. “Was this stuff in here when you took the bag originally?”

“What stuff?” Chad flung the last few coins onto the man’s lap like he was throwing confetti and inched his way over to the end table. He peered inside. “Oh, that stuff? Yeah, I guess. Why, did you want that, too?”

Walt shook her head. “No, we’re not touching this.” She turned to Butterbean. “This is bad news. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Butterbean cocked her head. “Why, what is it?”

“Trouble,” Walt said. “Big trouble.”

Oscar sat on the floor in front of the Television watching the surveillance feed.

“This is fine,” he said to himself. “This is fine.” He didn’t feel fine, though.

He knew that watching the feed was important. And he knew that criminal masterminds usually left the grunt work to their minions. But he didn’t like the idea that the others were up there alone.

A figure on the Television caught his eye.

Oscar jumped up with a squawk. He’d only seen him through the grate, but he would recognize him forever.

The Coin Man was back.

Butterbean pawed at the inside of the end table. She could see what looked like winter hats, and something metallic underneath. She frowned. “Why are hats trouble?”

She pawed at the hats again. A black ski mask fell onto the floor. “Should I try it on? I’ll look like a robber!” Butterbean joked, and then caught herself. “Oh. I’ll look like a robber.”

“Exactly.” Walt didn’t sound like she was joking.

Butterbean nosed the metallic things. “And these must be?”

“Guns,” Walt said. “Those are guns of some sort.”

“Then that means—”

“That means we need to go. Now.”

“Okey dokey, then,” Butterbean said, trotting over to the door.

Walt looked around for Chad, who was examining the contents of the kitchen cabinets. “Chad? Time to—”

“OUT! OUT NOW!” Oscar flew in through the window, collapsing on the couch in a dramatic crash landing that made everyone duck for cover. “The Coin Man is on his way.”

“What?” Walt and Butterbean stared at Oscar in panic.

The elevator bell dinged in the hallway.

Oscar’s eyes widened. “The Coin Man is here.”

18