UNDERCOVER on the TITANIC (book 1)

Part 9 - There's No Thirteenth Floor

I must have fallen sleep before Grandma got back because the next thing I remember she was shrieking in my ear. 'Get up! Now! How many times do I have to call you?   I am going to get the rental van.   We're leaving as soon as I get back.   Be ready to go.'

 I lay in bed wondering why Grandma was talking about a van and why Pacman sleeping on my stomach. Then I remembered. I had already packed Pacman's sleeping blanket because we were leaving today! I crawled out of bed, nibbled on a piece of dry toast and phoned my friends to say goodbye. That didn't take too long, I only had two fellow-geek friends, Greg and Mitch. I promised to keep in touch as soon as I could find an Internet connection. 

 About an hour later, I was loading furniture and boxes into a white rental van with an improbable picture of a rhinoceros on the side. When I picked up my bike on the balcony, I looked for Triple Oh's wire. It had gone but he had left his gloves. I tucked them into a box intending to return them the next time I saw him. 

I worked all morning carrying stuff down to the parking lot while Grandma supervised. Eventually the van was full and the apartment empty. Then she ordered me to return the apartment keys to the building manager. 

I found him in his subterranean office cave, eating a greasy donut and arguing with Mrs Kozlovski. 'If you don't stop turning off the elevators,' she squeaked above the noise of roaring fans and gurgling pipes, 'I'm going to cast a spell on your plumbing. At my age, I don't have time to waste waiting for elevators. I'm a busy woman.' 

The manager assured her he would look into it if she promised to stop telling potential tenants the apartments were haunted. 

'Oh, Jeff,' she flashed a smile at me, 'thanks for the Funny Old Grover books.' She gunned her electric wheelchair down the corridor, a tiny Canadian flag fluttered bravely from the twigs of her broom stick.

The manager yelled after her, 'And stop doing wheelies in the foyer. You're wearing out the carpet.' He examined my keys suspiciously, as if they were forgeries. 'Did you pay last months rent?' he snapped.

'Mom, gave it to you before she left,' I assured him. The manager checked the file in a battered cabinet. 'Yes, you're all paid up.' He twisted his mouth into a reluctant smile. 'But . . . just remember when you leave, don't walk on my grass. You guys are messing it up taking short cuts.'

'By the way,' I told him, 'there's an elevator stuck on the thirteenth floor.' He looked puzzled. 'It needs a rest, you guys have been pressing the buttons too much.'

I said, 'Thanks,' and turned to leave.

'Wait a minute,' he called after me. 'There's no thirteenth floor.' Grandma was waiting impatiently in the van when I got back. 'What took you so long?'

'I had to walk around the side. The manager told me not to walk on the grass.'

'You know, this standard shift is easier than most people think.' She fiddled with the gear shift. 'I've always driven automatics before but you just push this clutch thing down with your left foot and shove the stick around.' A motorcycle throbbed along the street, the driver's visor glittered in the sunlight. 

'Hey, Grandma! Look. There's Onderdonk.'

'Where?' 

'On that Hog,' I told her. 

She looked puzzled. 'He's riding a pig?'

'The Harley Davidson motorcycle,' I explained patiently, 'it's called a Hog.'

Grandma swore as she revved the engine to a scream and, with a grinding noise like a giant dental drill, slammed it into gear. Grandma took a short cut to the street, tearing twin grooves across the lawn and knocking over the manager's DO NOT WALK ON THE GRASS sign. The van bumped over the concrete curb and we shot down the street leaving tracks of smoking rubber. 

Grandma looked at my expression of disapproval and grinned savagely. 'The sign said, Don't Walk on the Grass.'

' What about leaving the place nice for the next tenant?'  I thought but I said, 'Why don't you want me to talk to Onderdonk?'

'Ask your father,' Grandma snapped as she concentrated on changing gears. The engine was screaming as if in pain.  But Triple Oh spotted our unorthodox exit and the Harley did an U-turn after us. Fortunately, we still had some gear teeth left in the transmission and we were close to Highway 401. I shut my eyes and tightened my seatbelt after Grandma ran four red lights and two stop signs as she circled around to confuse Triple Oh and, when I opened my eyes again, we were weaving through seven lanes of traffic rushing out of the city, eastbound.

❘❘ ❘❘❘ ❘❘❘❘❘❙ ❙❙ ❙❙ ❙❘❘❘❘ ❘❘❘❘ ❘❘