TEA WITH THE MIDNIGHT MONSTERS

THE NORTH WOODS

Now, how in the world? -- in this wonderful world of instant -- instant! -- communication -- how could a truck with two kidnapped kids and three wanted thugs -- first dodge a horde of rush-hour do-gooders and then the New York City Police?

How did Cake and his helpers escape?

Well, it's simple.

Cake simply drove -- as fast as he could -- uptown on Riverside for ten blocks. Then he turned right on 90th Street, cut left on Broadway, then right again, then left on Amsterdam, all the way up to Morningside Heights. There, he turned left up a tiny drive on 118th, which led straight into a tenement building.

A dear friend of Cake's had converted the building into a garage; well, a pretend garage, for every day he posted a sign above the door:

FULL!

DO NOT PARK!

TODAY! OR EVER!

-- and blocked the entrance with orange cones.

The inside of the building was gutted, and the driveway continued in a curlicue down a story -- inside the building -- and then a second and third story, too, underground.

And that's when Cake pulled to a stop, turned in the driver's seat, and said:

"Here we are. Who needs a toilet?"

"Us!" Pim said, and jumped to his feet. "But before we use the bathroom, I want to know if you're going to kill us." Then he sneezed.

"Bless you," said Cake.

"Thank you," said Pim. "Are you? Are you going to kill us? The least you can do is give us some time to prepare -- you know, spiritually or whatnot -- with God and each other -- if you are. So tell us. Are you? Are you going to?"

Millie was impressed. Her eyebrows rose, and she looked at the thugs. Were they impressed, too? And did they plan to kill the children?

"No," Cake said defensively. "No one dies. No one dies with us. Do we -- do we look like murderers to you?"

"Maybe," Pim said, wiping his nose with his coat sleeve. "Does anyone have a tissue then? If we're going to survive?"

"Well, these scarecrows might look like killers," Cake said, pointing to the men who'd lassoed Millie, Roy and Ray Crumb, "but that's not how we roll in New York. We don't kill kids."

This was true.

In the U.S. at this time, all criminals had a soft spot, and oddly it seemed to be based on location, based on geography -- where they grew up. The Crumbs, for instance, grew up in the southwest. They loved baby farm animals. They'd never lay a finger on a newborn lamb or a downy chick. But in the New York area, where Cake grew up, criminals, mostly, adored children. They rarely, if ever, hurt children and punished other thugs who did.

"Fine," said Pim. "I'm going to choose to believe you because -- well, I guess I have no choice."

"Y'ain't gonna die!" said a Crumb with a cackle. "Y'all goin' ina' the monsta' army! Woo-ee!"

Pim looked at Cake. "Army? And why does he speak that way?"

Cake sighed. The Crumb brothers spoke in a strange drawl. And for two British children, it sounded like a different language -- some fusion of -- yes, English words were involved -- but so were folk songs and animal calls.

"There's a monster army in the middle of the Earth," Cake explained slowly, "and you have to join it."

"Monster army?" Pim said. "In the middle of Earth? That's ridiculous."