The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe Page 6

  “He and Roman were awesome at basketball,” Trevor said. “They’ve definitely had some practice.”

  Nate met eyes with Trevor. “Chris and Risa seemed to be helping Roman. They were wondering how many tickets he had earned.”

  “You think they use tickets to buy magic candy?” Trevor asked.

  “We know something out of the ordinary is going on here,” Nate said.

  “The tickets sound like a good place to start,” Pigeon said.

  “Roman has almost forty thousand tickets,” Nate said. “And he’s still working hard to earn more. Should we go see if any prizes are worth that much?”

  The others agreed. Nate led the way over to the redemption counter, where Todd was accepting tickets from a couple of young girls in exchange for plastic rings.

  “That longboard is 10,000,” Summer reported.

  “The little jukebox is 20,000,” Pigeon said, eyes roving the shelves. “I don’t see anything for more than that.”

  “Hey, Todd?” Nate asked.

  “Yeah?” he answered.

  “What prize costs the most tickets?”

  Todd winced as if thinking and rubbed the tattoo on his forearm. He eyed the shelves. “Jukebox is one of the highest ticket items. Works fairly well. I’m sort of an audiophile, and it sounds decent.”

  “Is it the highest?” Nate pursued.

  Leaning one hand on the glass counter that held all the cheaper items, Todd gave Nate a measuring stare. Then he glanced down at the cabinet. “There are some pretty expensive stamps toward the back.”

  Nate crouched and examined the contents of the glass counter. Looking past the finger puppets, the suckers, the army men, the spider rings, the tiny bouncy balls, and the other items marked at 50 tickets or less, Nate saw two small signs proclaiming a value of 40,000, and a second pair marked 50,000. Behind the signs were four inkpads—one with a simple image of a submarine stenciled on the cover, one with a racecar, one with a fighter jet, and one with a tank. Beside each inkpad rested a stamp.

  “Fifty thousand?” Nate asked.

  Todd nodded. “We don’t generally draw attention to them. Most people who notice think they’re mismarked.”

  “Inkpads?” Summer asked. “Like for stamps?”

  “The pads aren’t for sale,” Todd explained. “Just the stamps. Forty thousand for the sub or the racecar. Fifty thousand for the tank or the jet.”

  “For 50,000 tickets I get to stamp a tank on my hand?” Trevor deadpanned.

  “More than once,” Todd replied. “It could potentially amount to a lifetime supply. But only four people get to win each stamp.”

  “Are all the stamps available?” Nate asked.

  Todd shook his head slightly. “Two of the jet slots are gone. One tank slot is gone. No racecar slots are taken yet. One sub slot is gone. I happen to know there are plenty of people currently working to win the empty slots.”

  “Why?” Pigeon asked.

  “I’m not allowed to fully explain,” Todd said. “Earning the stamp is sort of like getting into a club. The details are only for those who succeed. Are you guys here to redeem any of those tickets?”

  Nate realized that they were all holding a lot of tickets. “No, later. We were just weighing our options.”

  Todd looked at Nate. “Keep shooting baskets how you were, and you’ll be able to afford anything on display.” He drummed his hands on the counter. “Have fun. I need to check on some things in the back.”

  Nate and his friends walked away.

  “Should we get a receipt for all of these tickets?” Summer asked.

  “Beats carrying them around,” Trevor said.

  It took some time to feed all the ribbons of tickets into the machines. In the end they got a receipt for over two thousand.

  “That’s a lot of bouncy balls,” Trevor said.

  “I might be aiming higher than bouncy balls,” Nate replied. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk in private.”

  *****

  Their favorite location for secret Blue Falcon meetings was the Nest, a secluded hollow enclosed by trees and shrubs at the creek below Monroe Circle, the street where Nate, Trevor, and Pigeon lived. They were pedaling in that direction when a white van pulled over to the side of the road ahead of them. Ziggy got out and helped them load their bikes inside.

  “Why do I feel like I’m being kidnapped?” Trevor asked.

  “Because a pair of large men we’ve hardly met just piled us into their nondescript vehicle,” Pigeon replied.

  The roomy van had space for the bikes behind the two rows of benches where the kids sat. Victor was driving while Ziggy rode shotgun.

  “Where are we going?” Nate asked.

  “Nowhere definite,” Victor replied. “We’ll just drive and talk. We want to go over everything while it’s fresh in your minds.”

  “Did you snap any pictures?” Ziggy asked.

  “I forgot,” Trevor said.

  “I snuck a few,” Pigeon said. “I didn’t aim the shots, but I got one of the employees, along with some interesting customers.”

  Pigeon held up a digital camera, an image of Todd on the screen. Ziggy accepted the camera and studied the picture.

  “I don’t know this clown,” he said. “Might just be an ordinary deadbeat.” Ziggy started paging through other images. Pigeon leaned forward to narrate.

  “That’s Chris,” Pigeon said. “He’s one of the kids we think might be involved with the secret side of Arcadeland. Summer and I saw him float over a fence. He didn’t have a hat on at the time.”

  “They’re already recruiting?” Victor asked.

  “Seems that way,” Nate said. “You can earn stamps for forty or fifty thousand tickets. It’s a lifetime supply. The stamps are by far the most expensive prizes, and they’re kind of hidden. After I used Peak Performance to enhance my basketball score, Chris checked my hand. I bet he was looking for a stamp. I think the stamp gives access to whatever these guys are handing out.”

  “You mentioned different prices,” Ziggy said. “Are there different stamps?”

  Summer explained about the four different stamps, and how each stamp was limited to four people. She told how some slots were already gone.

  “That girl, Risa, was also floating,” Pigeon narrated as Ziggy looked at a new image. “And that guy is named Roman.”

  “He’ll probably be a new recruit soon,” Trevor said. “The other two were encouraging him to win tickets.”

  “Seems evident that trading tickets for stamps gets kids into the inner circle,” Victor said.

  “Do you want us to earn a stamp?” Nate asked.

  Victor pulled the van into the parking lot of a large home improvement store and claimed a spot far from the entrance. Empty parking spaces surrounded them. He turned to look Nate in the eye. “If you kids acquire those stamps, you’ll expose yourselves to some serious danger. I can’t guarantee that we could protect you.”

  “Do you have enough information now to help John?” Pigeon asked.

  “We’ve found the start of a trail,” Ziggy said. “Victor and I can’t go in there and trade tickets for stamps, but we can track down the kids Pigeon photographed and look into this Todd character.”

  “What if we go after the stamps?” Summer asked. “Could it make a difference?”

  Victor and Ziggy shared a glance. “You want the truth?” Victor asked. “It would move the investigation forward much faster. The people running this operation have been extremely careful not to expose themselves. Those stamps probably lead straight to whoever is behind all of this.”

  “But the information would come at a price,” Ziggy said.

  “The magician behind this operation is clearly powerful and secretive,” Victor said. “If you become involved directly, it might not be easy to walk away.”

  “We could get sucked into some serious danger,” Nate said.

  “At best it will be dangerous,” Ziggy said. “At worst you could get k
illed.”

  “Do we know whether John is alive?” Pigeon asked in a small voice.

  “We’re not certain,” Ziggy replied. “We hope so.”

  “If you’re considering direct involvement,” Victor said, “you deserve to know all we do. This situation is bigger than John Dart going missing. John learned something and called in Mozag.”

  “Your boss,” Trevor said.

  “Arguably the most powerful living magician,” Ziggy said. “He almost never gets involved directly in an investigation. He’s too valuable. He runs things from a distance.”

  “But he came when John called,” Victor said. “And Mozag disappeared along with him.”

  “Mozag is missing too?” Nate exclaimed.

  “Which tells us a lot,” Victor said. “Away from his permanent lair, Mozag was vulnerable, but still, any magician who can subdue Mozag is wielding some serious power. And any situation that would lure Mozag into the field had to have catastrophic potential.”

  “Then we could be in danger whether we help or not,” Nate summarized. “If we do nothing, whoever is running Arcadeland could still become a threat to us.”

  “The country could be in danger,” Ziggy said. “Maybe the world.”

  “Mozag didn’t get involved directly with Mrs. White,” Victor pointed out. “But he came for this.”

  “He and John were captured at the same time?” Trevor asked.

  “Far as we know,” Ziggy said.

  “Does Mozag have other agents who can help?” Pigeon wondered. “Are you guys here alone?”

  “There are some others who could lend assistance,” Victor said. “Frankly, with John out of play, we were the best operatives available. This is a delicate situation. The knowledge that Mozag polices the magical community keeps a lot of shady characters in check.”

  “You don’t want it known that he’s missing,” Nate said.

  Ziggy raised his eyebrows. “All we need is for every crooked magician with a scheme and a few lackeys to find out that right now is the best opportunity in decades to risk some mischief. One major crisis is bad enough.”

  “We want to help,” Summer said.

  Victor sighed. “Bottom line? You’re kids. I don’t want to put on the heavy pressure. We could use your assistance, but we don’t require it. You now know the situation. Take some time to think it through. Talk things over with Sebastian Stott. We’ll back whatever choice you make.”

  “Mozag saved me from being trapped as an old man,” Nate said. “John saved me too. They both spend their lives protecting us all from maniacs with magical powers. I have to help them. I’ll win one of those stamps. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  “Shouldn’t we talk to Mr. Stott first?” Pigeon asked.

  “We should,” Nate said. “We could use whatever support he can offer. But whatever we decide to do, it won’t hurt to start winning some tickets.”

  “You mean tonight?” Summer asked.

  “I mean right now.”

  *****

  Nate returned to Arcadeland with Trevor and Summer. Pigeon had left to go talk things over with Mr. Stott. It was later in the afternoon, and the arcade was more crowded. Ziggy and Victor waited outside in the van as backup.

  Scanning the room, Nate spotted Roman over at the shooting gallery, hunched over the counter with his cheek against a rifle. Nate crossed to him. Summer and Trevor followed but hung back.

  “Do you ever go home?” Nate asked.

  “You’re here too,” Roman replied, one eye shut as he prepared to shoot.

  “Sick of basketball?”

  “Some hotshot made the record unreachable today,” Roman replied. “And yes, I eventually get sick of it. Basketball is probably where I can average the most tickets per turn, but it gets old after I play it for too long.”

  “How are the tickets for this game?” Nate asked.

  Roman stopped aiming and looked up. “Not bad if you know the tricks.”

  “What tricks?”

  Roman hesitated for a moment. “Most people aim at the close stuff. They want to see the guy play the piano. They want to make the cow skull shake. They want the bottles behind the bar to spin. But the saloon has two windows.”

  “Right,” Nate said. Outside one window four buzzards were circling in and out of view, each with a tiny target attached. A small train went by the other window, as if in the distance, an engine pulling four cars. Each train car had a target. The train moved fairly quickly, coming into view every fifteen seconds.

  “The vultures don’t do much when you hit them. You just hear a faint squawk and the target lights up. The train does even less. The target lights up. That’s it. You get ten shots each turn. If you hit all four vultures on your turn, you get 25 tickets. If you hit all four train cars, you also earn 25. Those targets aren’t easy to hit, but if you get good, you can pick up 50 tickets per turn without much trouble. Using any other strategy, you’re lucky to get 10.”

  “Thanks for the tips.”

  Roman glanced back at Trevor and Summer. “I haven’t seen you guys around before today. You plan to hang out here much?”

  “I like it here,” Nate said. “It’s the best arcade I’ve seen. I want one of those stamps.”

  “Stamps?” Roman asked, trying much too hard to sound casual.

  “Aren’t you after a stamp?”

  “Why would I want a stamp?”

  Nate shrugged. “They’re the most expensive prizes, and you keep working hard to earn more tickets even though you have a ton.”

  Roman shook his head. “Chris and Risa are getting sloppy. They were so careful not to let anything slip before they had theirs.”

  “Which one are you after?” Nate asked. “Jet, tank, racecar, or sub?”

  “Which do you want?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nate replied honestly. “That’s why I’m bugging you.”

  Roman seemed like he wanted to end the conversation. “I want a jet. My friends have jets, so I want one.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Nate pursued. “Why work so hard for the stamps?”

  “I don’t know,” Roman replied, glancing around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “Chris and Risa aren’t allowed to tell me. They just assure me it’s amazing. It better be. I’ve blown all my money on tickets.”

  “Only two jet slots left, right?” Nate asked.

  “I’ve gotten good at earning tickets,” Roman said. “I should have enough for one of them by tomorrow.”

  “Are other kids after stamps?” Nate wondered.

  “People are catching on,” Roman said. “You better hurry if you want one. The way you shoot a basketball, you could probably get there if you try.”

  “You want the third jet stamp,” Nate said. “Is anybody after the fourth?”

  “Nobody we care about,” Roman said. He glanced at Trevor and Summer. “Just don’t try to take both slots ahead of me. Chris and Risa would hate you for it, and so would I.”

  “We don’t want to beat you,” Nate said. “Besides, you’re too far along. We couldn’t catch up even if we went nonstop. But my friends might go after other stamps. Who knows?”

  “Hold on a second,” Roman said. “You’re wrecking my concentration. Let me finish up.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Nate watched as Roman lit up the buzzards and the train cars.

  “The vultures are tricky,” Roman said. “You have to pay attention to the differences, make sure you hit one of each. Hitting the same one four times doesn’t do it.”

  His last shot was at the train. Nothing lit up.

  “You missed?” Nate asked.

  “I’d already hit everything with the first nine,” Roman explained. He paused as if debating whether to say more. “Look, other people helped me, so I’ll help you. There are two bonus shots that are almost impossible. They aren’t marked. One is through the window of the engine. It’s worth a hundred tickets. I know it exists, because I’ve hit it twice. The oth
er is a tiny star that shines behind the vultures for barely a second every two minutes. I’ve never hit it, but I saw Risa do it. You can only hit it while it’s lit. Supposedly if you hit all eight far targets plus the two bonus shots on a single turn, you get some kind of mega bonus.”

  “Has anyone done it?” Nate asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Then how do you know it’s possible?” Nate asked.

  “Chris found out somehow after he got his stamp,” Roman said. “He was the first person to earn one.”

  Nate glanced over his shoulder, taking in the assortment of games spaced around the floor. “What game gives the biggest payout?”

  “Shooting Stars,” Roman answered. “But playing is like buying a lottery ticket. The lights all move around in crazy patterns, and you have to get the ten red ones to line up in the middle by freezing them at the perfect time. They move too fast to win with skill. People get tickets off of it, but you’ll average more on games like basketball where skill makes a bigger difference. A lot of those redemption games are basically gambling for kids.”

  “Redemption games?”

  “The kind that pay out redeemable tickets. Arcade lingo. Look, I better get going.”

  “You’re not sticking around?” Nate asked.

  Roman shook his head. “I’ll come back in the morning when the high scores are reset. My parents don’t want me here, so I shouldn’t hang around all day. I have to be sneaky, make up excuses for where I’ve been. By the way, if you come in the morning, raise the records slowly. If you set the basketball record too high on the first try, we’ll all earn fewer tickets for the rest of the day. Beat the records little by little and you cash in more.”

  “You have this down to a science.”

  Roman chuckled. “It has sort of been my summer job.”

  “A summer job where you lose all your money.”

  Roman snorted. “Exactly. That stamp better be cool. Later.”

  He gathered his tickets and left.

  Summer walked up to Nate. “Good info. We could overhear most of it. I didn’t want to interrupt. He seemed willing to talk to you.”

  “I’m not sure how to read him,” Nate said. “He isn’t super friendly, but he’s been pretty helpful.”