CC and Zal followed us, with Marty Raymond’s soggy planter hat. He slapped it on his head before easing the caiman out of the net and holding it up again, trophy-style, and showing it to the crowd. Cameras were clicking.
A man behind a big video camera leaned in. A dark-haired woman with a microphone stepped up to Marty Raymond. “Think we’ll make six o’clock?” he asked her.
“Probably,” she laughed. “Eleven and tomorrow morning for sure. It’s a great story.”
That was when I understood what he’d been waiting for earlier: news photographers and crews from the TV stations.
Marty Raymond started talking into the microphone about how the caiman was probably a pet somebody had left here when it got too big.
“Hey, we’re going to be on TV,” CC whispered happily.
“Great,” Zal groaned. “So much for secretly skipping school.”
We all looked at each other.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
It was too late. A video camera swooped in, and another lady with a microphone said to us, “Great work, guys. Was it scary?”
We all shrugged and tried to look away. It was hard to know what to say.
“But you’re all trained to do this, aren’t you? That’s quite amazing.”
All I could think was that if I didn’t act like me, maybe no one would believe it was me.
I said, “Oh yeah, we do this lots. It took five years to learn.”
“Five years?” The lady was amazed. “You must have been very young.”
“Hey,” I said, nodding at CC. “She stuffed her first squirrel in grade three.” I pointed at Zal. “This guy’s hands are faster than snakes.”
“Wow,” said the lady. “That’s truly impressive. What are your names?”
“Nicole Storm,” CC said promptly. I’d told her my mystery idea.
“Arturo Rocinante,” said Zal.
“Like the Yankees shortstop?” The lady knew her baseball. Zal nodded.
She turned to me. I said, “Lamar Del Ray.”
Marty Raymond’s head snapped around.
“Are your parents here, kids?” the reporter asked. “We have to get their permission to air your interviews.”
“Well, no,” I said. “They’re all at the detective agency solving some jewel and bank robberies.”
She nodded. “I’ll get back to you about reaching them.” She and the cameraman turned away.
“Whew,” CC said. “Good thinking. We might be safe.”
We all did high-fives but I knew I wasn’t going to be safe until I got home and dealt with my soaking wet clothes.
“Let’s go,” I said. We took off our life jackets.
Marty Raymond was saying, “… Luckily we’re opening a new outlet in this neighbourhood and I just happened by yesterday …”
We headed for our backpacks. As we hoisted them, Marty Raymond said something to the reporter and hurried over to us, still holding the caiman. It had a dribble of algae hanging from its snout. Otherwise it looked quite calm.
“Thanks, pardners,” he said. “Great get. This is gonna launch Gator Aid with flying colours on Saturday. You can email me that video? Wanta run it on continuous loop in the store window. Great publicity.”
“Lucky for you someone dumped their pet,” CC said.
Marty Raymond winked. In a lower voice he said, “Maybe lucky for me there was a pond close by that a, uh, Gator Aider could slip one of his little buddies like Chester here into for a day or so.” He nodded at the caiman in his hands.
“You mean—” Zal said.
“Tricks of the trade,” Marty Raymond smiled. “We all gotta eat. Now listen, come on down on Saturday, we’ll do it up right. Now, I know those weren’t your real names. Thank you—”
“CC.”
“Zal.”
“And you’re Duncan,” he said to me. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t.
I nodded.
Solemnly he said, “Thank you, CC, Zal and Duncan.”
Solemnly we all said, “You’re welcome.” It’s easy to be solemn when a caiman is being held close to your face, even if it does look calm.
Marty Raymond must have caught on because he laughed and lifted Chester away. “Hey, you guys, it’s been a slice. See you Saturday, I hope. And drop in any time.”
“I will,” I called as he hustled back to the TV crews.
I squelched with every step we took. “What time is it?” CC asked. I reached for my phone and stopped in mid-squelch. Oh no. I pulled my phone out of my soggy pocket and pressed the button. The screen stayed blank. As I stared, Zal said, “Just after two.”
Barely an hour had gone by. In that time I’d skipped school, seen Lamar Del Ray in Aunt Jenn’s car, caught a caiman, gotten soaked, lied to stay off TV and wrecked my phone. I was thinking it couldn’t get much worse as a silver Toyota whisked by. Lamar Del Ray wasn’t driving it anymore, unless he’d become a red-haired woman. Aunt Jenn. The Toyota did a rolling stop at the park entrance and vanished in the city traffic.