Downstairs, we were ushered through the doors and outside, where Dad’s car was parked in front like we were royalty. I had never been so thrilled to see the old blue Renault. A crowd of at least one hundred people was gathered behind the barricades. Some of them were cheering and applauding, but others were taking pictures or saying not very nice things to Norman like, “Kiss me, R2D2!” I ignored them. I hoped Norman did too.
The security guard opened the car doors for us and we got in. Dad fired up the engine, we waved good-bye to Fig, Nancy, and the other show employees, and we took off. A police car then pulled behind us—our escort home, Dad said. Just hearing the word “home” activated my mushiness genes, big-time. We were going home. Yes!
By the time we were passing Zabar’s again, this time in the opposite direction, I had gotten the whole scoop from Mom and Dad about what happened after Norman and I slipped out of the car.
My parents were about to run after us, when a traffic cop and a real cop showed up, eager to bust Mom for reckless driving. Mom and Dad explained in a rush of words that they were running from two men in the silver Audi a few cars back, who were trying to kidnap one of their sons. The cops looked skeptical, Dad said, especially since Norman and I had already fled. But since kidnapping is a very serious crime, they decided to check out the guys in the Audi. When they got close, the spies jumped out and ran. The cops ran after them and nabbed them a few blocks away. Yay!
Mom and Dad were taken to a police station, even though they were begging the officers to let them look for Norman and me. One of the cops said that several officers were already searching for us—mostly at TV and art studios in the area, based on what my parents had told them about where I’d said Norman and I were going—and that they needed to get a brief statement from my parents so they had enough to hold the suspects. The fact that one of the guys had a gun made their story much more believable, at least.
At the station, Dad was able to get the cops to contact Interpol, with hopes of tracking down Uncle Jean-Pierre and Jean-Pierre Jr. in France. But at that point there was no news, good or bad.
While my parents were waiting to talk to a detective, the craziest thing happened. Dad looked at a TV and saw Norman and me on the Wake Up, America show. It was pretty much an Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, there they are! moment for my parents, followed by lots of wondering about what the heck Norman and I were doing on TV.
“It was a surreal experience,” Dad told Norman and me, his eyes a little misty. “I couldn’t believe my own eyes, or for that matter everything that had happened this morning. It made no sense! And yet it made perfect sense! Logic coexisting with the illogical!”
Mom added, “I literally pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Look at this bruise!” She held out her arm. “And then I was so relieved that you guys were safe. I began crying like a ninny.”
Hearing that, my own eyes teared up a little.
Dad then said that a small crowd had gathered around the police station TV, including the detective who was about to interview them. When Norman flopped around and his eyeball fell out and rolled away, the crowd went quiet, until the detective tapped Dad’s shoulder.
“Those are your two sons?” he asked, and my dad nodded. “And one of them is a robot?” My dad nodded again. “Well, that’s a little different,” the cop said, scratching his scalp. “But hey, this is New York. I once had to arrest a gorilla.”
While I was inside my head, imagining the scene at the police station, Dad glanced at me in the rearview mirror and said, “You’ve heard what happened with us. Now, without any further delays, I’d like to hear your story. You scared the daylights out of us. Spill it, cowboy!”
“Then I want to know what happened to poor Norman on the show,” Mom added on.
I cleared my throat, hoping it would clear out some of the cobwebs in my brain.
“Well, you see,” I said, kind of fast. “The Jumbotron in Times Square was showing the Wake Up, America show, and I had a sudden, gigantic idea. If I could get Norman on the show by saying he’s the world’s first robotic kid, the spies couldn’t come near us. They wouldn’t want their faces on TV, right?” I exhaled a gallon of air. “Norman and I were running down the sidewalk before I could think if it would even work. I just did it.”
“And you did do it! You got him on the show!” Mom said, turning toward my father. “He really does have your brains.”
“But he’s got your nerves of steel,” Dad said. “I’m going to start referring to my wife as Wonder Woman.”
My mother rolled her eyes, but in a happy rolls-her-eyes way. “So they really believed that Norman was a robot?” she asked me.
I looked at my brother. We traded big smiles. “Only after I had Norman demonstrate some of his mad skills,” I said.
Dad’s eyes were on the road, but it also seemed like he was working on a thought. “Going public with news about Norman as a way to protect him . . . ,” he said. “That’s actually quite smart. It’s one thing to steal secret technology, and a completely different thing to steal technology that has a public face, and a name. Millions of people now know what Norman looks like. You’d have to be an absolute fool to try and take him.” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror and winked in his weird way. “Nice work, kiddo.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling kind of smart, for a change.
I was expecting Mom or Dad to say that if I ever scared them like that again by jumping out of the car with Norman while we were stalled in traffic I was grounded for life. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Mom peered back at Norman and said, “What about you? The police station was noisy so I couldn’t quite hear you, but near the end of the interview you looked sort of . . . uh . . . um . . .”
“Like you had fried your motherboard,” Dad said, throwing on a grin.
Norman improved his posture. “Papa and Maman, I will now tell you the story,” he said. “I believed that I had figured out Matt’s reason why he wanted to get me on television—to save me from the kidnappers—and then I had my own thought. If the kidnappers believed that my technology was inferior, they would have even less motivation to abduct me. So I pretended to be of low intelligence, and then I—” He glanced at me. “What is the proper phrase?”
“Spazzed out,” I said.
“Correct,” Norman said. “I spazzed out and shut myself down. My eyeball falling out was quite unintentional.”
A few seconds passed, then Dad said, “Also brilliant, Norman. Who would want to steal junk technology?” He sneaked a quick look at Mom as we puttered up Columbus. “I think we have two brilliant sons on our hands, Connie.”
“I have long suspected that was true,” Mom said, smiling. And then the rest of us were smiling too.
My dad’s cell phone rang while we were stopped at a traffic light a few blocks from home; I forgot to tell you that our phones were working again. “Hello?” he said. “Yes, it is he. . . . What? Are you absolutely sure? Great! Thanks so much for the news. But is . . . Oh, I see. . . .” His voice dropped down a rung. “We’ll be home in ten minutes,” he said to the caller. “Please call me there if you receive more information.”
He hung up the phone and exhaled. The light turned green. We were slowly moving forward again.
“Great news,” Dad said. “Jean-Pierre is safe. NYPD just received a call from the Prefecture of Police in Paris. No details yet, but I’m sure we’ll know more soon.”
“Thank God,” Mom said.
I was also silently thanking God. But wait, what about . . .
Norman beat me to it. “Pardonne-moi,” he said, “but is Jean-Pierre Junior also safe?”
Dad scratched his nose. “Um, they didn’t say anything about Jean-Pierre Junior, but it’s early yet. We’ll likely have more information later today.”
I glanced at my dad. Even though I couldn’t see his full face, I got the feeling he was holding something back. Could Jean-Pierre Jr. be injured? I wondered. Still kidnapped? Something worse?
Finally Dad pulled the car into the parking garage. The cop who was escorting us left with a honk of his car horn. Home, and safe. To be honest, I hadn’t been sure I’d ever be able to say those words again. Home. Safe. Two of the best words ever invented.