MAX had worked hard his whole life to express himself in words, but expressing himself in grunts and eye rolls and whistles and shoulder taps was much harder.
“Max, what are you trying to tell me?” Alex said, turning from the front seat to look at him.
He angled his body, darting his eyes toward the trunk. All he could think about were Alex’s words: Basile worked for you-know-who. That puts the Benthams one degree of separation from him . . . . Let’s keep our eyes and ears open . . . .
All he needed was his eyes. The last time Max had seen the Niemand Enterprises symbol was on the side of a submarine—right before Niemand had kidnapped them.
Alex had been right not to trust Bitsy. “Hmmm . . .” he mumbled. “N . . . E . . .”
“Any what?”
“Hmm hmmm . . . logo . . . logo . . . trunk . . .”
“What’s he saying?” Bitsy asked.
“Nnnnn . . . eeeeeee!” Max said.
“Please excuse my cousin,” Alex said. “He has unique ways of showing his excitement.”
This was hopeless. Max turned to Bitsy and blurted, “Where are you taking us?”
“You already know where I’m taking you,” Bitsy said with a confused laugh, as she squinted through the windshield. “To 2397 Claxon. And we’re almost there . . . .”
The car was slowing down as Bitsy swerved around potholes. On either side of the street, boarded-up buildings alternated with rubble-strewn lots like broken teeth. A rat peeked over a toppled brick, grabbing a tossed-off chunk of pizza on the other side. On the next block was a long parking lot ringed by a razor-wire fence. Just beyond it stood a stout brown-brick building with faded white letters on the wall: PRESTIGE STORAGE.
“That’s the place,” Bitsy announced.
“A storage facility . . .” Alex said. “OK, this is making sense. I’m figuring the club told Queasly to burn the list, but he didn’t want to. He knew that the men were just acting out of anger. It was crazy to just destroy it. So he reported it ‘incinerated’ to the archives. But he really snuck it away to this place. Does that sound right?”
“Spot on,” Bitsy said.
“And storage lockers have locks.” Alex was looking at Queasly’s note again. “If the numbers in the middle are the street address, then these other numbers, at the bottom of Queasly’s message? Maybe they’re a combination!”
“Lo . . . go . . .” Max squeaked, pointing toward the back of the car.
As Bitsy drove up to the gate, an imposing sign stared back at them, reading Admission Only to ID Holders with Appointment.
“We don’t have an appointment,” Alex said. “Or an ID.”
“We’ll just have to convince them to let us in.” Bitsy waved her fingers to a guard who approached them from a side door.
“Us!” Max blurted, pointing to himself and then Alex. “Us! This us!”
“Pardon?” Bitsy said.
“Alex and me us!” Max said. “Just Alex and me. Alone.”
Alex looked at him oddly. “Max, what has gotten into—?”
“Because . . . Bitsy has to go back to her mummy!” Max said. “She’s really angry!”
Bitsy sighed. “Well, you know, he does have a point.”
The guard was a short, heavy man with thinning hair and a nose that twisted and turned like a ski slope. As he lumbered toward them, Bitsy rolled down the window. “We’re looking for the security guard.”
“That would be meself,” the man growled, pointing to a badge on his chest that read PRESTIGE STORAGE SECURITY: GUS. “Do you have your ID?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Gus,” Bitsy said with a laugh. “I saw you, and I just assumed a modeling agency worked here.”
The guy’s face contorted into a pained expression that Max realized was his smile. “Aw, well, heh heh, people do say that sometimes,” Gus said. “Me mum does anyway.”
“Would you be a love and let us in?” Bitsy said. “Sadly, sweet Grandmama has left us, and it will be such a comfort to retrieve her effects for the memorial service.”
“Sweet Grandmam—?” Max blurted, but Alex put her hand over his mouth.
“Of course, lass, so sorry,” Gus said, as he inserted a key into a metal box.
The gate slid open and Bitsy quickly drove through. She pulled up to a door at the side of the building marked Entrance and said, “Will you text me when you’re finished? I’m ever so eager to learn what happens!”
Max nodded. He thought his heart was going to bust right out of his chest.
He and Alex left the car and walked into the building. Just inside the door was a grimy-windowed office, where a white-shirted woman gave them a bored wave. “Max Tilt, what was that all about?” Alex demanded as they walked down a hallway. “Bitsy has been helping us, and you’re acting like a goon!”
“Did you see the back of her car?” Max rasped, trying not to shout.
“Why would I look at the back of her car?”
“Well, I did. There’s a Niemand Enterprises logo on the trunk! She’s working for . . . him. He who must not be named! Even though I just did.”
Alex stopped. “Wait. What? Really?”
“I should have known this would happen,” Max said, pacing the corridor. “I don’t know why I opened my big mouth. I shouldn’t have trusted her. Or her mother. They make me nervous. ‘The Times crossword puzzle’ . . . ‘a quick spot of tea’ . . . ‘Mummy’ . . . ‘old toffs’ . . . they both sound like they’re in a movie.”
“They’re English! They think we talk funny too.” Alex pulled him toward the elevator. “Now are we going to figure out what to do next or just wander around this place arguing?”
Max gulped, looking at a directory above the elevator buttons.
FLOOR 1: 100–199A
FLOOR 2: 200–299A
FLOOR 3: 300–399B
FLOOR 4: 400–498
“There are two numbers left from this note—24013 and 361,” Max said. “I’m guessing 361 is the locker number.”
Alex pressed 3. “OK, Max, let’s be like Max. Think this through. Why would Gloria Bentham have a Niemand Enterprises car?”
“She is Basile’s sister,” Max said. “Basile worked for you-know-who. It’s a degree of separation! That’s what you called it. So maybe Basile got her involved in the company.”
“Or vice versa. Gloria might have gotten the job first, then gotten Basile involved. It doesn’t always start with the guy.”
Max nodded. “Plus, she’s old and smart and well-dressed and all. So she probably had an important job. Like vice president or something.”
Alex groaned. “This may be worse than we thought.”
“How?”
“Think about it. After Stinky is thrown in jail, the other officers of the company move up in rank. So there’s a chance Gloria Bentham is now . . .”
Her words hung in the air, and Max nodded. “The boss,” he said softly.
“If Niemand Enterprises was so eager to find the treasure,” Alex said, “they’re going to be all over this. And we’re giving it to them.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you!” Max said.
As the elevator opened to the third floor, they walked quickly down a cement floor. Their footsteps echoed hollowly against the walls of floor-to-ceiling lockers, until they stopped at number 361. A thick combination lock hung from the handle. “We get this thing and we leave,” Alex said.
“Right to the plane,” Max agreed. “And Brendan.”
“Brandon,” Alex said.
Max pulled out the note from Queasly, checked the numbers, and carefully spun 2, 4, 0, 1, 3. “Cross your fingers,” he said.
With a deep breath, he yanked downward, but the lock didn’t budge. “Wait. Maybe the numbers are supposed to be grouped. Like 24, 0, 13.”
He tried 24, 0, 13. And 2, 40, 13. And every single other combination of the digits, until finally he threw up his hands. “What are we doing wrong?”
“It’s old,” Alex said. “It needs oil.”
“Did you bring any?” Max asked.
“No, but I brought this.” Alex stepped back, let out a roar, and gave the lock a sharp kick.
The clang echoed down the hallway. “Yeeeeeow!” Alex screamed, hopping away and holding her leg.
From inside the locker came a dull thump. The lock swung left and right. Max cupped it in his hand, and it fell open with a soft click. “That,” he said, “was awesome.”
“They . . . teach . . . martial arts . . . in Canada too. . . .” Alex said through a grimace.
The door let out an angry squeal as Max pulled against cranky, rusted hinges. He planted his feet and gave it a solid yank. With a deep GRO-O-O-CK, the door opened. Out of the shadows inside, a massive, jagged shape hurtled toward him. It had a face and wide, glassy eyes.