— 7 —
“RACCOONS? LET ME TALK TO them,” Butterbean said. “I can handle this.” She’d never met any raccoons before, but she liked their stripey tails, and she could start out by mentioning that. Everybody liked compliments.
Walt shot Oscar a panicked look. She didn’t know a lot about raccoons, but she did know Butterbean. She didn’t like the odds.
Besides, if Oscar was freaked out, Walt was freaked out. “No, Bean, not here. Let’s go back and discuss.”
“But—” Butterbean protested.
“Discuss! Now!” Oscar said, flying over to the door, where Chad was still hanging limply, drumming his free tentacles against the doorframe.
“FINE,” Butterbean grumbled, turning around and stomping after him.
“Oh, you’re back,” Chad said in a bored tone. “Any time you’re ready. Take all the time you need. Don’t mind me.”
“I think that’s sarcasm,” Polo whispered to Marco as she held tight to Walt’s fur.
“I think you’re right,” Marco whispered back as they went through the doorway.
Butterbean squeezed through after Walt, just barely making it before Chad slammed the door. “Ooh, so sorry. That must’ve slipped.” He smirked as he dangled from the exit sign.
Oscar didn’t pay any attention to Chad. He brushed past, landing on the floor in front of Butterbean and Walt. (Badly. He was right about the floor. It was way more slippery than he was comfortable with.) Dunkin and the other rats weren’t anywhere to be found. (Oscar couldn’t help but be relieved about that. He was glad his landing hadn’t had an audience.)
Oscar cleared his throat. “Look, Butterbean, I know you want to help, but the situation has changed. I’ve seen programs about raccoons. I know what they’re like. They’re not to be trusted. They’re thieves. They destroy property.” He looked at the others significantly. “They have…” He paused. “A REPUTATION.”
Butterbean put on her best shocked face. (The situation seemed to call for it.)
Marco and Polo exchanged a look.
Oscar frowned at them. “What?” he said in irritation. “You don’t trust my sources? Believe me, I’ve done my research. I don’t say these things lightly.”
Polo squirmed. “It’s not that,” she said, not meeting Oscar’s eyes. “It’s just… well…” She trailed off and looked over to Marco.
“See, rats also have a reputation,” Marco said slowly.
“It’s a bad reputation,” Polo said. She wrung her hands together. “I don’t know if it’s raccoon bad. But it’s bad.”
“Some people don’t like rats,” Marco whispered.
“Hmm.” Oscar frowned. They had a point. He had seen several programs about rats that were less than complimentary, it was true.
“Have you ever met a raccoon?” Walt asked after a minute.
“Well, no,” Oscar said. “Not personally.”
He looked over at Marco and Polo and Wallace in his tiny sailor top. The rats on the Television never wore tiny sailor tops. Maybe Marco and Polo were right. Maybe he was being unfair and judgmental. He hadn’t really given the raccoons a chance. But then he remembered that hand poking out through the insulation. He shivered.
“Just let me talk to them,” Butterbean said, looking up at Oscar hopefully. “I’m sure I can therapy the situation.”
“That’s not how therapy dogs work, Bean,” Walt groaned. She didn’t know how many times she was going to have to explain this.
“No, Bean, it’s too risky,” Oscar said, staring up at the door. If he were smart, he would go right back upstairs and let Butterbean explain the situation to Biscuit in the morning. If he were smart, he’d leave the loading dock rats to fend for themselves. But he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be smart. And he had a worse feeling that Butterbean was never going to give up.
“We shouldn’t mess with raccoons, Oscar,” Walt said in a low voice. “This isn’t some imaginary ghost situation. This could be dangerous.” They’d dealt with sketchy situations in the past, but never situations that put them in real physical danger. (Well, except for once or twice.)
Oscar looked at Walt and nodded. They should definitely go home. Leave it alone. Messing with raccoons was always a bad idea.
“Walt is right, Bean,” Oscar said. “It could be dangerous.” He took a deep breath. “So I should be the one to talk to the raccoons. I’m the only one who can make a quick escape if I need to.” He made elaborate flapping motions. “Wings. See?”
Butterbean nodded. “Right. Wings.” Oscar had a point. She didn’t have wings. Any escape she made would have to be on foot. It wouldn’t necessarily be quick.
“Oscar, seriously?” Walt said, stepping in front of the door. “We can’t go in there! They’ll be through that hole in no time. Didn’t you see that hand?”
Oscar flexed his wings. “It’ll be fast. I’ll reason with them. Surely they’ll understand. And then we can at least say we tried. Chad? Can you get the doors?”
Chad rolled his eyes. “We’re talking extra shrimp. Jumbo.” He tapped the code in again and then opened the door. Then he hesitated. “Wait, doors? What do you mean doors?”
“I mean both doors,” Oscar said. “I’m not stopping at the storage room. I’m going out onto the loading dock.”
“Tell me again why you’re doing this?” Walt said to Oscar as they stood in front of the loading dock door. “Because this is a BAD idea. Capital B-A-D.”
“I know,” Oscar said in low voice. “But you know Butterbean isn’t going to let this go. If we leave now, we’ll just have to come back later. And who knows what the raccoons will be doing then.”
“Fine. But I don’t like it,” Walt muttered. Oscar was right—Butterbean could be very stubborn. And those raccoons had already made it pretty far.
“Besides, if my motivational speech works, we’ve saved the day. If not, we’re not any worse off, and we leave it for someone else to solve.” Oscar was secretly very proud of his motivational speaking skills. It was a natural talent he had.
“I guess so,” Walt said. She still had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Mostly because she didn’t think Oscar was as good at motivational speeches as he thought he was. And she kept remembering that little wiry hand poking through the insulation. She just hoped she was wrong.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to do it?” Butterbean said, trotting up behind them. “I can totally go. I have a winning personality.” She’d heard that in the elevator more than once, mostly when she was about to get a treat.
“No, I’ll handle it,” Oscar said. “Chad, remember to be ready with the door.”
Chad dangled overhead and gave what was probably supposed to be an agreeable nod. It was hard to tell with him upside down.
“Remember,” Oscar said. “Open the door, let me out, and close it. And don’t open it again until I tap three times.” He didn’t like having the door closed behind him, but it was the only way they could be sure the raccoons wouldn’t rush the building.
“Right, sure, tap tap, et cetera,” Chad said, inspecting one of his tentacles.
“Good.” Oscar hoped Chad was paying attention. You could never be sure with him.
“Ready, Oscar?” Marco rubbed Oscar’s shoulders like he’d seen a boxing manager do on TV once. He wasn’t entirely sure where Oscar’s shoulders were, so he rubbed around the whole lower neck area and then patted Oscar awkwardly on the back. Oscar seemed to appreciate it.
“Ooh! Take this for luck!” Polo said, slipping something over Oscar’s head.
Oscar hardly noticed. He was focused on taking deep cleansing breaths. He couldn’t mess this up. Finally he stood up straight and tall.
“Okay, Chad,” Oscar said. “NOW!”
Chad entered the key code with one tentacle while he pulled on the door handle with another. The door opened just enough for Oscar to squeeze through.
Taking one last deep breath, Oscar stepped outside. Chad let the door swing shut behind him.
“What did you give him?” Marco asked Polo as they watched Oscar go.
“My button,” Polo said. “It’ll bring him good luck.”
“Wait.” Walt turned slowly to Polo, the fur on her neck rising. “Your SPARKLY button?”
“Uh-huh,” Polo said proudly. “It’ll help.”
“Oh no.” Walt looked at the door in horror. But it was too late. The door had shut. Oscar was gone. “Oh no.”
Oscar heard the door click shut behind him. He was on his own.
The scrabbling sounds had stopped as soon as Chad had opened the door, but Oscar knew the raccoons weren’t gone. They were there. Watching him. Waiting.
He cleared his throat and spoke to the empty loading dock. “Ahem. Loading dock raccoons! My name is Oscar, and you may consider me to be a representative of the Strathmore Building. As representative, and as a resident, I request that you vacate the premises immediately.”
He tried to sound as official as possible, but he wasn’t sure he was pulling it off.
He waited for some reaction, but there was none, just silence.
Oscar cleared his throat a second time and took a tentative step forward, careful to avoid the gaps in the metal slats below his feet. He’d only been there a few minutes, but he could already tell that he was not a fan of this loading dock.
“Attention, raccoons!” He tried again. “Raccoon friends!” He thought the “friends” part was a nice touch. “This is your Strathmore Building representative, Oscar, asking you to please find a new gathering place. You are disturbing the residents inside. This is your last warning. Please leave.”
“SHINY.” A soft voice wafted through the air. Oscar looked sharply to the side, but he couldn’t see anyone there.
“Please don’t make me tell you again,” Oscar said, his voice shaking slightly. “You need to leave immediately.”
He took another step forward. Whatever Polo had given him bumped softly against his chest, and he looked down quickly. His eyes widened.
There was one thing all of the raccoon programs on the Television had made perfectly clear. Raccoons couldn’t resist sparkly things. And there was nothing more sparkly than Polo’s button.
“Um, please leave by morning. That is our request.” Oscar tried to cover the button with his feathers, but it was too big to hide. “Thank you for your attention. Best wishes, good luck for the future, that will be all,” Oscar said, scrambling backward toward the door. But before he could reach it, a small thin hand reached out from between the loading dock slats and grabbed his foot.
“URK!” Oscar gurgled, looking down. The hand that gripped his foot was just like the one that had reached out through the insulation in the storage room. And it wasn’t the only one. Dozens of tiny hands were reaching up in between the slats, feeling around the loading dock, and grabbing at whatever they could find. And the only thing to find was Oscar.
“SO SPARKLY.” Another voice drifted up from underneath the loading dock.
“OOOOOhhhhhhhh.” There was a chorus of giggles. “Mine, please.”
“Yes, very sparkly, ha-ha, thank you!” Oscar shook his foot desperately, but as soon as he’d freed one foot, a hand latched onto the other. Panicked, Oscar launched himself into the air, pulling against the raccoon holding him down.
In one huge effort, he jerked his leg free and shot up into the sky. He looked down just in time to see raccoons swarming onto the loading dock from all sides, looking up at him with glowing eyes and outstretched hands.
Oscar swerved around and flew directly into the loading dock door, tapping against it repeatedly.
The door opened a crack. One eye peered out. “Was that three taps? We agreed to three taps.” Chad’s voice came through the crack.
“Yes, that was three! You know it’s me. LET ME IN!” Oscar yelled, beating his wings against the door. He glanced back just as one large raccoon rose up out of the group on the loading dock.
“You don’t make the rules around here, OSCAR,” the raccoon said in a deep, echoing voice. “I don’t like being told what to do. Better fly away while you still can.” He laughed a low, booming laugh, which was immediately accompanied by giggles from the other raccoons half-hidden in the shadows.
Oscar cringed. That was the authoritative voice he’d been trying for earlier. No wonder the raccoons hadn’t listened to him.
He crashed against the door again, just as Chad’s eye disappeared, and the door swung open another inch. Oscar threw himself at the gap, managing to squeeze inside (only losing a feather or two in the process).
He could still hear the big raccoon laughing as the door swung shut behind him.
“So what did they say?” Butterbean asked, sniffing at Oscar’s foot as he collapsed in a heap in front of them. She blinked at him expectantly.
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Walt said, wrapping her tail around her feet.
“You could say that,” Oscar said.
“We heard laughing,” Polo said. “Did they agree to go away?”
“Not exactly,” Oscar said, scrambling to his feet. “I don’t think they’re leaving.”
He ducked his head so that Polo’s button slipped off his neck and onto the floor. “They did like your button, though.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her just how much they’d liked it.
“Well, duh,” Polo said, picking it up and putting it back on. “It’s beautiful.”
Walt raised an eyebrow at Oscar, but he shrugged it off.
“So what do we do now?” Butterbean asked.
“Nothing,” Oscar said. “We do nothing. We go home.”
“I told the rats we were getting the loading dock back for them,” Butterbean said. “They’re kind of our clients now. So we need to do SOMETHING.”
“We’ll see,” Oscar said, climbing tiredly onto Butterbean’s head. He wasn’t worried about disappointing the loading dock rats. He wasn’t worried about Biscuit getting evicted. What he was worried about was that raccoon. Because now it knew his name.