Chapter Twenty

“Lucky the kid has a lot of hair.”

Guy opened his eyes. His head hurt. Eyes as blue and shiny as two marbles stared down into his.

“You all right, kid?” The policeman held out a cup of water and Guy drank some. His head felt like a balloon with too much air in it—swollen, light, ready to take off and fly high.

A second policeman knelt to inspect the back of Guy’s head. “Three to one and them big as any man, and they bean the kid with a rock.” He shook his head.

Guy sat up.

“Where’s the dog?” he said.

“In the car. He’s a little shook up, you might say, but he’ll be fine. He’s only a pup. Is he yours?”

Guy shook his head. Something seemed to be loose in it.

“No,” he said. “I wish he was.”

“Try standing, son.” The blue-eyed policeman helped Guy to his feet. “Anything broken?” He ran an expert hand over Guy to see if he was in one piece. “Can you walk?”

“Sure.” Guy tottered a few steps. He felt like lying down again. Most of all, he wanted to go home.

“We’ll run you home now,” the other policeman said, as if he’d read Guy’s mind. “Just check in so’s your folks won’t worry. Imagine they’re already worried, you not home and it suppertime already.”

Guy looked at the police car parked at the curb.

“Am I going home in that?” he said.

“What else? Hop in.”

Guy smiled. He was going home in a police car.

“We’ll drop you off, then run the pooch over to the Humane Society,” the policeman said. “They’ll fix him up good as new.”

The dog lay on the back seat. Its eyes were closed. Its sides were moving as it breathed slowly, in and out. Guy got in the front seat, sandwiched between the two policemen.

“Where to, chief?”

Guy looked up at them. They meant him.

“Twenty-two Hot Water Street,” he said. The car pulled out. They were on the way.

“Hot Water Street, huh?” the blue-eyed cop grinned. “They’ll think you’re in hot water for sure when they see you coming home in this.”

Guy’s heart hammered. That’s what he hoped.

“Excuse me, sir, but do you think you could make your light go?”

“Sure thing. I can even turn on the siren, if you want.”

Guy thought that over. “No thanks, just the light would be neat.”

The patrol car turned into Hot Water Street. Guy closed his eyes tight. Oh Lord, please let them see me, he prayed. Let Becca see me. Please let a bunch of kids be hanging around. Let them all see me. Please, Lord. I won’t ask for anything else if you’ll just let that happen.

The Lord must’ve heard. Three boys whizzed by on bikes, then turned to stare as the police car slowed, blue lights flashing.

“Which house is yours?” the blue-eyed cop said.

“That one,” Guy pointed. He saw Becca in the front yard. She and a friend were playing fairy princess. Becca had just made a deep curtsey when the car pulled up and came to a stop.

“Not just a little siren?” the policeman asked again. “Just to make ’em sit up and take notice?”

“Well, okay,” Guy said. “But only a little.”

The cop flicked a switch. The siren sounded very loud to Guy. Becca froze. Her friend clapped her hands over her ears and ran behind the big maple tree. The three boys on bikes stood on the sidewalk across from Guy’s house, waiting.

First the driver got out. Then the other policeman. Then came Guy.

Becca’s hand flew toward her mouth. Then she ran to the house, screaming, “It’s Guy! It’s Guy! The policeman brought Guy home!”

Becca had some loud voice. Guy had never realized how loud it was until now. He smiled, listening to her.

Across the street the three kids on bikes watched, their mouths hanging open. Up and down the block people came out and stood watching. It wasn’t every day a police car, lights flashing, siren sounding, delivered someone to his front door on Hot Water Street.

“What’s going on here?” Guy’s father came to the door, glasses pushed up on his forehead, newspaper in his hand.

“Your boy got into some trouble, sir,” the blue-eyed policeman said.

“My boy never gets into trouble,” Guy’s father said firmly. “He’s a good boy. A very good boy. Never caused his mother or me a speck of trouble.”

“He is a good boy,” the policeman agreed. “And a brave one, too.” Then he told what had happened to Guy. And the dog. By this time Guy’s mother and grandmother were gathered around, listening. Guy’s mother insisted on inspecting his head and then called the doctor to make an appointment to bring Guy to see him. The cut on Guy’s head had stopped bleeding; it wasn’t even very deep.

“Like I said, it’s good your boy has such a fine head of hair,” the policeman said. “Acted as padding when they walloped him.” Then he took out his notebook and wrote down everything Guy could remember about the MONSTER, the one with the gums, and the one with the mouse mustache. That’s the way Guy thought of it, the mouse mustache.

“All right, that’s everything, then.” The policeman put away his notebook. “We’re going to run the pooch over to the Humane Society, see what they can find.” He tipped his hat to the crowd. “I’ll be in touch.”

For the first time, Guy’s grandmother spoke.

“What will happen to the dog?” she said.

The cop shrugged. “Hard to say. Dog’s got no license, no identification tags of any kind. Probably a stray. Chances are they’ll put it up for adoption. If no one claims it after a certain length of time, well …” The cop shrugged again.

Guy’s grandmother, dark eyes gleaming, looked hard at Guy.

“I want that dog,” he heard himself say. “It’s like the dog I wanted all along. I think it’s the one I wanted. It’s a really nice dog. Just the right size. I bet he’d never make a mess or chew things or anything. He’d be a good watchdog too.” Guy looked up at his mother and father.

“Well.” Guy’s father cleared his throat. “I guess that could be arranged. Thank you, officer. We’ll call the Humane Society within the next few days, see how things stand.”

The policemen tipped their hats.

“Good luck, son,” the blue-eyed one said to Guy. By this time, quite a crowd had gathered, wondering what was going on. The policemen got back into their car and, lights flashing, drove away.

“Come in, Guy, let me have a good look at you,” Guy’s mother said. As he turned to go in, he heard Becca say in her loud voice, “Oh, it’s my brother. He got into trouble and the police had to bring him home. His name is Guy. Yes, he’s my brother. He’s eight. Yes, his name is Guy. He’s eight. He got into trouble. Yes, he’s …”

Guy smiled. If Becca had anything to do with it, everyone in town would know who Guy Gibbs was.