Showoff Page 12

  Yet never had he encountered anything quite like the mysterious, three-foot-high device the stringy-haired girl was trying to bring into the Global Kennel Society show.

  “What is it — some kind of fancy blow-dryer?” He tipped up her hand truck and examined the base. “Are these caterpillar tracks? It looks like a miniature tank.”

  Melissa was tongue-tied behind her curtain of hair. She had only recently developed the courage to hold conversations with her classmates. Adults were out of the question — especially adults in uniform. “It’s for our dog,” she managed, but so quietly that he was unable to hear her over the crowd noise.

  “What was that? Speak up!” Hamlin prompted.

  A Global official came over to investigate. “What seems to be the problem here?”

  “I can’t let her inside,” the security chief explained, “until I know what this contraption is for. And she can’t seem to tell me.”

  The official examined the device, running a hand over the smooth, stainless-steel casing. Her fingers stopped on the engraved name, and she took a closer look.

  SPRITZ-O-MATIC

  “Spritz-o-matic,” the woman repeated. “Is this for Lex Luthor Savannah Spritz-o-matic?”

  Melissa nodded vigorously, although her eyes made no appearance from their hiding place behind her hair.

  Hamlin was mystified. “And exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Lex Luthor Savannah Spritz-o-matic is the dog who brought the great Dmitri Trebezhov out of retirement,” the official explained. “He’s the most exciting Doberman to come along in fifty years.”

  “So I can go in?” Melissa barely whispered.

  “Not till I know what I’m looking at,” the chief insisted.

  The official overruled him. “If this is good enough for Dmitri Trebezhov, it’s good enough for me. I vouch for this young lady personally.”

  Logan Kellerman was deep in character when he approached the man with the mustache in the benching area. “Beautiful dog,” he complimented. “What do you think of mine?” He adjusted the blanket in his arms to reveal the gray, needle-nosed features of Ferret Face.

  The man recoiled. “Holy hamburgers, what do you call that?”

  “He’s a Manchurian weasel terrier,” Logan explained. “Not yet recognized by the Kennel Society. The breed is under review for next year.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure that’s a dog?”

  The actor had prepared for exactly that question. “Weasel terriers date back before the building of the Great Wall of China …”

  He felt a tap on his shoulder. Ben.

  “Not now,” Logan hissed. “I’m acting.”

  “But you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “You told me the man with the mustache,” Logan insisted.

  “Yeah, the mustache and the Doberman,” Ben whispered. “This is a Labrador retriever.” He pointed to Mr. Mustache, who stood with Schroeder a few aisles over. “Him.”

  Logan sniffed, annoyed. “An actor can only be as good as his director.” To the retriever owner he said, “Thanks for nothing!” Then he spun on his heel and headed in the direction of Schroeder and his master.

  A nervous yawn escaped Ben, and he dug his fingernails into his arm until the pain had brought him back to alertness. He couldn’t allow himself to fall asleep.

  Not now.

  25

  Luthor’s stunning victory in New Jersey allowed him to skip the class-level competition for Dobermans. He relaxed in his kennel while Dmitri read him another chapter from Lassie Come-Home. The benching area at Global was a madhouse. There were three times as many dogs as at Mid-Atlantic, and large numbers of handlers and support staff. Unlike the outdoor shows, this was a confined, overcrowded space. It was much more distracting for the animals, yet Luthor seemed perfectly calm listening to Dmitri’s gruff but somehow soothing voice.

  Griffin wished with all his heart that he could be soothed, too. He was about to handle a major contender at the biggest show of the year. If that didn’t count as trial by fire, nothing would.

  To divert his mind, he tried to assist Melissa, who was wiring the Spritz-o-matic to the door of their kennel. That was their strategy to trap the person who was out to harm Luthor: Any attempt to open the latch would activate the spray function, covering the guilty party in fluorescent green dye.

  “I’ve set the motion lock on the robot so it won’t move,” she explained. “When you want to take Luthor out, remember to turn off the Spritz-o-matic. If you forget, you’re green. Got it?”

  “Won’t Luthor get sprayed, too?” Griffin asked, worried.

  The shy girl shook her head. “I’ve disabled the nozzles that point in his direction. He’ll be fine.”

  Griffin nodded tensely. “The plan is totally in place.” He spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Control to lookout. Pitch — any sign of our suspects?”

  “Check,” the climber reported from her perch high up in the arena. “I’m on top of the scoreboard, looking straight down at that Nigel guy.”

  “Are you sure it’s him?” Griffin asked.

  “You can’t miss this creep,” Pitch assured him. “You can smell the hair oil from here. This is the third time he’s been in the ring. How many dogs does he have?”

  “He’s a factory,” Griffin told her. “He’ll be hard to keep track of, but do your best. Control out.”

  Someone behind him said softly, “Is it okay if we set up here?”

  Griffin would have recognized that voice anywhere. He whirled to find himself looking into the sea-green eyes of Emma Hightower. “Yeah!” he exclaimed too eagerly. Then, remembering how angry she’d been at the end of Mid-Atlantic, he added. “Um — are you sure you want to be so close to us?”

  She nodded and set Jasmine’s kennel down next to the spot where Dmitri’s crutches leaned against a pillar. “Everyone’s talking about what happened to Mr. Trebezhov. The word is that you’re going to handle Luthor.”

  “Or Luthor’s going to handle me,” Griffin tried to joke.

  She studied the floor. “I’m sorry I said such mean things about you and Luthor. I was just being a sore loser. I thought Jazzy had a real shot at Best in Show.”

  Griffin watched as the poodle hunkered down in her cage, completely absorbed in Dmitri’s voice reading from Lassie Come-Home. She and Luthor seemed to be comfortably aware of each other.

  “I understand,” Griffin told her. “It’s a high-pressure business.”

  The PA system crackled to life. “The Doberman breed judging will commence in five minutes.”

  Griffin squared his shoulders. “Speaking of pressure …”

  “You’ll do fine,” Emma soothed. “Luthor’s awesome. He deserves all the attention he’s getting.”

  To walk from the drab, cluttered benching area into the brilliantly lit arena was like entering an alien landscape. The stands were packed, and thousands of camera flashes made them seem to glitter. As Griffin stepped onto the green carpet of the ring, he looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Pitch peering out over the side of the scoreboard. He couldn’t spot her, but it was nice to know she was up there, rooting for him. He did notice Dmitri inconveniencing the entire front row of the grandstand as he thumped his way to his seat. Ben was with him, looking on anxiously. Melissa was stationed back at the Spritz-o-matic, and Logan was circulating with his Manchurian weasel terrier. It was the plan, unfolding in its complex glory. But in a spot like this, Griffin was too nervous to appreciate it.

  Everything had come down to this: Would Luthor perform for anyone but Dmitri? They were minutes away from finding out.

  At last, the moment of truth arrived, and the judge’s hands were on Luthor. Griffin could envision the nightmare scenario as clear and as large as a horror movie in IMAX: Luthor, recoiling from the touch; the bark of outrage; the snap of sharp teeth; the disqualification; the disgrace….

  When there was no sound, he dared to open his eyes. He had never seen Luthor
so totally serene. At that moment, he knew that the big guy could do it. Luthor was going all the way.

  And when the gaiting and stacking were through, and the judge announced, “Number forty-one,” Griffin didn’t even have to check his armband to confirm it. Luthor had won Best of Breed.

  The roar of approval that rang out in the arena sealed the victory. The most knowledgeable crowd in the dog world had taken its first look at Lex Luthor Savannah Spritz-o-matic, the next superstar of the Global Kennel Society.

  In the stands, Ben was on his feet, screaming himself hoarse. Even Dmitri raised a crutch in triumph, knocking a very stylish hat off the head of a well-dressed lady.

  From the walkie-talkie in his pocket, he could hear Pitch screaming from somewhere above. “What just happened? What just happened? It’s good, right?”

  He raised his arm, flashing a triumphant thumbs-up in the direction of the scoreboard.

  A few of the other handlers came forward to offer their congratulations, but Griffin could feel resentment radiating from Mr. Mustache. This meant an early exit for Schroeder.

  Ben caught up with Griffin and Luthor at the tunnel that led to the benching area. Logan was waiting for them there. Ferret Face tried to make the leap to his owner, but Logan held him tightly.

  “Luthor won Best of Breed!” Griffin announced, delighted.

  Logan’s mind was elsewhere. “These people are total snobs,” he announced, lip curling. “Everybody says there’s no such breed as a Manchurian weasel terrier. Like they’re such big experts!”

  “They are experts,” Griffin reminded him. “And there is no such breed as a Manchurian weasel terrier. Get a grip.”

  Logan sighed patiently. “An actor has to immerse himself in a role.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t have to do it with some other guy’s ferret,” Ben muttered.

  Dmitri came up behind them. “Congratulations, my brother,” he said to Luthor. “And I am truly sorry.”

  As they started along the aisle to their spot, Griffin waved to Melissa. “Good news — we advanced!”

  It was only then that he noticed the expression on her face. Her curtain of hair was parted, revealing skin that was chalk white, her eyes haunted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I — I only went to the bathroom. I was gone less than a minute, and when I got back —” She indicated a piece of paper taped to the top of Luthor’s kennel.

  sTAy hoMe tOMorRow oR

  wHaTever hApPenS wiLL bE

  bY yOUr oWn HaNd

  Griffin turned to Emma, who was fluffing Jasmine’s white pouf with a tiny pick. “Did you see anyone come near our kennel?”

  “No, but I’ve been busy with Jazzy,” she replied. “What’s going on?”

  “Somebody’s out to get Luthor,” Griffin told her. He turned to the others. “It can’t be Mr. Mustache. He was in the ring with me.”

  “Unless he hired someone else to do his dirty work for him,” Melissa put in.

  “What about that Nigel guy?” Ben suggested. “He doesn’t handle a Doberman.”

  “Maybe my mother saw something,” Emma said helpfully. She waved over to the next aisle. “Mom, can you come here for a minute?”

  Mrs. Hightower detached herself from a conversation and picked her way through the tight rows to her daughter.

  Griffin stared at her, first in recognition, then in shock. His mind took him back to the Cedarville Mall on that fateful day of Luthor’s rampage and Electra’s injury. Right before the chaos, they had found themselves standing right next to this lady — a tall red-haired woman in a silver raincoat!

  He was such a natural planner himself that when he glimpsed the enemy’s plan, he recognized it at once. It played itself out in his brain like a movie: Mrs. Hightower, a dog expert, instantly recognizes Luthor’s potential to create havoc. She reaches into the pocket of her raincoat, drawing out the dart gun….

  “It was you!” he accused Emma. “You knew Jasmine could never beat Electra. So you sent your mother to cause a riot at the Cedarville Mall! And she used poor Luthor to do it!”

  Mrs. Hightower was thunderstruck. “Emma wasn’t even at that mall appearance,” she exclaimed. “I just happened to be there shopping.”

  “Exactly what are you trying to say?” Emma demanded.

  “I’m not trying to say anything; I’m saying it! Your mother shot Luthor with a dart and made him injure Electra. And now that he looks like a winner, you’re after him, too! You’ve been threatening us — you had the nerve to do it right here! You put Dmitri in the hospital, and you almost sprayed Luthor with Nair — all so Jasmine can win a stupid dog show!”

  Waves of red-hot anger were radiating from Emma. “There was always something about you, Griffin Bing, that I couldn’t quite put my finger on! Now I know what it is! You’re a moron!”

  “Yeah, well, this moron is breaking up with you!” Griffin snarled. “We’re finished!”

  “I take it back!” she shrilled. “You’re not a moron — you’re completely insane!”

  “We’ll see who’s insane tomorrow when Luthor wipes up the arena with that useless puffball of yours!” Griffin shot back.

  Shaking with rage, Emma grabbed Jasmine’s leash and stormed away from them. Her mother followed, turning back to warn Griffin, “You stay away from my daughter!”

  Dmitri put a large hand on Griffin’s shoulder. “You are man of passion, my young friend.”

  “Do you think they really did it?” Ben asked his friend.

  “It is of little importance,” said the big Russian.

  Griffin was astonished. “Are you kidding? They put you in the hospital! They broke Electra’s tail! They got our friend’s family sued for seven million dollars! “

  “Details.” The handler shrugged it off. “It will all be settled tomorrow on the only battlefield that matters — in the ring.”

  26

  Ben awoke early the next morning and hurried downstairs to a sight that very nearly laid him out flat. His father, still in pajamas and bathrobe, sat at the kitchen table, leafing through a copy of the yellow pages.

  “Dad — why aren’t you getting ready for work?”

  “I took a half day,” his father replied in a haggard tone. “There’s definitely some kind of animal in our attic. But I’m afraid to go and look myself — the last thing we need is a big, rabid raccoon getting loose. It’s time to call in a professional.”

  Ben fought off a rush of panic. Global was a two-day event, with all the important stuff — the group judging and Best in Show — coming toward the end.

  How’s Luthor supposed to win if we can’t get him out of the house?

  “Maybe we should just — you know — wait,” Ben wheedled. “If the animal could squeeze in, it could also squeeze out, right? Maybe it’ll just leave.”

  Mr. Slovak shook his head. “Too risky. What if it’s a pregnant female? Next thing you know, there’s a whole metropolis up there.”

  By the time Ben was back upstairs breaking the news to Griffin, he was gray in the face. “What are we going to do?”

  Griffin looked thoughtful. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to confess. One way or another, this thing ends today. We won’t be able to keep it a secret forever. Especially if Luthor becomes the most famous dog in the world.”

  Ben was against it. “You don’t know my folks. They could be so mad we’ve been lying to them all summer that they won’t let us go. Can you imagine losing Global because we don’t show up? Dmitri’ll kill us! I’ll kill us!”

  “Good point.” Griffin didn’t panic. The Man With The Plan never did. It was a waste of good effort when you could be finding a solution. He grabbed the phone and dialed the Benson home.

  Pitch answered. “Jeez, Griffin. You mind if I finish my cornflakes before I go use the Coliseum scoreboard as a hammock?”

  “First things first,” he told her. “We’ve got a problem.”

  She was instantly on board. The team was alw
ays up for a challenge. “What can I do?”

  “Remember that mountain rescue course you took last summer …?”

  The climbing harness fit easily around Luthor’s midsection, and the nylon alpine cords were rated at one thousand pounds plus. Griffin, Pitch, Melissa, and Logan were assembled in the attic — more than enough manpower to support the Doberman’s weight. Ben was poised on the back patio, ready to receive the package and smuggle it out of the yard.

  When Luthor eased over the windowsill, he looked twice as big as usual, and three times as heavy. His trip down was a little choppy, but the Doberman was alert enough to use his big paws to cushion his body from scraping along the aluminum siding. Through the kitchen window, Ben could see the back of his father’s head. Dad was still poring over the yellow pages, completely unaware that a hundred-and-fifty-pound animal was being lowered out of his attic not six feet behind him.

  “Easy, boy. Don’t be scared,” Ben whispered as Luthor approached the ground.

  Their biggest fear was that Luthor would be so traumatized at being dangled in thin air that he would forget his training and revert to his old self. But as the Doberman touched down, Ben saw nothing but cool serenity in the dark eyes.

  Dmitri really is a genius, he thought to himself. Nothing could get a rise out of this dog.

  He undid the harness and signaled to Griffin in the attic window. Ropes and harness were drawn back up the side of the house, disappearing from sight.

  Inside the kitchen, Mr. Slovak found the listing for the company he’d been looking for. He reached for the telephone.

  Electra the beagle, the most decorated dog in Global Kennel Society history, sat on a satin cushion in the Coliseum, watching the competitors arrive for day two. Until a new Best in Show was selected later that afternoon, she was still the reigning champion.

  Whether or not she recalled her own glories in this ring was anybody’s guess. But she seemed animated and interested as the contestants walked past on the way to the benching area. Only once did her perfect composure desert her — when the top Doberman appeared. He made her nervous — filling her with the sense that something bad was about to happen.