Home Sweet Motel Read online

  I stepped forward.

  Big Irv blocked my path.

  “What’s in the grocery sack, little man?”

  “Bologna sandwiches. And this weird celery soda Grandpa and maybe two other people in the whole world actually like.”

  “It’s not weird,” said Grandpa defensively. “It’s wonderful. The two are sometimes related.”

  “You find them jewels?” asked Bob. “Big Irv told me all about what you folks was really in here searchin’ for. Diamonds and emeralds and rings filled with rubies and such like that.”

  Big Irv reached into his suit coat and pulled out the fattest roll of cash I’ve ever seen.

  “Here you go, Bob. Your finder’s fee. Five thousand dollars.” He peeled off five thousand-dollar bills.

  Seriously.

  Grover Cleveland’s face was on them.

  My cranky history teacher, Mr. Frumpkes, might’ve been surprised that I recognized the guy who was the twenty-second and twenty-fourth president of the United States, but I did. Maybe he’ll give me extra-credit points.

  “Dang,” said Bob, staring at the stack of cash. “Didn’t know I was gonna hit the lottery tonight.”

  “Why don’t you head on home, Bob?” suggested Big Irv.

  “Cain’t. Shift ain’t over till tomorrow morning.”

  “Fine. Quit.”

  “Cain’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Big Irv peeled off ten more Grover Clevelands.

  “Dang. That’s my kind of retirement fund! See y’all folks later. Don’t let a big ol’ cat bite you in the butt.”

  Bob scampered out of the Quonset hut.

  When Big Irv was certain Bob was gone, he tapped another bulge in his suit coat.

  This one didn’t look like a roll of cash.

  This one looked more like a gun.

  “Heh, heh, heh,” Big Irv chuckled. “Did you seriously think you could outsmart me, little man?”

  He pulled back his suit coat to show us the pistol tucked into a shoulder holster.

  Gloria and Grandpa took a step backward. For whatever reason, I didn’t. Maybe because we were so close to saving the Wonderland, I couldn’t let anything stand in my way, not even a giant named Big Irv.

  “Quick question, Mr. Irv,” I said. “My new friend Gloria here has been teaching me a little about business. You just gave Bob fifteen thousand dollars. That’s ten percent of the one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar reward being offered by the insurance company. Your original finder’s fee was one percent. What’s up with the big change?”

  Big Irv grinned. “Who said I’m giving those jewels to the insurance company, little man? Do you know how much five million dollars’ worth of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies from 1973 would be worth today?”

  “Twenty-seven million.” Gloria and I said it together.

  Big Irv pulled out his roll of thousand-dollar bills again. “Now, I already gave you folks sixty-five hundred dollars for a worthless plastic statue. Wasn’t anything inside it but mouse droppings and seagull poop.”

  Grandpa nodded. “The seagulls liked to sit on Smilin’ Sam’s head. There’s a hole up top where we used to anchor his hat. Just like on Mr. Potato Head.”

  “Whatever,” said Big Irv. “I’ll give you nine thousand more, putting you at fifteen thousand five hundred. Five hundred more than I just gave Bob. All you have to do is give me what you’ve got in that grocery bag, little man.”

  “Can I ask another question first?” I said.

  “Make it fast. I don’t have all night.”

  “How’d you find us?”

  “Easy. While the movers loaded that good-for-nothing hunk of fiberglass junk into the truck, I attached GPS trackers to the bumpers of your mother’s and grandfather’s vehicles.”

  “You’re a pro, sir,” I said. “A true professional. I respect that. You do your job and you do it well.”

  “Little man?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “You talk too much. Just take your cash. Give me the jewels.”

  “I’m not sure nine thousand extra is enough,” I said. “We should split the jewels fifty-fifty. After all, we’re the ones who actually figured out the clues and found the Sneemer brothers’ stash.”

  Big Irv wasn’t grinning or chuckling anymore. In fact, he was starting to look ticked off.

  So I kept going. I can be extremely annoying when I try.

  Remember how I said some stories have more power than all the facts you can find on Google? I was about to put that theory to the test, big-time.

  “By the way,” I said, “ ‘Big Irv’ is a very interesting name. Is that what was written on your birth certificate? Were you a large infant, Irving?”

  “Give me the bag, little man.”

  “My grandfather gave me my name. Phineas Taylor. I’m named after P.T. Barnum. You would’ve liked Barnum, Big Irv. He owned an elephant named Jumbo. I guess my dad might’ve given me a different name, but he was out of town at the time, over in Bangladesh, training Bengal tigers with bologna bits, because it’s surprising how much tigers love bologna. Bologna reminds me of catnip, except it’s a cold cut.”

  Big Irv looked like he was ready to explode.

  “That’s why my grandfather eats so many bologna sandwiches—in memory of my dad and his work with the royal Bengal tigers over in—”

  Big Irv whipped out his pistol. Aimed it at the ceiling. And fired.

  “Shut! Up!”

  The gunshot boomed like thunder under the Quonset hut’s curved steel ceiling. It was as if someone had just banged a gong in all our heads.

  I heard the big cats outside roar and growl. They reminded me of Cheeseball that time I accidentally dropped her metal food bowl on the floor, where it rattled around and made a racket. Cats don’t like loud noises.

  “All right already,” I shouted so I could hear myself over the ringing in my ears. “Keep your money. We won’t tell anybody you found the Sneemer brothers’ loot.”

  “Give me the bag.”

  “One second. I’m kind of thirsty.” I pulled out a can of Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray soda and shook it. “You need to shake it to mix up the celery juice.”

  “Give. Me. The. Bag!”

  I tossed it to him.

  He looked inside. Saw the folded-over Miami Palm Tree Hotel envelope. He was about to pull it out of the bag for a quick inspection when a huge tiger roared—maybe ten feet behind him.

  Big Irv was so startled he spun around and dropped his pistol.

  It was the big cat from that unlocked cage.

  The gunshot had woken the tiger up.

  It was growling at Big Irv and sniffing the bologna-scented air.

  What do you know? So far, my plan was actually working!

  I just hoped it didn’t get us eaten by a tiger.

  Big Irv made a move to pick up his pistol.

  The tiger roared again. Swatted the air with its humongous paw. Then, hips swaying, it stalked forward.

  “Fine,” Big Irv said to the big cat. “You can have the pistol. I have another one in my car.”

  Carefully—very, very carefully—Big Irv backed away from the snarling tiger and eased toward the wide-open rear entrance.

  The tiger turned toward me, Gloria, and Grandpa because we were closer and Grandpa definitely reeked of bologna.

  I shook my Dr. Brown’s soda can one more time.

  I popped the top.

  The hiss of the spritz made the cat back off, just like a spray bottle does with Cheeseball.

  Then I aimed the celery juice geyser toward Big Irv, who was nearly out the back door. The tiger turned to follow the aroma. It started sniffing the air and licking its chops. I was pretty certain the big cat had just picked up the scent of all the juicy bologna tucked inside Big Irv’s bag.

  Big Irv made his move. He jammed the paper sack under his arm like a football and dashed out of the Quonset hut.

  The tiger roared one more time and took off in hot
pursuit.

  “Good work, P.T.,” said Grandpa. “Big Irv won’t stop running until he’s in Miami.”

  “Um, P.T.?” said Gloria, raising her hand like we were in school. “As your business advisor, I have to ask: why didn’t you take Big Irv’s offer of nine thousand dollars in cash?”

  “Because I wanted my stupid story to make him so mad he’d fire his weapon. I just hoped he wouldn’t fire it at us.”

  “It worked,” said Grandpa.

  “I just gave him the old razzle-dazzle!”

  Gloria shook her head. “You like living on the edge, don’t you?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who taught me: no risk, no reward.”

  “That’s for the stock market, P.T. Not guns!”

  “It would’ve been dishonest money,” said Grandpa. “Ill-gotten gains.”

  “True,” said Gloria. “But the bank wouldn’t care. You could’ve used that money to help pay off the balloon loan, which, hello, is why we’ve been doing all this crazy stuff in the first place!”

  “Come on, you guys,” I said. “We need to head out to the parking lot. Make sure Big Irv hasn’t been completely mauled.”

  “Wha-hut?”

  “The man is carrying a sack of smelly meat while being pursued by a ferocious carnivore, Gloria. He might need an ambulance. We should call 911.”

  “We also need some cops to arrest him!” added Gloria. “He just stole all that stolen jewelry!”

  We headed out of the steel storage shed just in time to hear a car door slam, a tiger roar, and spinning tires churn up a backward barrage of gravel. The tiger yelped. I think a chunk of rock must’ve beaned him on the snout.

  Big Irv’s car tore out of the Safariland park-ing lot.

  “Well,” I said, “he’s gone. Baseball Card Bob, too. So we still need to call 911. Someone has to put that tiger back in its cage.”

  Gloria sighed. “I’ll make the call.” She pulled out her cell phone.

  “Ask them to send somebody from animal control,” I suggested. “And see if they know anyone at the Amalgamated Insurance Company.”

  Gloria shot me a puzzled look. “Why?”

  “Because they need to give us our one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar reward.”

  I pulled the Band-Aid box out of my jeans. Shook it so Gloria and Grandpa could hear the diamonds and emeralds and rubies rattling around inside it.

  They were staring at me.

  “I took Grandpa’s advice,” I said with a shrug. “I put the jewels someplace safe. My back pocket.”

  We turned the jewelry over to the insurance company.

  They gave us the one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar reward.

  Big Irv?

  He got an empty Miami Palm Tree Hotel envelope. It’s over forty years old, so maybe it qualifies as an antique. If so, he can sell it on eBay. For five, maybe ten, bucks.

  We gave the cops who responded to our 911 call Big Irv’s pistol. I think they’re going to talk to him about shooting holes in the roofs of other people’s Quonset huts.

  The Sneemer brothers? I hope they enjoyed their time at Dollywood.

  We paid off the balloon loan at the bank a week early. Somewhere there’s a sleazy real estate developer named Arnold weeping.

  And all those statues we were going to sell off? With some of the money left over from the reward, we were able to pay the Roadside Americana Auction Company to ship them all back to St. Pete Beach, where they reinstalled every piece in its proper place. Freddy the Frog is back, doing two shows a day. Well, at least on the weekends, when Gloria and I don’t have school. Smilin’ Sam needed major patching and a paint job (Big Irv had hacked some huge holes into the poor guy), so we decided to go ahead and turn him into Ponce de León, complete with his plumed conquistador helmet, plywood sword, and funny balloon pants. Grandpa loved my Fountain of Tall idea. Gloria had her brand-new Junior Achievement pals at the middle school (where she’s now stuck in Mr. Frumpkes’s class with me) design and market the bottled Growth Elixir water.

  She and her dad are still living at the Wonderland. Tuesday night is our official Family Fish Taco Night together.

  And yes, Mom still acts slightly goofy around Mr. Ortega.

  After paying off the debt and reinstalling all the old attractions, we still have about thirty thousand dollars left to play with.

  Mom wants us to be prudent and save it for a rainy day. We reminded her that this is Florida and it rains nearly every day.

  Grandpa wants to use the surplus cash to lay in new train tracks for the Wonderland Express.

  I want us to buy some sort of audio-animatronic character, like that Abe Lincoln they have in the Hall of Presidents over at Disney World. Maybe we could do Grover Cleveland talking about what it’s like to be on the one-thousand-dollar bill. Better yet, we could bring Stinky Beard the pirate to animated life. Just think of the promotional possibilities during Inter-national Talk Like a Pirate Day!

  We have to come up with something pretty spectacular, though, because Gloria and I seriously want to win that “Hottest Family Attraction in the Sunshine State” trophy from Florida Fun in the Sun magazine.

  Fact: we want to beat Disney World.

  Double fact: we want to do it for Grandpa.

  So, Dad, if you’re reading this (because I sort of wrote it so you would), I hope you’ll realize what you’ve been missing all these years. Like I told my friends at school, living in a motel is always exciting.

  And guess what. There’s a lot more fun in the sun to come—not to mention marvels to behold and stories to be told.

  So drop by anytime.

  We’re having a wonderful time at the Wonderland.

  • Kömək! Tualet tıkanmış! (Azerbaijani)

  • Oh, boy. The toilet is plugged up there. (Canadian)

  • Jiùmìng! Mǎtǒng dǔ zhùle! (Chinese)

  • Pomoć! WC je začepljen! (Croatian)

  • Hjælp! Toilettet er tilstoppet! (Danish)

  • Tulong! Ang banyo ay barado! (Filipino)

  • Aidez-moi! Les toilettes sont bouchées! (French)

  • Hilfe! Die Toilette ist verstopft! (German)

  • Segítség! Eldugult a vécé! (Hungarian)

  • Hjálp! Salerni er stífluð! (Icelandic)

  • Aiuto! La toilette è intasata! (Italian)

  • Tasukete! Toire ga tsumatte imasu! (Japanese)

  • Dowajuseyo! Byeongi ga maghyeoss! (Korean)

  • Tuslaach! Ariun tsevriin böglörökhöös baina! (Mongolian)

  • Pomóż! WC jest zapchany! (Polish)

  • Gargaar! Musqusha waxaa dhaafiyay! (Somali)

  • ¡Ayuda! ¡El baño está atascado! (Spanish)

  • Msaada! Choo ni clogged! (Swahili)

  • Giúp đỡ! Các nhà vệ sinh bị tắc! (Vietnamese)

  • Help! Mae’r toiled yn rhwystredig! (Welsh)

  • Usizo! Indlu yangasese ivimbekile! (Zulu)

  (Circle your answer and find out if you are correct at ChrisGrabenstein.com.)

  1. Florida is the southernmost state in the U.S.

  FACT or FICTION

  2. A crypt in Key West is inscribed I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK.

  FACT or FICTION

  3. Everglades National Park is home to the slowest-moving river in the world.

  FACT or FICTION

  4. More people live in New York State than in Florida.

  FACT or FICTION

  5. Once a year, thousands of Floridians stand at the state line and toss dead fish into Alabama.

  FACT or FICTION

  6. A museum in Florida is dedicated to shrimp.

  FACT or FICTION

  7. Florida is the only state that has two rivers with the same name.

  FACT or FICTION

  8. Gatorade was named after the famous alligator wrestler Ade DePinna.

  FACT or FICTION

  9. Miami installed the first bank automated teller machine (ATM) especially for Rollerbladers.


  FACT or FICTION

  10. Venice, Florida, is known as the Shark Fin Capital of the World.

  FACT or FICTION

  CHRIS GRABENSTEIN grew up going on vacation every single summer in St. Petersburg, Florida, usually in August. When Chris and his four brothers weren’t sweating, they loved visiting all the roadside attractions of a bygone era: Gatorland, the fabulous Tiki Gardens, Weeki Wachee Springs, and the “talking mermaids” at Webb’s City. Chris is the author of many books for middle graders, including Mr. Lemoncello’s Library Olympics and the New York Times bestsellers Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library and The Island of Dr. Libris. He has also coauthored numerous fun and funny page-turners with James Patterson, including the I Funny, House of Robots, and Treasure Hunters series and Jacky Ha-Ha. You can visit Chris on the Web and see some snapshots of his Florida family vacations at ChrisGrabenstein.com.

  BROOKE ALLEN graduated from Savannah College of Art and Design and is the illustrator of the critically acclaimed, Eisner Award–winning Lumberjanes.