“From a Rollo Tookus,” he adds.
“Must be for you,” my mother says,
Doorman Dave by her side.
“I tried to write down everything he said,”
says the desk clerk, “but some of it was a little
hard to understand. I put question marks
where I wasn’t sure.”
He hands me the message.
“Oh, good God,” I shout.
“Are you all right?” asks my mother.
I take a step away and continue reading
the note.
“CORRINA CORRINA’S A FUGITIVE
FROM JUSTICE!” I declare.
My mother claps her hand over my mouth
and hisses,
“Timmy, you are in a hotel lobby.
Control yourself.”
The desk clerk looks away.
“Mother, I want to go back to my room
right now. I need time alone to think!”
“Timmy, you’re sharing a room with Molly
and Micah. And the Moskins left the restau-
rant right after us. So I’m sure they are going
to be here any min
—”
“I’ll take any time I can get!” I say, cutting
her off.
She takes my hand and walks me toward
the elevator. Dave follows behind.
“You don’t have to hold my hand,” I tell her.
She doesn’t let go.
With her other hand, she presses the
UP
button. And kneels by my side.
“Timmy, I know that you love your detec-
tive work. And it’s wonderful that you do. But
we are going to spend time together and we
are going to talk.”
The elevator doors open.
“We can talk at home, Mother.”
“No, Timmy, here.”
The elevator doors begin to close. Doorman
Dave holds them open.
“We’re gonna miss the elevator, Mother.”
“Timmy,” she says.
“The doorman is holding the elevator,
Mother.”
“You have twenty minutes,” she tells me.
“Then you’re going to come back down to the
lobby and we’re going to talk. Or I’m going to
get very angry.”
I run inside the elevator.
And push the button for my floor.
And the doors close.
And as I ascend, I look through the clear-
glass elevator walls down upon the interior
courtyard of the hotel. And down upon my
mother and Doorman Dave.
Who slowly recede from my view.
And are gone.
I don’t have a lot of time to tell you this next
part, so I’m going to be brief.
Corrina Corrina is so evil she could scare
the tail off a beaver.
She is ruthless and diabolical and cun-
ning and immoral and destructive and secre-
tive and wicked and depraved and malicious
and vicious and dishonorable and corrupt and
fraudulent and vile and nefarious and sordid
and smelly and apparently one time I kissed
her.
5
And with all that said, I’m now running
out of time.
So the point is this:
Corrina Corrina stole the money.
5.
That last part is a claim made by Rollo
T
ookus. It is a
bold and outrageous lie.
And if it were true, I would say
that it was not true. So either way
,
you can rest assured
it’
s not true.
And I will hunt her down and get it back
or my name is not Failure.
And that means going wherever she goes.
And so, when my mother got to my hotel
room that afternoon . . .
. . . She could not get angry with me.
For I was already gone.
But crosstown manhunts can get lonely.
So just as the explorer Meriwether had
Clark . . .
and the outlaw Bonnie had Clyde . . .
the detective Failure had Moskins.
I will not share the details of (1) why I
the city bus across town.
And that is because if there is one trick of
the trade that a detective does not divulge, it is
his method of escape.
Lives can depend on it.
So the point is this:
Molly and I were free.
I to find Corrina Corrina. And she to wit-
ness my greatness.
“Many a good detective has relied on unsa-
vory characters to help them find bad guys,”
I tell Molly Moskins. “Because who better to
know the mind of a criminal than a criminal?”
“I know,” says Molly. “I can help a
lot
!”
I nod.
“We’re like Bonnie and Clyde,” she says.
“But instead of being outlaws, we’re
in
-laws.
Or whatever the opposite of outlaws is.”
“Yes, Molly. And remember, while our
goal is to find the money, our secondary goal is
to project greatness. That’s how I’ve branded
my detective agency, and that’s the message
we’re going to spread from block to block.”
“That’s what I was thinking!” adds Molly.
“Now all the intel we have from Rollo is
that Corrina Corrina is staying at some fancy
hotel. So we’ll have to check every one of
them.”
“Where do we start?”
“With this one,” I say, staring at a bro-
chure I found near the bus stop. “It’s called the
Drakonian.”
“It sounds wonderful!” says Molly.
“Yes,” I answer. “But first I need to make
a phone call.”
“Hi, it’s me, Timmy,” I say into the first pay
phone we can find.
“Oh, Timmy, I’ve missed you!” I hear my
great-aunt Colander say.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. “You sound
sick.”
“Oh, I’m always sick,” she answers. “But
what do doctors know? I’m an old woman.
Where are you?”
“On the road. With my new associate, Molly
Moskins. She’s a criminal, but I’m granting
her leniency in return for her cooperation.”
“Well, good for you, Timmy. Though I’m
not sure I know what that means.”
“It’s detective talk, Aunt Colander. But I
don’t have much time. And I need to ask you
for a favor.”
“What is it?”
“Well, since you’re sort of an honorary
member of my agency, I thought I could trust
you with a highly sensitive mission.”
“Ooh. Sounds exciting. But what do you
need me to do?”
I glance around at the strangers standing
near the pay phone and lean in close to the
receiver.
“Just tell my mom I’m okay.”
She pauses.
“She’s not with you?”
“No. But it’s fine. I’m with a bunch of
people.”
“Who are you with?” she asks.
“I have to get back on the bus, Aunt
Colander.”
“Well, where are you off to?” she asks.
“I have to go.”
“Timmy, I
—”
“I love you, Aunt Colander! Don’t forget
the mission! Good-bye!”
I hang up the phone and run with Molly
for the bus.
“Why couldn’t you just call your mother
yourself
?” asks Molly as we run.
“
Think,
Molly Moskins.”
“I’m not good at thinking,” she replies.
We hop onto the bus just before the doors
close and take a seat near the back.
I lower my voice.
“Because her phone will be
tapped,
Molly
Moskins. That means that if I call, the police
will know exactly where I called from.”
“Ohhhh,” she replies, finally getting it.
“And then they’d catch
us
before we could
catch Corrina Corrina!”
“Exactly,” I reply.
“That would be so unfair!” she declares.
“We’re the in-laws! The good guys!”
“Yes,” I tell her. “It’s as though the world’s
gone mad.”
Defiant, she reaches into her backpack and
pulls out what looks like an old sweatshirt.
Upon which she has written something.
Something that may not fend off this mad
world. But shows we will at least try.
We weren’t the only ones to flee the hotel room.
For as it turns out, everything you get in
a hotel is not free.
The mini-fridge. The room service. The
pay-per-view.
All of it costs money.
And when the hotel came to collect on the
exorbitant bill, my ex–business partner climbed
out the window and down the fire escape.
Though how he met us across town is any-
one’s guess.
I suppose it has something to do with the
fact that he’s a polar bear. And that a polar
bear can sniff out a seal from more than twenty
miles away.
And anyone who can do that can certainly
find a bus filled with sixty smelly people.
And thus, the three of us were now one.
One of us running from justice. Two of us
running to enforce it.
And after a long ride across town, we were
just where we needed to be.
“Welcome to the Drakonian,” says the jug-eared
doorman. “Can I help you with something?”
“We’re looking for a hotel,” I respond.
“Well, you found one. Are you here with
your parents?”
“No,” I answer. “Why would we be?”
“Well, you need to be at least eighteen
years old to check into the Drakonian.”
Molly Moskins steps forward.
“We’re looking for Corrina Corrina,” she
says.
“Is she a guest at the hotel?” the doorman
asks.
“She’s a felon,” I answer. “And we have no
idea where she is.”
“She took the money for Yergi Plimkin’s
books,” adds Molly Moskins.
“Who is Yogi Plimkin?” asks the doorman.
“Yergi,” answers Molly. “And he’s a sad
little boy.”
“And is
he
a guest here?” asks the doorman.
“Negative,” I chime in. “The poor kid can’t
afford books. How is he going to afford a nice
hotel like this?”
“I don’t know,” he answers. “I don’t even
know who he is.”
“Sir, can you please stop going on about
Yergi Plimkin?” pleads Molly. “He has no
books and you’re going to make me cry.”
“Oh, please don’t,” he says, touching Molly
on the shoulder. “I don’t even know what’s
going on.”
“He doesn’t even know what’s going on!”
howls Molly.
“He doesn’t care!”
And quick as a clap of thunder, she begins
bawling.
“Oh, my goodness,” says the doorman.
“What is happening here?”
“
Now
look what you’ve done,” I scold the
doorman. “The little girl’s weeping. Is that
the job of a doorman? To make little girls
weep?”
Strangers begin to gather on the sidewalk.
“I didn’t mean anything bad at all,” he
assures Molly. “I think it’s great you’re help-
ing this . . . uh, Yergi fellow.”
“He said his name
again
!” Molly bellows,
convulsing in renewed hysterics.
“What do you think you’re
doing
?” I ask
the helpless doorman. “
Think
before you talk.”
“Oh, my goodness,” he says, reaching for
an embroidered handkerchief to wipe Molly’s
tears.
As he does so, the crowd of onlookers
grows.
“Don’t look now,” I caution the doorman,
“but your conduct has attracted an angry
mob.”
He looks over at me.
Molly sobs louder.
“Remain calm,” I admonish the doorman.
“This mob has vengeance in their eyes.”
“Okay,” he says to me. “Thank you, but
you are really not helping.”
Molly wails to the heavens.
“All right, all right,” he says, kneeling
in front of the now inconsolable Molly. “Why
don’t we all just step inside the hotel, and the
three of us can take a ni-i-i-i-i-ce comfy seat
in the lobby? Then I can get you some water
and —”
“Oh, good God,” I’m forced to interject,
“my associate’s on the verge of a nervous
breakdown, and all you offer her is
a drink
of water
? It’s like you’re
trying
to inflame the
mob.”
He turns toward me. “Okay, you are truly
not helping the situation, Mr.
—”
Molly begins pulling her hair, as though
she is trying to yank it out in grief-soaked
clumps.
“Failure,” I answer, handing him my card.
“And as an officer of the law, I will save you
despite yourself.”
“No, no, please don’t,” he begins to say,
looking down at my card and then back up at
me.
But I am no longer there.
For I am high atop his doorman’s station.
Heroic and noble.
“DO NOT TEAR THIS POOR MAN LIMB
FROM LIMB!” I bellow to the surging
horde. “THOUGH YOUR CONDUCT WOULD
CERTAINLY BE JUSTIFIED!”
But even this fails to calm the un-calmable
crowd.
So as the doorman ushers Molly inside the
lobby, I rush inside with them. And as I do, I
remain levelheaded enough to order that the
front door of the hotel be guarded by my secu-
rity detail.
Who is unarmed.
Though not empty-handed.
“How long do you think we can stay in here?”
asks Molly, now recovered and splayed across
the couch of the hotel’s largest suite.
“I suppose for as long as our food holds
out,” I answer, staring at the suite’s dining-
room table, now piled high with all the candy
and soda the hotel’s gift shop could give us.
“They let us take everything!” exclaims
Molly, grabbing a handful of Hershey’s Kisses.
“What did you take, Timmy?”
“All the shaving cream I could grab,” I
add. “A detective’s beard grows in fast.”
Molly runs throughout the suite, her voice
echoing like that of a lost yodeler.
“Ooooh, we have a bedroom. . . . And a
living room. . . . And a bathroom. . . . And
ooooooh, a big closet! . . . And a . . .”
Her voice trails off.
She walks back into the dining room.
“What’s a bridal suite?” she asks, staring
down at the cover of a brochure.
“Let me see that,” I say.
“Don’t,” she says, pulling it away from me.
“You’ll get shaving cream on it.”
She opens the brochure. It is filled with
pictures of happy women in long white gowns.
“Ohhh,
bridal
!” she exclaims. “As in the
word
bride
!”
She jumps up and down, flinging the bro-
chure from her hand.
“Oh, Timmy!” she cries. “It’s like we’re
married
!”
She spins around, ecstatic.
“Let me see that!” I say, picking up the
brochure from the floor.
I stare at it and see a photo of a woman
in a long white dress. She is with a man in
a black tuxedo. And they are both riding a
horse.
“Oh, Molly Moskins, don’t you understand
anything
?” I yell. “It’s a horse!”
She looks at the photo.