Ch. 30
"Anything?" The Search and Rescue worker had to shout to make his voice heard over the wind.
"Nothing!" his partner yelled back. The man peered behind him at the apartment building, the lights in the windows barely visible. "No one's been to the Anderson apartment all week. The door was still locked from the outside and none of the other residents have seen the kid since last Sunday."
"Damn." The first worker wiped some snow away from his goggles, but the gesture was futile as new snow quickly replaced the flakes that he cleared. "Mayor Centipede was right, though; no way could the kid have made it here from his school before the snow hit."
"Yeah, well, better safe than sorry. If he had been here the whole time..."
"Right. Let's move back to the fire station and report in. Hopefully, we'll get an update and be able to pull some of the other teams back."
"Lead the way."
Together, the two Search and Rescue teammates began their arduous journey back to their temporary base. Normally, a two mile walk would have been nothing to them, but between their heavy gear and the blizzard, it was all the men could do just to walk straight without feeling winter's vengeful bite. As such, the partners made sure to attach themselves together with a sturdy tether at their belts, ensuring that neither would get lost on the walk back.
"Wherever that kid is, I just hope he's not out in this snow. He won't stand a chance!"
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The howling icy wind was the first thing Dylan felt when he ran out of the hotel. Immediately, snow whipped against his chubby face and Dylan instinctively shielded his eyes from the stinging sensation as he ducked into a small alley on the side of the hotel. Thankfully, he didn't hear any furious footsteps pursuing him, but then again, Dylan couldn't hear much of anything over the relentless shriek of the wind.
Normally too, Dylan would have been more annoyed at the fact that the loss of backpack meant the loss of his stash of comic books. However, the sheer force of the cold was enough to take the chubby boy's breath away and he found himself wishing that he hadn't stuffed his winter coat and hat into his bag. As it was, his stained sweater wasn't doing too much to keep him warm. Though Dylan didn't know it (and wouldn't have believed it if he was told), he was in the same position James had been in the previous winter when the younger boy had also lacked the proper winter clothing. Unlike Dylan, however, James had been forced to suffer through the cold and snow through no fault of his own.
Dylan, of course, didn't see it that way. Huddled against the cold stone wall of the hotel, all Dylan could think of was how horribly unfair it was that the adults had chased him out into the storm like this. How could they treat him like this? He hadn't done anything bad! All they'd had to do was let him into their stupid party and none of this would have happened! And so what if he'd told the grown-ups he'd been staying in one of the rooms when he hadn't? If those stupid kids had just let him pretend, he wouldn't have had to kick that lady and run away! This was all their fault! The dumb kids, the mean adults, the stupid bugs, stupid James, stupid everyone!
"I hope they all go to jail!" Dylan whined as a particularly vicious gust of wind threw even more snow against the Grand Deluxe's massive frame. "I hate them all!"
The storm paid no mind to Dylan's words, nor did it seem to care how horribly cold the boy was. Dylan, however, did care and couldn't stand another moment freezing out in the storm. As he squinted to make out a safe haven through the curtain of snow, a series of lights to his left caused to Dylan to look around. A few cars, their headlights feeble against the dark and snow, had pulled up a few feet away and heavily bundled people were staggering out of them into a smaller building as fast as they could.
Dylan didn't hesitate and immediately ran over to tag along with the next group who was entering. His earlier escapades of blending into groups had served him well and the the people entering the building were too concerned with getting out of the storm to realize the chubby boy without a coat trailing behind them. Dylan kept his head down against the wind, peering through squinted eyes at the well-polished boots of the people he was following. He didn't know what kind of building the group was headed into, but it was better than nothing!
Finally, the wind and snow ceased and relative warmth settled over Dylan. The boy found himself in a dim hallway where people were shucking off their heavy coats and hats and giving them to a young man, who took the winter clothing and gave the people a slip of paper in exchange. Dylan waited until the man's back was turned before sneaking past him and ducking behind a large potted plant. Said plant, a fern with thick heavy leaves, would not have provided enough of a hiding place for Dylan under normal circumstances, but the room Dylan peered out into was mostly empty.
Sticking his head around the plant, Dylan was confronted with a spacious room full of round tables draped with a white linen tablecloth. The lamps in the room had been turned down low and each table was adorned with a small candle in a glass dome. Each tiny flame burned merrily away and sent flickering lights dancing across the neatly placed silverware atop each table. As to how many tables there were, Dylan couldn't say, but he only counted about ten of them with people sitting down. All of the filled tables were set close to a large stage, which was empty save for a massive black piano where an older man was playing some soft easy melody that was just sweet enough to make the guests forget about the wind howling away outside.
Dylan's brow furrowed as he looked toward the right of the stage. Set against the wall was a large wooden bar behind which were shelves of bottles and glasses. A man with silver hair and wearing a white shirt and black vest was mixing liquids in glasses and handing them off to young men and women in similar outfits. Okay, that was a bartender like in the gangster shows, but did that mean this was a club? No, no it couldn't be! Clubs were full of gangsters smoking cigars, drinking beer, and playing cards so they could steal other gangsters' money! Clubs were dark and had wooden tables with no stupid tablecloths and candles! And clubs did not have waiters like the young men and women who were serving the drinks to the people sitting at the tables. Clubs were supposed to have women in beaded dresses who would sit on the gangsters' laps and call them "honey" and the gangsters would sometimes push them off and shoot them for being mouthy. Dylan loved it when they did that!
Great, just his luck that he had to end up in the stupidest club in the entire city! And now, thanks to the storm, he was trapped here! What was he supposed to do now that-
A savory smell caused Dylan's stomach to growl. Looking up, Dylan saw a waiter walking out of a pair of swinging doors carrying a covered tray. Striding over to one of the occupied tables, the waiter set the tray down on an empty table and plucked off the silver dome to reveal two steaming bowls. He set them in front of the guests- a man and women both with black hair- and offered them both grated cheese and fresh pepper before departing back into the kitchen. The man and woman beamed at each other and began to eat the steaming concoction, their smiles growing wider as they did so.
Once again, Dylan found himself confused. The smell from the kitchen was similar to that of the beef stew James and the bugs had eaten yesterday. But... why was the smell making his mouth water and his stomach growl? Dylan didn't like stew! He hated stew! So why did it smell so good? Dylan didn't know, but it was hard to think with the smell enticing him so. The older boy scowled and shook his head. Huh, good smell or not, there was no way he was going to eat that gunk! But if the club was serving stew for dinner, maybe they were serving dessert too. If Dylan could get into the kitchen, maybe he could sneak some real food to eat and stop his stomach from growling. True, said stomach felt like a weight in his middle and the idea of cake or cookies or ice cream didn't sound quite as good as they normally did, but Dylan was certain they'd taste good! All he had to do was get there!
"Good evening, Miss Spider. Oh, and Mayor Centipede! Good to see you!"
Wait, what?
Dylan hunkered down against the red velvet carpet as the doorman greeted two very familiar faces. Thankfully, the two humanized bugs were too busy handing over their snow-covered coats to glance over in Dylan's direction, but the young fugitive did hear their conversation.
"Has everyone gotten here safely?" Miss Spider was asking now.
"It appears so. We've had a couple of cancellations, but no surprise there."
"None at all. Are you sure you're going to be alright, Anthony?"
"Oh positive, Miss. I'm staying a the hotel next door."
"The Grand Delxue?" Centipede asked. "Hey, have any calls come from that place?"
"No, not recently. Most of our guests here tonight are staying at the hotel, though. Why?"
"Well, turns out our missing boy might be hidin' out there. If anyone calls here with news, call me right over and I'll speak with 'em."
"Yes, sir. I'll keep my eye open for any kids trying to slip in as well. Doubt it'll happen tonight, but you never know."
"Thank you, Anthony," Miss Spider said, gratitude thick in her voice. "I am just hoping Dylan is safe from the storm. Everything else, we can deal with later."
"Yeah, that'll be fun," Centipede muttered as he and Miss Spider walked over to one of the tables, calling out greetings to the other diners as they did.
Dylan watched the two bugs carefully, his stomach churning and his heart pounding. What were they doing here and why were the workers acting like Miss Spider was in charge? Wait, didn't Miss Spider say something about owning a nightclub? Was this her club? Well, if it was, then no wonder it wasn't a good club like the ones on TV!
Still, Dylan knew he couldn't let the stupid bugs see him. From what Centipede had said, they still thought he was hiding at the hotel next door. Well, then, it was probably a good thing Dylan hadn't gone to the party, but now he knew he people at the hotel would tell lies about how he had been bad and try and get him in trouble again. And they were the ones who stole his backpack of comic books and kicked him out in the storm without his coat! A sneer worked its way over Dylan's face at the thought; well, if anyone tried to blame him for anything, he could at least get them in trouble for what they'd done to him! And besides, Grandma would be out of the hospital soon and then they could go home together and she'd make sure they all went to jail!
Especially the stupid bugs 'cause if they had just let Dylan eat what he wanted and not made him go to school, none of this would have happened! Dylan just hoped they were all sent to the worst jails ever and that Centipede wouldn't get to be mayor anymore and stupid James and his stupid otter toy would end up in some dirty orphanage where kids had to do nothing but work and didn't get anything good to eat at all! Hey, James liked to pretend his aunts were bad, so he shouldn't have a problem actually living like that, right?
Okay, now to get to the kitchen without being spotted. Dylan got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl away from the plant and behind one of the tables. He paused and listened, but he couldn't hear anyone yelling or running over to him. Okay, great; so long as he stayed behind the tables, he was good. Crawling forward again, Dylan kept one row of tables between him and the doorman and another between him and the rest of the club's few guests. This strategy served Dylan well enough until he was close enough to the bar and kitchen, but the shelter of tables ended some feet from the bar and Dylan wasn't sure how he could sneak past the diners and into the kitchen. Once again, though, luck was with the older boy, though it was to be the last lucky break he would have that night.
"Hey, Mark, can you help me with this?"
"Sure!" The bartender left his post, causing the club guests to turn and see the cause of his summons. One of the waiters was struggling to push a serving cart through the kitchen doors, thanks to a wheel that seemed to have stuck.
"Oh, is that the serving car you were telling me about?" Miss Spider had gotten up from her seat to aide her employees.
"This is it. And no matter how many times we grease this wheel, it keeps on sticking."
"I'll say." Mark was kneeling down to get a look at the troublesome trolley. "By this point, it's not just the wheel. Something may be wrong with how it connects to the whole cart."
"Hmmm, perhaps then it is wiser to replace it than to keep trying to fix it." Miss Spider frowned at the contraption. "Do not worry about it tonight, though. Leave it in the kitchen and we will deal with it later this week."
"Yes, Miss Spider. Mark, mind helping me with the trays?"
"Sure thing. I gotcha."
"Here, I got more hands than you."
"It's okay, Mayor, we've got this."
"Nah, it's alright. C'mon, gimmie one."
"How kind of you, Commodore."
"Always, Angel Fangs!"
The group of people and bugs gathered around the trolley provided the perfect cover for Dylan to sneak by and scuttle toward the kitchen. Pushing one of the swinging doors open, Dylan darted inside and ducked behind the first structure he saw. The boy sat there for a few seconds, catching his breath and listening for the telltale sounds of him being spotted. None came and Dylan felt secure enough to peep out into the kitchen. To his surprise, there were only two people cooking, but the savory smells of rich beef and roasted potatoes hung thick in the air and made Dylan feel almost lightheaded with desire. Underneath that, though, was a sweet smell that Dylan forced himself to focus on.
Were... were the people here making pancakes?
Sure enough, the metal structure behind which Dylan was currently hiding was in fact a long counter that doubled as a storage for pots and pans. Dylan, however, was less interested in the row of doors set into the counter and more in what lay on top of it. Plates of tiny cakes, golden brown and fluffy, were set upon the counter in a long row. Each of the cakes were covered in different toppings in various combinations: thick chocolate sauce and ripe raspberries, crisp strawberries and fresh blueberries, gleaming apple slices sprinkled fresh cinnamon and every single one of the cakes were adorned with a dollop of thick whipped cream.
Dylan stared at the cakes, licking his lips. True, the cakes were small, but there were a lot of them and Dylan couldn't wait to try them! Besides, the cooks weren't looking so Dylan quickly snatched one of the chocolate plates and hunkered back down out of sight. The lack of a knife and fork didn't bother Dylan in the slightest; he merely balanced the plate on his crossed legs, snatched up the pancake and stuffed as much of it into his mouth as possible, ignoring the sauce, cream, and chunks of pastry dribbling down his chin and sliding through his fingers. To Dylan's surprise, though, while he found the pancakes, chocolate, and cream sweet enough, he wasn't enjoying the treat as much as he thought he would. Maybe that was because the pancakes themselves weren't chocolate. Yes, that had to be the case! Still, Dylan continued to gobble down every morsel of the dessert until only crumbs, streak of chocolate sauce and flecks of cream remained.
Swallowing down the last bite, Dylan felt his stomach lurch and a wave of nausea swept through him. With a slight groan, Dylan sat back against the counter as the waiter came back to retrieve a few more bowls of stew (disregarding the trolley this time) and headed back into the dining room. Still, no one noticed Dylan's presence in the kitchen and his protesting stomach didn't stop Dylan from reaching for another helping of pancake, this time choosing a topping of honey and extra thick cream. This dessert was even harder to choke down than the first one, but Dylan still felt a hunger deep in his stomach that demanded to be filled. Steadfastly ignoring the rich tasty smell of beef stew that lingered in the air, Dylan pushed aside his empty pancake plate and reached for a third.
"Hey! What're you doing?"
Startled, Dylan looked up to see the waiter from the dining room peering over the counter at him.
"You're not supposed to be here! And- did you take those desserts?"
"My grandma said I could!"
"First of all, no one came here with a kid! Second of all, no guests are allowed in the kitchen. C'mere, you!" The waiter made a grab for Dylan's arm and managed to snag the boy's wrist.
"HEY! Lemme go! Lemme go!"
"You're coming with me!"
"I DON'T WANNA!" Dylan yanked on his arm, flopping back onto the metal floor as the cooks, who had whirled around at the commotion, watched in stunned silence. Said silence only lasted a few minutes as one of them dashed out into the main room.
"You're coming with me and that's final! OW!"
Dylan's well-trained foot had scored another hit, this time on the edge of the waiter's thigh. Thanks to Dylan laying almost flat, the kick was little more than a glancing blow, but it was enough for the waiter to loosen his grip on the boy's arm. Rolling to one side, Dylan staggered to his feet and tried to tun out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, moving so quickly sent another wave of nausea through Dylan's body and his head swam as he lurched past the waiter and through the swinging doors. The boy groaned, feeling as though he had a lead weight in his middle and the shocked gasps and cries from the guests made his head pound even worse.
"DYLAN!"
"WHAT THE HELL?"
"GO AWAY!" Dylan didn't even make it another step before he was yanked backwards by the back of his shirt. His feeble struggle did nothing against the many-armed grip and Dylan was confronted by the furious faces of both Centipede and Miss Spider.
"Do you have any idea of how worried we've been?" Miss Spider hissed, her eyes narrowed almost to slits. "Running away from school like you did on a day like this?"
"LEMME GO!" Dylan whined as his stomach gave another heave. "I don't feel well!"
"Oh, would that be 'cause of the chocolate pancakes? Or the huge sundae? And I'm guessin' you've been helpin' yourself to whatever you wanted in the kitchen!"
"He did!" The waiter, flanked by the cook, was standing by Centipede and Miss Spider's table as the startled diners watched one. The waiter shook his head in disgust. "That boy ate three of our prepared desserts."
"I was hungry! And you never gave me anything to eat!" Dylan tried to swing his arms at Centipede, but could barely manage a weak flail.
"Considering you were eating plenty of sweets in secret, I am not surprised you never wanted to eat your meals properly. Oh yes, Dylan," Miss Spider said as Dylan's eye widened. "We found your cache of junk food you were hiding in your room and quite a lot of it there was."
"Heh, I did that once as a boy," one of the gentleman sitting at a nearby table said with a rueful grin. "My entire stash of candy bars melted into a pile sludge one hot summer day. My parents were not pleased!"
"Yeah well, we ain't exactly happy either." Centipede shook his head at Dylan. "And neither are the people lookin' for you, kid. We had to send the Search and Rescue Team out in this storm to try and find you. How long you been at the Grand Deluxe, huh?"
"LEMME GO!" Between his lurching stomach, pounding head and flailing arms, Dylan's sticky fingers to grab a knife from one of the unoccupied tables. His nausea and headache momentarily forgotten, Dylan held up the small silver tool and waved it at Centipede's face. "LET ME GO NOW OR I'LL STAB YOU!"
"Kid? That's a butter knife." A burst of laughter followed Centipede's words.
"SHUT UP!" Furious, Dylan flung the knife in the direction of the laughter. It soared far to the right and managed to glance off the arm of a waitress who had just appeared on the scene.
"Ahhh! What the-"
"Lacey!" Both Miss Spider and the young waiter immediately turned their attention to the waitress as the laughter turned to shocked gasps. Centipede also let go of Dylan as he also looked in the waitress's direction, but the burst of energy had deserted Dylan and the boy plopped onto the floor with a groan.
"Are you hurt, Lacey?" Miss Spider asked.
"No I'm fine. Just surprised." Indeed, Lacey hadn't even dropped the tray. "Sorry, but there might be a slight delay with the desserts."
"Yeah, I'll bet." Centipede looked back down at Dylan. "Got anything to say for yourself, kid?"
"Uhggggghhhhhh!" Dylan moaned, then retched as his abused stomach finally rebelled. Half-digested sticky sludge poured from the boy's mouth and gushed onto the carpet in a flood and the guests all but jumped back from the table to get as far away from the smell as possible.
"Uh, Mayor?"
Centipede tore his eyes away from the spectacle that was Dylan at Anthony's call. The young man was holding up a phone receiver. "It's the Grand Deluxe. They... they wanted to report an incident involving a missing boy."
"Of course they do," Centipede said with a sigh. "And I bet they've got stories to tell."
Dylan's only response to this statement was to unleash another torrent of vomit onto the carpet. Already, Miss Spider and the wait staff were ushering guests to the other side of the room.
"Please take a seat wherever you wish, ladies and gentlemen. Lacey, could bring some of the mint incense for the candles?"
"Sure thing, Miss Spider. I'll get a mop and bucket from the kitchen too."
"And if anyone would still like dessert, we will get your cakes for you. We also have a delightful fruit salad with honey and cinnamon," the young waiter added.
"Actually, that does sound delightful and a good deal healthier. May I have that?"
"Of course."
"And could you bring me a glass of water? I think Dylan will be needing that."
"Yes, Miss Spider."
"Uggghhhh. I don't like water," Dylan whined as he heaved and retched the last of his stomach's contents out of his mouth.
"Right now, Dylan, what you do and do not like are the least of your problems. Mark, kindly keep an eye on him, will you? I will need to phone Police Chief Beatcom."
"Already on it!" Centipede waved at Miss Spider. "Believe me, we got a lot to talk about with him. But if you like, leave a message with the best department store you can find. I think you'll be needin' to replace the carpet alongside that kitchen cart of yours."
"A wise idea. But I think I should call the house first. No doubt the rest of our family will be happy to hear some good news after the day we have had."