Wicked Business (Lizzy and Diesel 2)

“I’m motivated. People want to kill me. I figure if I find the stupid stone, I can get on with my life.”

“So it’s not about the world . . . it’s all about you?”

“Yeah. I don’t actually care about the world. And I don’t always recycle, either. Sometimes I throw my yogurt cups in the garbage.”

“Shocking,” Diesel said.

He answered his cell phone and stared down at his shoe while he listened. He gave his head a small shake, as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to hear what someone was telling him.

“I’m on it,” Diesel said. And he disconnected.

“Well?” I asked him.

“Sandman ran away again.”

We were across the street from the Boston Common, and Diesel looked out at the park.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Diesel said.

“You’re going to look for Sandman?”

“Yeah.”

“What about saving the world?”

“This won’t take long.”

We crossed the street and took the footpath to the Frog Pond. When the weather turns cold, the Frog Pond is flooded for ice skating. When the weather is warm, the Frog Pond is turned into a wading pool. Today was in between seasons and the Frog Pond was closed. We walked past the Frog Pond to the bandstand and found Sandman sitting on the steps, soaking up the day’s last rays of sun.

“Hey, Morty,” Diesel said. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” Morty said. “Just living the good life.”

“Everyone would feel better if you were living the good life at your son’s house.”

“My son’s a weenie.”

“We’re going to take a tour of the State House. Why don’t you come with us.”

“Is it a caper?”

“Yeah.”

“What about my baloney sandwich? Will I be back here in time for the food truck?”

“I’ll make sure you get a baloney sandwich.”

“Okay! I’m in.”

We retraced our steps through the park, hiked up Beacon Street, and then we hiked up about a million steps to the front of the State House. We followed signs to the visitors’ entrance to the right of the main gate. The door was locked. No one around. The State House was closed to visitors on Sunday.

“No problem,” Diesel said.

He moved his hand along the door, the locks tumbled, and he opened the door.

“This is the State House,” I said. “You can’t break into the State House!”

“I’m not breaking in,” he said. “The door is unlocked.”