Macaroni Boy by Katherine Ayres

Author:Katherine Ayres [Ayres, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-53801-7
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2003-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

The next morning heavy rain was pelting the Strip again when Mike finally dragged himself down to the kitchen. “Cheer up, son,” Pop said after breakfast as they unfurled umbrellas and started out the door. “These storms have washed away those stinking bananas at long last.”

“Amen,” Uncle Frank said in a loud, cheery voice as he joined them.

As they walked, Pop and Uncle Frank talked about Grandpap. Mike wished he could close up his ears and shut out the words. It wasn’t that his family didn’t care about the old man; they just didn’t seem to know how to make him see a doctor to figure out what was causing the sick spells.

“You haven’t caught many rats lately, have you, Mike?” Pop asked when they reached the warehouse and hurried inside.

Mike stamped his feet, shaking off the rain that had splashed under the umbrella. “Nope. I think they’ve been eating bananas. Now that it’s raining, they’ll probably come back inside. I sure would.”

“Smart boy,” Uncle Frank teased. “You catch some big ones, now. I hear tell there’s a spare nickel with your name on it in the cash register. Wouldn’t want to make a nickel sit there and wait, would you?”

Mike grinned. “No, sir.” He kept grinning all the way down the steps to the cellar. If Uncle Frank was talking about spare nickels, then maybe the business wasn’t in such terrible shape after all. And he could have ice cream.

The rats didn’t cooperate. As on the two previous days, the first two traps he checked were empty. He kicked the cellar wall, then studied the traps and tried to think of a way to arrange them better. Tony had told him to put them along the walls, because that was where those lousy rats liked to run. Mike nudged a trap out a foot or two from the corner and then noticed that it had been sprung. Again.

“Darn sneak.” Quickly, he checked the other traps and found three more that had been sprung. “You’re springing all the traps and eating all the bait; no wonder I can’t catch anything. Well, I’ll fix you, just you wait.”

Carefully, he bumped each remaining trap with the toe of his shoe, springing them open with loud snaps. Then he collected them all in his bucket and reset them with bigger hunks of cheese rind. After arranging the traps the best way he knew, he trudged back up the stairs.

“You won’t talk me out of this, Franco,” Tony was saying as Mike opened the door.

Mike was tempted to slink partway back down the stairs and eavesdrop, but he decided not to. Instead he walked quietly into the front room of the warehouse, where the four Costa brothers had gathered. He’d listen, but he wouldn’t hide.

“If it’s because of last night,” Pop began, “you know as well as I do the old man isn’t usually that rough.”

“I signed up yesterday morning. Hours before the old man blew up.”

Signed up? For what? Mike eased closer to the circle of men.

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