The Juvie Three by Gordon Korman

Author:Gordon Korman [Korman, Gordon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781443124683
Publisher: Scholastic Canada
Published: 2008-07-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

One-thirty a.m. Terence time.

The streets are quiet, but the avenues are still lively. New York City is all about choice. It’s your call whether or not you want to be in the middle of the action.

Tonight, Terence has a specific destination in mind—a high-rise apartment building on East One-hundred-and-fifth Street, close to the river.

He’s scoped the place out in daylight. Big—thirty stories, maybe thirty-five. Not the projects exactly, but definitely not the high-rent district. And as he suspected, dark and deserted at half past one in the morning.

Keeping to the shadows, he searches for the spot he scouted before. Jackpot. A row of quarter-circular iron bars block access to a narrow, street-level basement window. At some point, a car or truck must have backed into this protective cage. Three of the pieces have been torn free of the brick.

Terence pulls a crowbar from under his jacket and goes to work, prying the iron arches away from the wall. Then he smashes the glass and squeezes feetfirst through the window frame, dropping to the concrete floor.

It’s a laundry room, smelling faintly of motor oil, detergent, and lint. He navigates the maze of idle washers and dryers, smirking through an obstacle course of very large women’s underwear strewn on the cement. Finally, he’s in the main hallway. He passes the furnace, several storage closets, and a reeking trash compactor. At last, a heavy metal door. He tries the handle. Locked.

No problem. From his pocket he produces a small plastic card—Douglas Healy’s library card, to be precise—and deftly inserts it into the frame by the knob. There is a click, and the door swings wide. The elevator is directly in front of him.

Cake.

He rides to the twenty-seventh floor and follows the corridor, his sneakers barely touching the carpet. The Ninja Walk. That’s what his dogs back in Chicago called it. They had to give him props for that, even if they never appreciated anything else he had to offer. Soundless movement, like the wind.

Apartment 27B is locked with a dead bolt. No problem. He takes out a flathead screwdriver and a thin piece from a nutcracker set. Good picks, nutcrackers. Only dental instruments make better burglar tools. He’s inside in three minutes.

The apartment is a disappointment. It’s nice. Terence was expecting something a little more Boyz in the Hood. Oh well, doesn’t matter. This isn’t about the crib. He’s here to make a statement.

He advances cautiously, unfolding a small piece of paper from his pocket. Now to find the right bedroom …

The lights flash on, and he wheels to see varnished wood and the Louisville Slugger logo speeding toward him. In a burst of survival instinct, he ducks and feels a breeze as the home run swing passes half an inch over his head.

A middle-aged woman wrapped in a voluminous flowered nightgown has him cornered in the hallway.

“You picked the wrong house to rob, little man!” she seethes, her eyes wide and bulging. “You want my diamond necklace? My ruby slippers?”

“It’s not like that—” Terence tries to explain.

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