Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [42]
We? Jack thought. I don’t remember you laughing.
“Nobody,” he continued, “but nobody is getting past that lock.”
“But what about you?” somebody called from the crowd. “How are you getting past it?”
“Let me worry about that,” Toliver said. “I’ve got it covered. See you all at the game tonight to watch us whip some Greyhound butt.”
A cheer went up. Jack had to admire the way he worked the crowd.
“And then we’ll all meet back here Monday morning for the grand opening.”
Another cheer as he wove through the throng and headed for class. With that, the crowd fractured and dissolved. A few of the guys hung back and approached locker 791. They stood in a small knot, staring at the lock. Jack joined them.
“Man, nobody’s getting past that,” one said as he upended the lock and stared at the nail in the gooey keyhole.
“No kidding,” said another. “I’ve played around with Krazy Glue. Once that stuff sets, it’s there to stay.”
“I can get past it easy,” said a third kid.
“How?” the other two asked in unison.
“Hacksaw.”
All three nodded.
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” the first said. “But we’ll all know as soon as we see it, so there’ll be no surprise. Carson’s got him beat.”
As they wandered away, Jack hung back, lost in thought.
A challenge had been issued.
Jack had already called it quits, unilaterally ending the operation, but Carson Toliver wasn’t letting it go. He’d thrown down the gauntlet.
Jack could still walk away. He’d stopped the talk about Weezy.
And yet …
If Toliver walked in here Monday morning with his locker untouched, he’d have a moral victory. He’d have proven that he could stop the pranks whenever he wanted. He’d be back on top. Even if Jack returned to pranking him later, it wouldn’t be the same.
Sure, he could sneak back with a hacksaw and cut the lock off, but that was so crude. Like throwing a bomb. No finesse, no style. Toliver was perceived as having style, so Jack had to show even more. He couldn’t be a bomber; he needed to be a sniper. Needed a surgical strike. Resorting to a hacksaw would be an admission of defeat. It said, Yeah, you beat me—I couldn’t open your lock.
Plus, cutting the shackle would kill the mystery of the moment and banish that instant of exquisite uncertainty when the door began to swing open.
Uh-uh.
Jack couldn’t allow the challenge to go unanswered. One more time … he had to get into Toliver’s locker one more time.
Mr. Big Shot had to walk in here Monday morning and find the lock on 791 just as he’d left it. But when he opened the door he’d find the surprise of his life.
But how to make that happen?
The lockers were steel and bolted to the wall. No way in through the back, and he’d need an acetylene torch to cut through the top. The door was the only way in.
Jack stared at the two-inch wide, laminated-steel Master padlock, saw the glue pooling around the shackle hole. Once it was fully hardened, he’d never get a shim in there. And with a nail glued into the keyhole, picking the cylinder was impossible.
Levi wandered by then and spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
“Well, I guess that ends your pranks.”
Pranks! Jack wanted to lash out at him. These weren’t pranks. They might look like it, but they were the only course Weezy had left open to him.
But of course Levi had no inkling of Jack’s higher purpose. He thought he was just goofing on Toliver. Best to play it that way.
“You might be right. Fun while it lasted, though.”
“Yeah. But not even you can get past that one.”
Don’t count on it, he thought, although he had no idea how on Earth he was going to pull it off.
Then he spotted Saree down the hall and remembered what Levi had said when they were hiding a few hours ago.
… if she can touch something that’s real near and dear to someone, she can see all sorts of colors.
What would be near and dear to Toliver. Not his locker …
His Mustang.
Yes!
Jack was desperate for any clue as to how to get to Toliver. If Saree did have some weird “talent,” maybe she could help. He didn