Robyn Arrow
I regard the man in front of me. He's weather beaten with a bulbous, slightly droopy pickle nose, and he's in a chalk-stained grey suit with a snail printed tie. Although he looks dull, he looks trustworthy, and like someone who'd get things done. I wait until he's put down his briefcase and has seated himself on a chair before I start.
"Um, about the signs appearing around town… I saw the gang fight with the-" I clear my throat, "Vaporizing ray guns."
"And?" Apparently the man is not interested. I take a breath.
"I think we could track him down." As soon as the words leave my mouth, B.U. Enders (name tag) is bent over, wheezing with laughter.
"So," he chokes, his nose looking like a pink cucumber, "You, a measly ten-year-old, could track down a gang leader more dangerous than Al Capone? Not a chance. And your puny friends aren't going either." I plow right on, not acknowledging his offensive speech.
"I saw the crime myself, and I remember what a few members of the gang look like, including the gang leader."
Instantly Enders leans forward, a sharp, flinty spark in his eye.
"Listen up, honey. Stop messing with the police. THis is a dangerous case. Don't think you can slime your way into a room full of professionals just because you're a witness. So you'd better just go home and eat a purple popsicle, and leave the tracking down to the ones who actually know what they're doing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go." He rises. I open my mouth to retort angrily, but Devin kicks me under the table. Seconds later the door slams, and we all flinch, The paunchy guard opens the door again, a wide grin on his face.
"Go home, missy." He says. I stand up, making sure to 'accidentally' scuff his well-shined shoe, 'tripping' on the doorstep. He scowls and goes off down the hall, cursing under his breath.
"Shouldn't get on the wrong side of the police," Ed says, falling in step behind me. "We should just relax and enjoy summer vacation."
"Relax!" I begin scornfully. Devin bites down.
"There's a crime that's been going on for five years, and they're no closer to solving it than scientists are to the possibility that lima beans can fly."
I leave with an ominous statement. "If they won't help us, then we have to help ourselves."