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A Shermer Christmas Carol
Chapter Eight
By Chris Fulmer
"So, any luck?" Tia asked her uncle as he pulled his car into the parking lot
in front
of the Shermer Civic Arena, where Miles's hockey game would be played that
evening.
"I tried as many people as I could find, Tia, but I couldn't get anybody,"
Buck admitted to her. "Maybe I'll have more luck tomorrow."
"No, that's okay. I'll do without," Tia said gloomily.
"You sure about that?" Buck asked her. The look in her eyes told him she was
very sure. "Well, I guess it was worth a try, then. You and Maizy better go
in with your family. I'll see you after the game."
"All right," Tia got out of the car and headed for the main entrance to the
Civic Arena, followed by Maizy. Buck picked up his game notes from the seat next to
him before getting out himself. He felt a bit depressed that he hadn't been able
to come through for his niece. Ever since she'd dumped the lecherous Bug (with Buck's
help in the end), he'd been hoping she'd find someone who'd be right for her and had
been eager to help as much he could, be it directly or indirectly. He hoped that the
fact she wouldn't have anyone to go out to the dance with wouldn't dampen the holiday for her.
"So are you ready for the game, Miles?" he asked his nephew as they headed
for the players' entrance.
"You bet, UB," Miles told him. "I think that Secretary Stretch play of yours
is really going to throw them off if you use it."
"Secretariat Stretch, Miles," Buck corrected him. The Secretariat Stretch
was one of several plays he'd come up with for the season, all of which he'd named
after famous racehorses. This one involved having the wingers and one defenseman skating
forward across the opposing blue line and engaging the other team's defensemen, at
which point the center would streak straight up the middle at high speed and catch the
goalkeeper off guard. Buck had first used the play two games ago and it had worked
perfectly. Today would be the real challenge, as they were playing the best team in the league.
The locker room was already filled with members of the Shermer Snowy Owls
when Buck and Miles entered it. Many of them were already in uniform. Buck
had been called upon to coach the team back in September when Cindy had told him over
the phone that Miles's team needed a coach for the season (the previous one had
unfortunately been incapacitated when he'd been fallen into the elephant cage at the Lincoln Park
Zoo after leaning too close to the edge and had been used by one of the elephants to
sweep up its surroundings). Buck had played a little hockey as a kid, and it was probably
this factor that caused the other team parents to accept his application as coach over
several other candidates. So far this season the Snowy Owls were on pace to win about four
more games than last year, so Buck had seemed to work some kind of positive change
with his coaching methods.
His assistant coach was already there and hailed him over to a corner. Buck
had been good friend with E. Roger Coswell since their army days. While not
assisting his pal in coaching, Roger served as a booker for local horseracing kingpin Jimmy
Bean, whom Buck went to frequently for inside tips on local races. Buck had talked him
into helping him coach the Snowy Owls by telling him doing so might help Roger improve his
image with the Russell family by helping out in a family-center activity (they still
were uneasy about many of the people Buck hung out with in his free time). Chanice
sometimes served as an assistant also, but today was one of her long days at work.
"Well, what's up, Roger?" Buck asked his pal once they were alone together in
the corner.
"I've got the deal of a lifetime for you, my friend," Roger told him. "I
just off the phone with George before I came here; he said that there's a great horse
running in the Simmons Editorial Handicap tomorrow afternoon at four that's all but a cinch
to win if you're interested."
"Really?" Buck was interested, but he glanced around to make sure none of the
kids were listening before continuing, as he didn't want any of them to take
up a life of gambling. "What's its name?"
"Ughughimdyingyouidiot."
"Ughughimdyingyouidiot?" Buck said, amazed at the horse's name. "What moron named him?"
"Well, the way it happened was that Jimmy's uncle was the first to see him as
a foal, and he died right over him just as they were thinking of a name for
him," Roger explained. "Jimmy figured it was a unique name that nobody would forget, as
well as a symbolic one."
"He's sure right on that one," Buck commented. He leaned in closer. "Here's
the thing, Roger; I'm normally supposed to get out of the high school at about
four, although I can probably weasel out before then. But I normally pick up the kids after
school nowadays, so if I'm really running short on time and have to bring them with
me, I can't bet anything."
"What? Buck Russell coming to the track and not betting? That's a new one!"
Roger was seemingly aghast at this possibility.
"I don't want them to turn into, well, the kind of people you and I are seen
as by the public," Buck told him. "I'll still come, but it'll be just for fun."
Roger shrugged. "Okay, if that's the way it is with you these days," he
said.
"I'll be there, though," Buck reassured him. Putting personal matters out of
his mind for the moment, he turned back to his team. "Okay, guys," he called out,
"are you ready for the last game before the break?"
"YEAH!" came the chorus of voices from a dozen eight and nine year olds.
"All right then," Buck continued, "I know we've all been looking forward to
today all season so far. After all, the Sabertooths are the league champion for the
last two years, and so far they're well on pace for a third. Like so many other top teams,
they think they can just roll over anyone who comes their way. But we've got something to say
about that, haven't we?"
"YEAH!" came another round of cheers.
"Well then, let's go out there and show them what we're made of!" Buck said
proudly. "Get your stuff together and we'll do some pre-game practicing!" He
opened
the door to the locker room and led his team down the hall to the rink.
The stands were moderately filled already when the Snowy Owls emerged onto
the
ice and skated over to the far end to begin warming up. Miles was the last
one out, still in
the process of putting on his jersey. Although he'd developed into a
reasonably good
player back in Indianapolis, he'd taken last season off due to his family's
move to Chicago
at the start of hockey season. Buck gave him a light pat on the back as he
skated by, then
turned and waved to Tia and Maizy in the stands. He didn't realize that he
was standing
right in front of the visitors' locker room, and was still waving when without
any warning,
the Highland Park Sabertooths came storming out of the tunnel and ran right
into him,
sending him crashing to the ice. He lay there for a minute before shaking it
off and getting
back up.
"Well, looks like we're already giving your team a beating," came a voice
from the
tunnel. Buck didn't need to ask who it was; he'd heard the voice so many
times on local
newscasts. Bill Jeweler was far and away the winningest coach in the history
of the
Chicago Youth Hockey League, having won seven hundred and thirty-six games in
fifty-two years in the league, including forty-one as Sabertooths coach, with
whom he'd
won seventeen league titles. Many thought him as being the typical obsessed
coach as
depicted in so many sports films, as he did get a little riled up during
games, but Buck
knew him to be a nice guy underneath the surface who got in touch with his
players
frequently. So Buck merely laughed off his opponent's wisecrack and shook
hands with
him. "Funny, Bill, but wait until the game starts before saying that you're
giving us a beating."
"Well, you can never start beating another team too early," Coach Jeweler
said with a big, joking smile. "How you doing so far this year, Bucky?"
"Oh, we're four, two, and one so far," Buck told him. "And it's Buck, not
Bucky, by the way."
"Oh, sorry," Coach Jeweler said. "That's a much better record than your team
could have ever done under Donald. How's he doing anyway, have you heard?"
"Sort of. They say half his bones are still broken, but he should be out of
the hospital by spring. I agree that I must be doing something good, 'cause the
kids say I've got a better style of coaching than him. We've become a bit of an offensive
machine, if you will; we've scored twice as many goals this year than all of last year."
"Well, you're going to need a lot of luck to get by my goaltender today,
because
Slayton hasn't allowed a goal in five games," Coach Jeweler told him with a
grin.
A horn sounded indicating practice time was over. "See you after the game,
Bill,"
Buck told his opponent and walked over to the Snowy Owls' bench. A dozen blue
and
purple jerseys came skating over to him. "Okay guys," Buck told them, "we're
going to
go for the surprise right off the bat, so we're going to use the Secretariat
Stretch. Miles,
this means you've got to win the face-off and get the puck back to Darryl;
Darryl, you,
Michael, and Jeffrey form the pack around Miles and take out their defenders
so it's just
Miles and their goalie. Everyone know what to do?"
Four heads nodded in agreement. "Okay, then, bring it in here,"Buck and his
team all put their hands together. "One, two, three,..."
"LET'S FLY OWLS!" they all yelled, with that they broke the connection, and
the
starting six skated out for the face-off. The Sabertooths' starters took
their places on the
other side of the ice. The referee came out to the face-off circle with the
puck.
"Come on, Miles, win this thing," Buck whispered under his breath. Fate was
on his side; Miles immediately took possession of the puck and flipped it back to
Darryl.
Within moments, the Secretariat Stretch was playing out just the way Buck had
envisioned
it; the Sabertooths' defenders were covered, and Miles was streaking toward
the
Sabertooth's goalie. It was all up to him now. Miles swerved right, the
goalie followed..
and in a spectacular move, Miles abruptly changed course and sent the puck
through the
left side of the net.
"YES!" Buck yelled as the scoreboard lit up 1-0. "Great work guys, great
work!"
He turned to give Roger a high-five, but unfortunately Roger wasn't prepared,
and Buck
accidently slapped him in the face before his friend's palm was all the way
up, sending him
reeling against the side of the penalty box. "Oh, I'm sorry there, Roger!" he
apologized. "Let me give you a hand there!"
"You already did, Buck, you already did!" Roger moaned, holding his hands
over his face.
"Mr. McCallister, Mrs. McCallister, thank you for coming here right away,"
the
Denver airport security chief told Peter and Kate as they took seats in front
of his desk.
"Well, we know you people are the ones to call in an emergency like this,"
Peter said with a forced smile.
"All right then, let's get the basics. The child's name is...?"
"Kevin Thomas McCallister," Kate told him.
"Age?"
"Ten."
"When was he last seen?"
"Just as we got on the plane to Des Moines. We sent him back to coach. We
had first class seats. When the stewardess told us we were on the wrong plane, we
just walked out without remembering him."
"Can you give a description of him?"
"He's, um, I'd say about four feet ten inches tall, blonde hair, green eyes,
he was
wearing a green coat, dark blue hat, red scarf, white sweater, beige pants."
"Has your son been on his own before?"
Kate exchanged an uneasy glance with her husband. "If I tell you the whole
truth, do you promise not to laugh?" she asked the security man.
"Why would I laugh?" he asked her.
"Well," Kate began, pausing for a moment before proceeding, "This...this just
happens to be the third straight Christmas that...that we've
somehow...forgotten him."
The security chief didn't laugh...but it took a great effort on his part not
to. "And
is he the only child you've found missing, just for the record?" he now asked
the McCallisters with a clear smirk on his lips.
"I hardly consider this a joking matter," Peter said sharply. "Our son is on
the wrong flight. Perhaps you should take this more seriously; after all, this
has been a bit of a
trying experience for my wife and myself, even after two years of experience
in this matter."
The security chief quickly collected himself. "I'm sorry, Mr. McCallister,
it just seems funny from someone else's point of view," he said apologetically.
"Anyway, we
can't really do anything to recall the plane unfortunately, as airline rules
prohibit it."
"Well then what CAN you do?" Peter asked him.
"What we can do, sir, is call the Des Moines airport and tell them your son's
going to land there in about another hour," the security chief said. With some
luck, we'll be able to get ahold of him as he comes into the terminal, and then hold him there
until you and your family arrive to claim him."
"When's the next flight to Des Moines leaving?" Kate asked eagerly.
"I can find that for you, madam," the security chief picked up his phone and
dialed a long number. "Say Todd, when does the next plane to Des Moines leave?" he
asked.
"OK, I'll hold while you check." There was a wait of about three minutes
before he got
an answer back. Very well, I'll tell them that," he said and hung up. "The
next flight is a
United that's departing at about eight twenty tonight," he told the
McCallisters.
"EIGHT TWENTY!?" they both exclaimed. "But that's five hours away!" Kate
cried.
"I'm terribly sorry, madam, but I don't own the airlines," the security cheif
said. "If you want to get to Des Moines, this is the fastest option I can offer you."
Kate and Peter exchanged glances. "Do you think we should wait?" he asked
her.
"I guess it's all we can do," she sighed.
Aboard the flight to Des Moines, Kevin was still in a state of shock over
having been seperated from his family yet again. In fact, he had been staring
straight ahead with
the same unchanging blank expression ever since the flight had taken off. Not
even the
snack cart had been able to shake him out of it. Now he really wished they'd
just have
stayed home for the holidays. Well, he thought to himself, at least he'd be
able to call
Denver from Des Moines from the American desk.
But suddenly a noise from outside the plane snapped him out of his stupor.
And
that sound was the engines beginning to sputter. The loud conversation that
had been
going on in coach throughout the flight abruptly stopped, replaced with
hesitant silence.
For a few tense moments it appeared that the plane was about to go down in the
middle of
the Great Plains. This delay really got Kevin's nerves flowing cold with
fear, as a
possible crash was the one thing about planes that really frightened him.
Finally, after
what seemed like the longest time, the pilot's voice came on the intercom,
much like it had
only a few hours ago. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captian speaking.
As you may
have noticed, we are experiencing engine trouble presently. The good news is
that we
have determined it not to be fatal, but we will have to make an emergency
landing in
Wichita, Kansas for repairs. We apologize for any inconvenience this might
cause you. Thank you.
Kevin was puzzled. "Wichita? Why would they divert to Wichita?" he thought
to
himself. "That's pretty far from Des Moines!" He glanced out the plane's
window. The
sun was starting to sink rather low in the sky. Kevin remembered hearing
something on
last night's news that today would be the shortest day of the year. As much
as he had
overcome other fears over the last two years, the dark still unnerved him very
much. As
did being alone in crowded areas for long periods of time. He hoped he
wouldn't have to
wait too long in Wichita before his parents picked him up this time.
"Absolutely not," Cameron said firmly. "We've already spent enough time here
today. If we stay much later, we'll be late getting home."
"Come on, my friend, it's just one more ride," Ferris said in an attempt to
convince Cameron to try one last ride before they left the park. Cameron, however,
seemed very resolute about leaving.
"You said no later than three thirty, Ferris, and it's three forty-one
already," he protested. "Didn't you say something to the extent that your mother comes
home at four thirty today?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So if we stay any longer, we are definitely not going to get home before she
does," Cameron said. "And your sister's probably got a good idea we're here
by now herself, and there's no fooling her at all."
"Trust me Cameron, I will get us home on time," Ferris told him. "And don't
worry about Jeannie; it'll be my word against hers, and who do you think my
parents are going to believe more?"
"Good point," Cameron conceded. "All right, Ferris, one more ride, but I get
to pick it."
"Works for me," Ferris said. "What did you have in mind?"
"Bumper cars," Cameron said. These were his favorite amusement park attractions.
"Sounds good," Ferris said. "And it shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes
at most."
Cameron nodded and started off in the direction of the bumper cars. Ferris
turned toward Sloane, who had been sitting on a nearby bench and said, "Bumper cars."
She nodded her approval and got up to follow.
All in all, it had been a very good day. The three of them had ridden about
twenty-five rides in all. Even Cameron would have to admit to a good time.
He had gone on two more thrill rides after the wild bronco. One, the Jet Star, had been a
classic roller coaster that Roy Walley had saved from the wrecking ball in Texas. The
downside was that it twisted about itself forty times, causing the stomachs of those who
rode it to all but implode. The other had been the Space Needle, a slingshot ride that shot
riders straight up at the speed of sound, then gently slid them back down--only to be shot
right back up.
Although Cameron had almost broken down on each of these, he had managed to
keep his composure together and hadn't thrown up at all either. Apparently Ferris had
been at least half right about his friend being able to take thrill rides more than he
let on. The bumper car line was long, but not too long. It took only about five
minutes for the three of them to let onto the ride. The cars themselves were made of
heavy metal, and as such would lead to big collisions, unlike the wimpy fiberglass cars sen
in most amusement parks these days. For about six more minutes, the three teens
reeled around the track, ramming into other cars with great pleasure. Cameron in particular
had the time of his life, crashing with great delight into Ferris three times. He was
talking with Sloane and his friend about the finer points of bumper car driving as they got of the
ride when suddenly a television crew came right up in front of them. "Good afternoon,"
said the reporter of the crew. The three of them knew her well from the nightly news.
"I'm Denise DiNunzio from ActionNews 6. How would you rate your day at the park
today?" Sloane and Cameron were caught off guard and were speechless. Ferris,
however, took the bait.
"Oh, it's been a great day. One of the greatest of my life.
I highly recommend the Destructo's Revenge coaster to anyone who likes thrill rides."
Miss DiNunzio nodded her approval and motioned for the cameraman to cut.
"Okay, thanks for that," she told Ferris as she and her crew went off to find
another person to interview.
Ferris smiled. "Well, I think I've just given them a nice little addition to
the nightly news," he said with pride. Glancing to his side, he saw his friends didn't
share his opinion on the matter. In fact, they looked outright horrified. "What?" he asked
them.
"Do you realize what you've just done, Ferris?" Cameron asked in a raised
voice.
"What did I do," Ferris asked him, confused.
"YOU JUST BLEW OUR COVER!" Cameron shrieked. "YOUR PARENTS
ARE GOING TO SEE IT ON THE NEWS TONIGHT, AND WE'RE BOTH GOING
TO BE GROUNDED UNTIL AFTER NEW YEAR'S!"
"You're overreacting, Cam; you know we always eat dinner at six when the news
comes on," Ferris reassured him. "They won't see it at all, trust me."
"This will probably be the one night they won't!" Cameron argued. He seemed
inconsolable. Ferris wanted to counter his friend, but knew from experience
that it would be best to just let Cameron relax a before pushing the question any further.
Therefore he quickly said, "Well, I guess we'd better head out now. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Sloane and Cameron said. They started off in the direction of the
gate.
Ferris followed them. Apparently a lot of people had decided it was time to
leave as well, as there was a large stream of bodies heading for the exit as well. As the
three of them were about to make their way through the gate, Sloane suddenly gasped and
jumped against the gate's wall and motioned for the boys to join her. "Rooney's
still out there!" she whispered.
Ferris looked through the iron bars. Sure enough, the principal was standing
right outside, watching the crowds leaving the park. Apparently his dismissal from
the park hadn't deterred his desire to catch his least favorite student. Ferris
thought fast. "Okay, we're going to have to take a big chance here, but I think I know how to get
of him." He bent down in the snow and made a snowball. Taking careful aim, he hurled it
through the bars at Rooney. It struck the principal in the side of the head. He growled
and strode up to the gate. A guard came out to block him. "I have orders to bar you from
coming in here," he said.
"Someone threw a snowball at me, you clod!" Rooney yelled. "I demand you
allow me to find the perpetrator!"
"I can't do that, sir, and since you're not allowed in..."
"I don't care what you say! If you don't let me in, I'll have you fired!"
Rooney shouted.
"Talk is cheap," the guard in a bored voice.
Rooney told the guard in very explicit terms exactly what he thought of him.
The
two men then shouted yelling and screaming at each other. Ferris waved for
his friends to
follow him, and they sneaked past the bickering men into hte parking lot.
"You know you really took a HUGE chance there!" Cameron snapped as they
headed for their parking space. "My heart nearly stopped for a minute there!"
"Well Cameron my friend, we all have to take some chances in this life,"
Ferris told him.
"Well next time try and do something that doesn't involve so big a risk!"
Five minutes later, Rooney was trudging back to his own car. The guard had
called the main security office after several minutes of heated argument and
received
orders from his boss to escort Rooney off the premises. He'd snarled back he
could leave
by himself and had taken care to give the guard an obscene gesture before
doing so. He
was feeling quite miserable. He'd spent a whole day away from the office
trying to catch
Ferris, and had once again failed to bring the kid in. But no matter, he
thought to himself
as he opened the door of his car and got in, he'd have Ferris in his grasp
before the
holidays were out--even if it killed him.
As he pulled out, another car nearly sideswiped him. He leaned out the
window to
yell at the driver--then noticed the car's license plate: LZRRLS. Bueller's
plate. Rooney
grinned to himself. The day wasn't a total loss yet! As he reversed into the
lane in
preparation for a chase, another car hit him right in the rear. As Rooney had
failed to put
on his seatbelt, this jolt sent his head crashing into the windshield. He
groaned in pain and
set the car in drive, but got no further than two feet before two more cars
crashed into
each side of his car. "Let me out, you jerkheads!" he shrieked out the
window, his voice
drowned out by blaring horns. It did him no avail: still yet another car hit
him head-on,
seriously damaging the hood. Rooney jumped out, meaning to bash this
lunatic's brains
in, but this driver reversed backward before he could get to him. The
principal turned
back at has now badly damaged car, which had cost him forty-five thousand
dollars, and
emitted one loud stangled cry that reached to the far corners of the parking
lot: "CURSE YOU, FERRIS!!!!"
On to Chapter Nine
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