Page 39 of Buck Baxter and the Mysteries of Love

“But I don’t wanna go to gangster school! I just wanna save Harry!”

Mamma threw me the shotgun.

Instinctively, I caught it.

Bugsy and Mamma exchanged a smile at my reflexes.

“Maybe he’s his father’s son after all.” Mamma grinned.

“Or his Mamma’s boy,” Bugsy smirked.

“Either way,” said Mamma. “We need to get him on that train.”

Stella started jumping up and down. “Ooh! Ooh! Me too! You need to get me on board too.”

I shook my head. “Stella, there’s no way you’re getting on that rocket-train.”

“You see, you say the words ‘rocket-train’ and there’s no way I’mnot!”

I heaved another sigh. “Okay! Okay! So what’s the plan?”

CHAPTER 17

At four o’clockin the morning, Grand Central Station had the feeling of an archeological dig site excavating an ancient lost city: vast, majestic, for the most part deserted and deathly quiet, and yet in a remote corner of the site where something exciting had just been unearthed, everything was abuzz with voices echoing orders and workers running about like ants in a nest.

Such was the case on the platform that housedThe Millennium Express.

From across the cavernous, empty main concourse of the station, Mamma, Bugsy, Stella and I watched shadows running back and forth on the distant platform. We heard the shouts and commands in German, and the chuff of a train getting ready to embark on its journey.

In front of us were two baggage trolleys, a large crate on each.

I looked at my parents, both of whom were dressed in the uniforms of train baggage handlers, my mother’s hair tucked under her porter’s hat. I didn’t ask them where they got the uniforms from; quite frankly, I didn’t want to know. All I knew was that Harry was somewhere on board that train, and I needed to find him.

“So, kiddo, you ready?” asked Bugsy.

I took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be… I guess. How about you, Stella?”

Stella put up her dukes. “I’m ready to kick some Nazi ass. Or if they’re too tall for me to reach, I’ll at least sock ’em in the balls. Either way, let me at ’em.”

Quite unexpectedly, Bugsy gave me an awkward hug and Mamma kissed me on the cheek.

“Good luck, you two,” she said. “We’ll try to follow you, but who knows where that train is headed.”

Bugsy pried open the lid of the crates with a crowbar.

I lifted Stella into the crate on the trolley that Mamma was about to push.

I climbed into the one on Bugsy’s trolley, glancing at the shotgun that was already inside. “For protection,” Bugsy had insisted. He’d also made sure I filled my pockets with enough ammunition to sink me to the bottom of the sea.

Once I was in, Bugsy handed me the crowbar then replaced the lids on the crates, using a hammer to seal us inside.

With a heave, Mamma and Bugsy pushed the trolleys toward the platform.

The sound of German orders and the busy shuffling of boots grew louder, as did the low thrum of the train getting ready to depart, until the ominous thrum of it was right beside us.

We came to a halt, and I heard Bugsy say to someone, “Late delivery. Herr Bockenheimer insisted these be added to the cargo immediately.”

He must have sounded convincing, because before I knew it, I heard several men grunting as they picked up the crate I was in and slid it onto the train. I heard Stella’s crate being loaded beside mine, followed by the sliding and slamming of the train’s cargo-hold door.

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