The intruder let out a cry as he hit the ground in a heap. Curly pinned him there with a heavy boot on the midsection.

"Don't move!"

"I won't! I won't! I won't!"

Curly lowered the gun barrel. By the light from the trailer, he could see that the burglar was just a kid-a large, lumpy kid. He had accidentally stumbled upon the rattraps, two of which were attached crookedly to his sneakers.

That has to hurt, Curly thought.

"Don't shoot me! Don't shoot me!" the kid cried.

"Aw, shut up." Curly stuck the.38 in his belt. "What's your name, son?"

"Roy. Roy Eberhardt."

"Well, you're in deep doo-doo, Roy."

"Sorry, man. Please don't call the cops. 'Kay?"

The boy began to wiggle, so Curly pressed down harder with his boot. Looking across the lot, he noticed that the padlock on the gate had been broken with a heavy chunk of cinderblock.

"You must've thought you was pretty slick," he said, "sneakin' in and outta here whenever you pleased. You and your smart-ass sense of humor."

The boy raised his head. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Don't play dumb, Roy. You're the one yanked out all the survey stakes, and put them gators in the port-o-johnnies-"

"What! You're crazy, man."

"-and painted the cop car. No wonder you don't want me callin' the police." Curly leaned closer. "What's your problem, boy? You got a gripe with Mother Paula's? To be honest, you look like a kid that enjoys a good pancake."

"I do! I love pancakes!"

"Then what's the deal?" Curly said. "Why you doin' all this stuff?"

"But I never even been here before!"

Curly removed his foot from the kid's belly. "Come on, kid. Get up."

The boy took his hand, but instead of letting Curly pull him to his feet, he yanked Curly to the ground. Curly managed to get one arm around the boy's neck, but he twisted free and hurled a handful of dirt into Curly's face.

Just like in that stupid movie, Curly thought as he clawed miserably at his eyes, except I'm not turning into a cheerleader.

He cleared the crud from his vision just in time to see the boy run off, the rattraps clattering like castanets on the toes of his shoes. Curly attempted to give chase but he made it only about five steps before tripping in an owl hole and falling flat.

"I'll get you, Roy!" he hollered into the darkness. "You're outta luck, mister!"

Officer David Delinko had Saturday off, which was fine. It had been a hectic week, culminating in that weird scene at the emergency room.

The missing dog-bite victim still had not been found or identified, though Officer Delinko now had a green shirt to match the torn sleeve he'd found on the fence at the Mother Paula's construction site. The boy who'd fled from the hospital must have left the shirt on the antenna of Officer Delinko's squad car, obviously as some sort of joke.

Officer Delinko was tired of being the butt of such jokes, though he was grateful for the fresh clue. It suggested that the emergency-room runaway was one of the Mother Paula's vandals, and that young Roy Eberhardt knew more about the case than he was admitting. Officer Delinko figured that Roy's father would get to the bottom of the mystery, given his special background in interrogations.

The policeman spent the afternoon watching baseball on television, but both Florida teams got creamed-the Devil Rays lost by five, the Marlins by seven. Around dinnertime he opened his refrigerator and discovered there was nothing to eat but three individually wrapped slices of Kraft processed cheese.

Immediately he embarked on a trip to the minimart for a frozen pizza. As was his new routine, Officer Delinko made a detour toward the Mother Paula's property. He still hoped to catch the vandals, whoever they were, in the act. If that happened, the captain and the sergeant would have little choice but to take him off desk duty and put him back on patrol again-with a glowing commendation for his file.

Turning his squad car onto East Oriole, Officer Delinko wondered if the trained Rottweilers were guarding the pancake-house site tonight. In that event, it would be pointless for him to stop; nobody would mess with those crazed dogs.

In the distance, a bulky figure appeared in the middle of the road. It was advancing in an odd halting gait. Officer Delinko braked the Crown Victoria and peered warily through the windshield.

As the figure drew closer, passing through the glow of the streetlights, the policeman could see it was a husky teenaged boy. The boy kept his head down and seemed to be in a hurry, though he wasn't running in a normal way; it was more of a wobbly lurch. Each step made a sharp clacking sound that echoed on the pavement.

When the boy came into range of the squad car's headlights, Officer Delinko noticed a flat rectangular object attached to each of his sneakers. Something very strange was going on.

The police officer flipped on the flashing blue lights and stepped out of the car. The surprised teenager halted and looked up. His pudgy chest was heaving and his face was slick with sweat.

Officer Delinko said, "Can I talk to you for a second, young man?"

"Nope," answered the boy, turning to bolt.

With rattraps on his feet, he didn't get far. Officer Delinko had no difficulty catching the boy and hustling him into the caged backseat of the police cruiser. The patrolman's seldom-used handcuffs worked splendidly.

"Why did you run?" he asked his young prisoner.

"I want a lawyer," the kid replied, stone-faced.

"Cute."

Officer Delinko put the squad car into a U-turn so he could take the boy to the police station. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he spotted another figure hurrying up the street, waving frantically.

Now what? thought the policeman, stepping on the brakes.

"Whoa! Wait up!" shouted the approaching figure, his unmistakable bald head glinting under the streetlights.

It was Leroy Branitt, a.k.a. Curly, the foreman of the Mother Paula's project. He was huffing and puffing when he reached the police car, and drooped wearily across the hood. His face was florid and smudged with dirt.

Officer Delinko leaned out the window and asked what was the matter.

"You caught him!" the foreman exclaimed breathlessly. "Way to go!"

"Caught who?" The policeman turned to appraise his prisoner in the backseat.

"Him! The little sneak who's been messin' up our place." Curly straightened and pointed accusingly at the teenager. "He tried to bust into my trailer tonight. Lucky I didn't shoot his fool head off."

Officer Delinko fought to contain his excitement. He'd actually done it! He'd caught the Mother Paula's vandal!

"I had him pinned and he got away," Curly was saying, "but not before I wrung his name outta him. It's Roy. Roy Eberhardt. Go ahead and ask him!"

"I don't need to," said Officer Delinko. "I know Roy Eberhardt, and that's not him."

"What!" Curly was fuming, as if he'd expected honesty from the young burglar.

Officer Delinko said, "I assume you want to press charges."

"You bet your shiny tin badge I do. This creep tried to blind me, too. Threw dirt in my eyes!"

"That's an assault," Officer Delinko said, "to go along with the attempted burglary, trespassing, destruction of private property, and so forth. Don't worry, I'll put it all in the report." He motioned to the passenger side and told Curly to hop in. "You'll need to come down to headquarters."

"My pleasure." Curly scowled at the sullen lump in the backseat. "You wanna hear how he got those ridiculous rattraps on his tootsies?"

"Later," said Officer Delinko. "I want to hear everything." This was the big break that the policeman had been waiting for. He could hardly wait to get to the station and pry a full confession out of the teenager.