3 – Nabbed
The first hall was filled with booth after booth of people who stood strangely still.
“Hang on a second, sir,” came a voice from behind. “You only gave me six tickets and there are eight in your party.”
“Elizabeth, children,” called Robert’s father. “Stop a moment, so we can clear this up.”
Robert and his family stopped as requested, but Mickey and Angelo moved casually down the hall, trying to blend into the crowd.
“Those two, there,” it was the ticket-taker’s voice, “They’re not with you?”
Mickey didn’t wait to hear the reply. “Run!”
He and Angelo sprinted down the long hall, dodging in and out among the great mass of people. At the far end of the hall, a wide, central staircase rose to a landing then divided in two, continuing up, left and right, along the back wall. They fought their way up the crowded steps. When they reached the landing, Mickey said, “Split up. Wait by the upstairs railing and watch!”
So they ascended, hugging the banister as they went -- Mickey to the right and Angelo to the left. The crush of people on the second floor was even greater than that on the first. The boys were constantly jostled and bumped as they stood on opposite sides of the stairwell surveying the steps below for signs of someone in pursuit.
After a minute-or-so of watching, Mickey caught Angelo’s eye and signaled for him to move towards the center of the balcony where they could meet. Mickey was miffed when Angelo waved his arms back and forth and shook his head no. Angelo never said no to Mickey! It was too late when Mickey finally realized what Angelo meant.
Mickey felt a sharp tug as someone grabbed him firmly by the back of the collar. “Gotcha, ya little ruffian,” said someone with a deep voice. Mickey turned to see the very large man, with an equally large handlebar moustache, who had just nabbed him.
The man pointed an authoritative finger at Angelo then sternly motioned to the floor next to him. The man watched intently as Angelo considered his options. But, with Mickey nabbed, Angelo didn’t have the nerve to make a dash for it. Instead, he worked his way around the railing to where the man held Mickey.
With a shirt collar gripped firmly in each massive hand, the man maneuvered his captives back down the stairwell, past the booths of rigid figures, and on toward the museum lobby.
“We always get ‘em,” said the ticket taker as the big man guided the duo toward the entrance. “The boss want’s you to bring ‘em to his office, Mr. Simms.”
“Right-o,” said Simms as he yanked them towards a door on the right of the lobby. It was the manager’s office.
– End Chapter Three –
