Lawrence Looks for Treasure

Part 2 - Chapter 15

15

Finally, we arrived in Boucherville. The stars above were bright, but at ground level the place seemed sleepy. The only lights illuminating the town were from a restaurant, whose windows glowed like a lighthouse, drawing us weary travelers.

Our stomachs grumbled. My ankle ached. We had planned a bike trip, but there we were, walking. All told, you may be surprised to know, I was happy. Ecstatic, even. One day down. We were closer than ever. And though I was bruised, I was not yet beaten.

'Yo,' Matty said tiredly, pointing at the restaurant. 'Let's go there.'

We continued toward it. Blotting the windows' golden panes were outlines of people talking and eating. No wonder the rest of the town had turned off their lights. Everyone was out to dinner. As we got closer, our noses caught the smell of warm garlic, onion and red meat. As we got even closer, a gas station emerged behind the restaurant. Its lights were on too, though much dimmer.

'How much cash do you have?' asked Matty, who was practically slobbering.

'Two hundred bucks,' Chris said. 'You?'

'One fifty,' Matty said.

'I got fourty,' I said. 'Take it—get us a table. I'll meet you there in a minute.'

'What? Why?' asked Matty, as Chris stuffed my money in his pocket.

'Maybe I can get my bike fixed at that gas station.'

'I dunno,' Chris said. 'It looks closed. You sure you don't wanna just come for food? We'll figure it out after.'

'I'm fine.' I said, though my stomach disagreed. 'I'm the one who got us into this mess. You guys get food. I'll be right over.'

'Sounds good, dude,' Chris said, running to catch up with Matty, who was so far ahead he may have already started dessert. 'See you there.'

I headed to the gas station. To be alone felt good. The best times are spent with friends, I admit. But after a full day with Chris and Matty, it was nice to part ways. Like taking off your favourite shirt at the end of the day.

When I arrived at the gas station, the sign on the door read 'closed'. Yet someone inside sat behind the cash. I pushed the door. It opened. As I entered, chimes rattled above.

'Hi, there,' I smiled and approached the counter. The man behind it frowned. He had thin hair, wore Clark Kent glasses and read a comic book about the very superhero.

'Yes?' he said, in an I'm-being-disturbed kind of way.

'How are you?' I asked. Whenever I want to be nice to someone behind a desk, I ask, 'How are you?' I think they appreciate it.

'We're closed.'

'Sorry to bug you,' I persisted. 'But do you have plyers I could borrow? I have a small problem. I biked here from Kinnard, but I can't leave. My bike is sort of broken. I think I can fix it with plyers. If you don't have, that's fine too.'

His face softened. 'Sure, why not.'

'Thanks so much!' Just like that, things were working in my favour. I'm always surprised at how quickly life can turn, if you're only patient; and how easy it is to get help, if you only ask.

'Don't worry about it. The plyers are in the garage next door. Sit tight. I'll be back.'

The man left and I was glad he did. I was tired of company, tired of making faces; I just wanted to escape. So I did what I usually do when in that state: I pulled out my book, The Grand Adventure of Dmitri Waltz, and started reading. At this point Dmitri was older, maybe ten or eleven, and had found work at his town's library: