Harrington 3

Fly On The Wall

For the next half hour, I sit behind the plant with my brother and Dustin. However, after the Jonny incident, I find it's not so bad. I never really knew that Dustin still cared about my well being. I mean, we're always bickering and insulting one another. In the end, I guess the friendship will never leave. It's too strong.

I suddenly feel bad for welcoming him back from camp by making fun of him.

Well, not really. I may love him, but he deserves it, the little twerp.

"Could you get your nest out of my face?" I push Dustin's head away as he leans over me to peer across the mall with the binoculars, his hair scratching my cheek.

"You can tame the lion, but not the mane, Liz," Dustin snaps at me, and I roll my eyes.

"It's more like the pubic hair of a sewer rat, but I'm not sure you're ready for that conversation," I mutter in response, earning a snort of laughter from my brother and a glare from the curly headed boy. He looks about to shoot an insult back, but suddenly shifts as if he saw something.

"Target acquired," he says, back in focus as he stares through the binoculars at the top level of the mall.

"What? Where?" Steve asks as I let the second insulting, hair-related comment slip away from my mind, trying to see where Dustin is looking.

"Ten o'clock. Sam Goody's," he says, and my brother reaches over my to grab the binoculars as I squint across the mall.

"Give me that." Steve brings the devices to his eyes and quickly spots what Dustin sees, handing them to me once he does, "Shit."

I lift the binoculars to my eyes and follow the gaze of my fellow spies, spotting a man with lot blond hair, sunglasses, and a duffel bag. He perfectly fits the description of Dustin's Russian theory. I can't help but feel a little excitement, finally indulging in the ridiculousness of today's events and forgetting entirely about Billy.

"No freaking way," I say as I lower my hands and look at Dustin, sharing his excited look.

"Duffel bag." Steve's eyes widen and he turns to us, all three of us with the same thought in our head.

"Evil Russian."

I scramble to my feet along with the others, stumbling over Dustin and falling into the plant before stepping in line with my brother as we begin marching across the mall.

"What's the plan, Henderson?" I ask as we go, eyes following the unmistakeable blond hair of our suspect.

"Why do I have to come up with a plan?" He asks, walking around a group of old ladies that Steve and I disrespectfully cut through. Rudeness runs in the family, I guess.

"Because you're the ringleader of this whole operation," I accuse, Steve apologizing for me when I jostle a seventy year old before giving me a whack upside the head, "your little contraption started this whole thing."

"Cerebro."

"Gesundheit."

"Whatever." Dustin rolls his eyes in clear annoyance at my retort to his correction, all three of us heading for the escalator, "The plan is follow him and get to his secret base."

"Right, I think you missed the step in between where we get caught and die," I respond as we weave through more people and start running up the moving staircase. It becomes a struggle to keep up with the man, especially with how crowded things are, and Steve picks up his pace to compensate.

"Slow down," Dustin mutters at him.

"We're losing him," Steve snaps in response, not altering his pace whatsoever.