Amos's Killer Concert Caper Read online

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  THE BOY WHO OWNED THE SCHOOL, Gary Paulsen

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  YEARLING BOOKS/YOUNG YEARLINGS/YEARLING CLASSICS are designed especially to entertain and enlighten young people. Patricia Reilly Giff, consultant to this series, received her bachelor’s degree from Marymount College and a master’s degree in history from St. John’s University. She holds a Professional Diploma in Reading and a Doctorate of Humane Letters from Hofstra University. She was a teacher and reading consultant for many years, and is the author of numerous books for young readers.

  For a complete listing of all Yearling titles,

  write to Dell Readers Service,

  P.O. Box 1045, South Holland, IL 60473.

  Published by

  Dell Publishing

  a division of

  Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

  1540 Broadway

  New York, New York 10036

  Copyright © 1994 by Gary Paulsen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

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  The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-80385-6

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Yearling Books You Will Enjoy

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  • 1

  Duncan—Dunc—Culpepper was in his driveway washing his dad’s car. His best friend for life, Amos Binder, was helping him. Actually, Amos was holding the water hose over the top of the car while Dunc did all the work. Amos had more important things on his mind. He was rereading an article from the entertainment section of last week’s newspaper.

  “The rock band Road Kill will be appearing two nights only, at the civic center.” Amos forgot about the hose in his hand and pulled the article closer. “This is perfect.”

  “Hey, watch what you’re doing. You’re drowning me.” Dunc grabbed the hose. “Who cares about a sick rock band with a gross name like that, anyway?”

  “Melissa,” Amos said dreamily.

  When it came to Melissa Hansen, Amos lost all sense of reason. He was head over heels in love with her, and if Melissa liked something, Amos made a valiant effort to like it too. Except in the case of her favorite food, liver and onions. He just couldn’t quite bring himself to put liver to his lips, no matter how hard he tried. He finally gave up and figured that he would fake it until after they were married.

  Dunc turned off the water. “Those guys in Road Kill are warped. They dress like they raided a Dumpster, and they can’t even write a real song. Their last hit repeated the same line over and over all the way through the whole song. I don’t know about you, but I get a little tired of hearing ‘Whatcha gonna do about it’ after about the twenty-fifth time.”

  “Correction.” Amos lowered the paper. “They only repeat that line twenty-three times, and then they say ‘uh-huh’ twice, right before they end the song.”

  “Whatever.” Dunc touched up a spot on the windshield. “I don’t know what Melissa sees in those guys. The lead singer, Raunchy Roy, looks like a porcupine with his hair sticking up like that.”

  “Melissa thinks the band is misunderstood. She thinks their songs have a deeper meaning than just the words.”

  Dunc stared at him. “Melissa told you that?”

  “Not exactly. I heard it from Tracy Stevens, who heard it from Lori Johnson, who heard it from—”

  “Amos. How do you know it came from Melissa?”

  “Simple. Heather Thomas heard it from Rachel Lackey, and she heard it straight from Buffy VanGilder.” Amos folded his arms, satisfied.

  Dunc scratched his head. “I know I’ll probably regret asking, but what does all this have to do with Melissa?”

  Amos rolled his eyes in unbelief. “Everybody knows that Buffy VanGilder is Melissa’s third-best friend.”

  “So?”

  “So if Buffy likes the band, then it follows that Melissa probably does too.”

  “Amos, sometimes your logic astounds me.”

  “Me too. Now what are we going to do about my problem?”

  “What problem?”

  “Gee, Dunc, for a smart guy, you’re sure making me explain a lot of stuff to you today.”

  “So humor me.”

  “It’s like this. Road Kill is going to be in town for two shows. If Melissa really likes these guys and if I can get tickets, well—the rest will be history.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I called the ticket office. Tickets are going fast. They’ll probably be sold out soon.”

  Dunc frowned. “I still don’t get it. If you want tickets, why don’t you go buy some?”

  “That’s just it. I can’t. You see, I loaned all my money to my sister.”

  “Since when do you loan money to Amy? I thought you said she never pays you back.”

  “She doesn’t. But there was this little matter of the flood in my mom’s bedroom.”

  “What did you do this time?”

  “It was mostly Amy’s fault. She was ironing her cheerleading uniform in my mom’s room when I heard the phone ring. I figured it was Melissa calling to see if I knew about the concert. I was in a hurry, because you know how she likes me to get it on that all-important first ring?”

  Dunc nodded. He had given up arguing with Amos about Melissa. It was hopeless. Amos was convinced that the law of averages was in his favor. Melissa couldn’t go on ignoring him forever.

  “You should have seen me, Dunc. I was really moving. I made it to my mom’s bedroom door by the middle of that first ring, jumped for the center of the bed, and flattened out to reach the phone with my right hand. My fingertips were touching it. I almost did it this time.”

  “Almost?”

  “Just as I started my jump, my toe caught the electric iron cord and jerked it out of the plug. The whole iron landed on the bed with me. You know, they really don’t make those rubber waterbed mattresses like they used to. That iron melted a hole in it so quick, I nearly drowned.”

  “Did you answer the phone?”

  Amos shook his head. “Amy got to it first. She said it was an encyclopedia salesman and hung up. I think she’s just jealous.”

  “So you had to pay off Amy to keep her quiet?”

  Amos nodded. “Yeah, we agreed to blame the whole thing on Scruff. She says the money’s just a loan. Of course she lies.”

  Dunc rubbed his chin. “Let me see if I understand your problem correctly. You’ve got to have two tickets to a concert that takes place this weekend, they’re selling out fast, you don’t have any money or any possible hope of getting any,
and you want me to help.”

  Amos nodded again. “That about covers it. Got any ideas?”

  • 2

  “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I was hoping you were going to be a little more creative.” Amos stepped off his bike and pushed it down the sidewalk behind the civic center.

  “You said you needed money.” Dunc pushed his bike behind Amos. “When I heard that Mr. Whitman, the manager of the civic center, had broken his leg and could use some help to get the place ready for the upcoming concert, I called and offered our services.”

  “I know. But I wasn’t thinking about getting a job where you had to do work and stuff. Do you realize how big this place is?”

  “What did you have in mind? Robbing a bank?”

  “No, better. I thought maybe we could stand on the sidewalk by a busy intersection with a sign that said ‘Donate to a Worthy Cause’ or something like that.”

  Dunc stopped in front of a little white house in back of the civic center where Mr. Whitman lived. “Somehow I don’t think getting you and Melissa tickets to a weirdo rock concert would qualify as a worthy cause.”

  “You’re really too hard on these guys. Sure they have a disgusting name, they paint their faces green and black, and their songs are awful, but other than that, they’re okay.”

  Dunc raised his hand to knock on the door. A little man with bushy white hair and a cast on his right leg pulled it open. “What can I do for you, sonny?”

  “Hi, Mr. Whitman. It’s Dunc. Dunc Culpepper. I’m the one who called you about the job cleaning the civic center.”

  The old man scratched his head. “Job?”

  “You said we could sweep the center to get it ready for this weekend’s concert.”

  “I did?”

  Amos pulled on Dunc’s sleeve. “He obviously doesn’t remember. Come on, it’s not too late to make it to the intersection and hold up that sign.”

  Dunc shook Amos’s hand off. “Don’t you remember, Mr. Whitman? The Road Kill concert. You said you needed some help getting ready for it.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so, sonny? Of course I do. You boys follow me. I’ll show you what to do.”

  Amos fell in behind Dunc. “I hope this doesn’t take too long. I really need to get those tickets this afternoon at the latest. They’re selling out fast.”

  Mr. Whitman leaned close to Dunc. “Who’s the skinny one with the beady eyes?”

  “That’s my friend, Mr. Whitman. He’s going to help clean the center.”

  The little man looked Amos up and down, then he leaned close to Dunc again. “If I were you, son, I’d keep an eye on him.”

  Mr. Whitman unlocked the back door and hobbled down the stairs. He showed them where the cleaning supplies were kept. They were in a closet next to a door marked “Office.”

  “Is that your office, Mr. Whitman?” Dunc asked.

  “No, sonny. The city doesn’t see fit to give me an office. That’s for those slick guys who manage the different shows that come in here. They use it while they’re here, and then I clean it for the next show.”

  Mr. Whitman handed Dunc a mop and Amos a push broom. “You boys start up there in the balcony section and work your way down. It’ll only take you two or three days to do the whole building.” The little man slapped Amos on the back as he hobbled away. “Don’t just stand there. Get to it, boy.”

  Amos tried to pick out the last row of seats in the shadows of the balcony. “Two or three days? This is going to take the rest of our lives.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” a honey-smooth voice answered. A nice-looking young man, about twenty years old, walked up behind them. “The kids who come to the Road Kill concerts usually trash the place. If I were you, I wouldn’t spend too much time cleaning up before the concert. It’s after it that I’d worry about.”

  The young man stuck out his hand. “I’m Roy. Roy Freeman. I’m with the band.”

  Amos stared at him wide-eyed. “You’re—you’re Raunchy Roy.” Amos was in shock.

  The young man was embarrassed. “That’s my stage name. My manager thought of it. You guys can call me Roy.”

  Amos continued to stand there with his mouth open. Dunc reached out and shook the young man’s hand. “I’m Dunc.” He jerked his thumb toward Amos. “This is Amos. He wanted to see your concert, so we’re cleaning the center to earn money to buy tickets.”

  “Hey, maybe I can help.” Roy reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. “Here you go. On the house.”

  “Wow.” Amos kept staring at him. “I actually know Raunchy Roy. Melissa is going to be so impressed.”

  “Who’s Melissa?” Roy asked.

  “This girl he’s got a case for.” Dunc headed for the supply closet. “It was nice meeting you, Roy. Come on, Amos. We better get busy, or we won’t be through in time for the concert.”

  “Here.” Roy reached into his pocket again. “If Amos is taking Melissa, you’ll need another ticket.”

  Amos held up his hand. “Don’t bother. Dunc thinks your music stinks.”

  Dunc gave Amos a hard look. “I didn’t say it stinks.”

  “No, you’re right. I think what you said was, they had the musical ability of leftover vegetables.”

  “Amos.”

  Roy smiled. “That’s okay. I understand. Probably more than you know. Hey, I have an idea. How would you guys like to come to one of our practice sets? Who knows, maybe you’ll hear something you’ll like.”

  “Oh, hey, thanks for asking but—”

  Amos stepped around Dunc. “Sounds great. We’ll be there.”

  • 3

  They were in Dunc’s kitchen making lunch. Amos bit into his newest creation—a sour pickle, whipped cream, and potato chip sandwich. His face puckered. “I think it needs something.” Amos took another bite. “I don’t want to rub it in or anything, but you were way off base about Raunchy Roy and the band.”

  Dunc put a piece of cheese on his ham sandwich. He carefully lined up the two slices of bread and cut off the crusts. “Maybe I was wrong about Roy. He seems like a nice enough guy when he isn’t dressed like an imitation Dracula and wearing that porcupine wig. But I wasn’t wrong about his music. It’s junk.”

  “You sound like my dad. Amy wanted to hear what Road Kill sounded like, so she took some of my hard-earned money and bought a CD. After my dad told her to turn it down for the third time, he completely lost it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say, Amy’s CD player is now a permanent fixture on our neighbor’s roof.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t waste pity on her. My mom felt bad about it, so she bought her tickets to see the concert. Can you believe it? Amy spends my money in the first place and ends up with free tickets too.”

  “Some people have all the luck.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Dunc finished his sandwich. “Are you going down to listen to the band practice?”

  “Yeah. Aren’t you coming?”

  “No. I think I’ll stay home and work on my mold experiment.”

  “Great. I’ll tell Roy and the band that you couldn’t come because you had a pressing engagement with some mold.”

  “Maybe I’ll come down later.”

  Amos grabbed another pickle. “It probably won’t matter. I think they’re getting used to things not working out for them. I was talking to Roy while you were disinfecting the handrails, and lately they’ve been having a string of bad luck that seems to follow them everywhere they go.”

  “Really?” Dunc sat up. “Like what?”

  “Crazy stuff has been happening. One of the band members got locked in the bus right before they were supposed to go onstage in Texas. Two weeks ago, some of their equipment mysteriously disappeared right before a show. And last week, the electricity went out in the middle of a concert, and they had to refund all the tickets.”

  Dunc rubbed his chin. “Hmmm.”

  “Oh, n
o. Did you have to do that?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t play innocent with me. I know what that sound means. Trouble. You always make that noise right before you convince me that we should stick our noses into somebody else’s business.”

  Dunc took a bite of his sandwich. “This case has possibilities.”

  “ ‘This case’? I take it that means you’re coming to the practice?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  • 4

  Dunc opened the back door of the civic center with the key Mr. Whitman had given him earlier. “That’s funny. I don’t hear anything.” He looked at his watch. “Roy said they’d be here at six, didn’t he?”

  Amos followed him down the balcony steps. “Maybe they decided to call off the practice.”

  The boys emerged through a dark passageway on the bottom floor, directly in front of the stage. The band’s instruments were set up, but no one was there.

  Amos started up the stage steps. Dunc grabbed his sleeve. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Are you kidding? This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be up there playing to a huge audience?”

  “I really don’t think we should—”

  It was too late. Amos was already sliding across the stage playing air guitar and pretending to sing to his fans.

  Dunc started after him. “Amos, I’m serious. I think you better call it quits before you break something.”

  “What do you kids think you’re doing?” a loud voice boomed at them from across the room.

  The boys turned. A large man with a long red handlebar moustache was glaring at them from behind the opened door marked “Office.”

  The man stepped around the door and headed straight for them. Amos moved behind Dunc. “This area is off limits. How did you two get in here?”

  Dunc cleared his throat. “Uhum.… We have a key. We’re the cleaning crew.”

  “The cleaning crew. That’s a good one! You little twirps are after an autograph, just like the rest of the dolts who listen to Road Kill.”

  Amos peeped out from behind Dunc. “That’s not true, mister. It’s like this. My friend here was trying to help me earn money because I flooded my mom’s room and my sister stole my money, and Melissa likes these guys, so—”