The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 29

Johnny Carew had been brooding—thinking hard. And since thinking hard was not his usual line of work, he was feeling tired. Sweat droplets glistened on his noble brow, and he was frowning before him like he’d never frowned before. He usually wasn’t the kind of crook who believed in escaping from prison, but since this was the first time he’d been imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, he felt justified in putting his weight behind Jerry’s idea of getting out of there.

Unfortunately, try as he might, no plan of escape seemed forthcoming. Of course he readily admitted to not possessing his associate’s formidable brain, being more the brawn of the criminal twosome. Still, he’d hoped to at least make some contribution. The only thing he could come up with, though, was a simple plan, and he was sure that Jerry would dismiss it out of hand.

Nevertheless he felt it incumbent upon himself to enlighten his partner with the fruits of his intellectual labor, ridiculous as they might seem to a genius like Jer.

“All I can think of is to knock out the guards,” he said. “You pretend to be sick, foaming at the mouth, and I knock ‘em out cold and grab their keys. And then I knock out everyone that tries to stop us. Dumb plan, I know,” he added with an apologetic shrug.

But Jerry’s eyes lit up. “Don’t sell yourself short, Johnny. I think it’s brilliant. Knock out everyone that stands in our way. That’s the way to do it. And you’re the man for the job.”

“I am?” asked Johnny, well pleased with this rare compliment from one who rarely paid him any compliments at all.

“Sure, sure. I’ll froth at the mouth, and thrash around a bit, and you knock ‘em all out. Let’s do it. I’m sick and tired of this place—and the lousy food.”

Jerry was right. The least they could do was to feed them their proper three square meals a day. They might be crooks, but they were also human beings. And besides, they were innocent, though probably the chef and his kitchen crew didn’t know that.

“I’ll call the guard and you start foaming, Jer,” said Johnny, happy by this endorsement from his critical partner. “Heeeeelp!” he screamed. “Heeeeelp! Come and help us!”

Unfortunately, no matter how loud he yelled, no one came.

“What’s taking them so long?” grunted Jerry, lying on the cold floor and getting ready to do some serious frothing and thrashing.

“Maybe they’re on their break,” Johnny suggested. “I’ll give it another shot.” And so he repeated the procedure, this time adding some foot stomping to the mix.

A guard finally came shuffling up, looking bored and munching a chocolate sprinkle donut. “What’s all the fuss?” he asked.

“My partner is sick and dying!” Johnny cried, and gestured to Jerry, now properly thrashing and convincingly frothing. In fact he put so much heart into his performance that even Johnny was getting nervous. “Do something!” he told the guard. “Call a doctor!”

“We’re understaffed,” said the cop. “In fact I’m the only one here.”

Even better, thought Johnny. Even though he didn’t mind knocking out the odd cop here and there, in general he liked people, even cops, and preferred not having to knock them around too much if he could help it.

“Open the door, please, sir,” he said now. “I think he’s dying!”

The guard didn’t look excited by the idea of having to bend over Jerry, whose face was now awash with his own saliva. “Yuck,” he muttered as he glanced over to the thrashing man and shoved the last piece of donut into his mouth, then wiped his hands on his trousers. “Um, I’ll call a doctor, shall I? Don’t go anywhere.”

Cop humor, Johnny thought. “Just open the door and check on him. Don’t they teach you CPR at the police academy? He’ll be dead soon and it’ll be on you. There will be an investigation and they’ll blame his death on you, sir.”

“Christ,” said the cop, rubbing his face with indecision. He then took out a key, inserted it into the lock and turned. The moment he entered the cell, Johnny heaved one of his meaty fists over the man’s head, and let it come down with considerable force.

The cop said, “Ick,” and went down like a ton of bricks.

Jerry, however, was so caught up in his performance that he hadn’t even noticed the work was already done, and the road to freedom wide open. Instead, he kept on foaming and thrashing like there was no tomorrow. Johnny, now seriously concerned, shook his partner by the shoulder. “Jerry. Jerry! Oh, God. He’s really dying!”

So he did the only thing he could think of, which was to take the bucket of water located in the corner of their holding cell, and chuck its contents into the cop’s face, waking the man up again.

“Do something, sir!” he cried. “My partner is dying!”

The cop took a moment to get his wits together, then got up, glared at Johnny, walked out of the cell and slammed the door shut and stalked off.

“Sir? Sir!” Johnny cried. “My friend—”

“You moron!” Jerry suddenly bellowed.

Johnny wheeled around and was relieved to see his friend back in his usual form. “Jerry! You’re all right!”

“Of course I’m all right! But you won’t be all right if I get my hands on you!”

And with these words he sprang up from his position on the floor, making a miraculous recovery the likes of which humanity hasn’t witnessed since Lazarus walked out of his cave, and started chasing Johnny around the cell.

Five minutes later, when Tex Poole finally arrived, doctor’s bag in hand, he took one look at Johnny and Jerry in the midst of their morning jog, shook his head and muttered, “Did you have to make me skip my breakfast for this?” and walked off again.