Caged Eagles by Eric Walters Page B

see was some sort of cooler.
    â€œHeads up,” Sam said.
    The boy pitched one of the ice cream bars into the air.
    It arched over the fence and came down. Sam reached out and caught it. The second one was thrown up, but not as well. It hit the top of the fence and bounced away. I scrambled off to the side and just managed to grab it with my fingertips before it plummeted to the ground.
    â€œNice grab!” Sam said. “If you can hit as well as you can catch, I want you on my side when we play baseball.”
    I smiled.
    â€œThanks!” Sam yelled out to the kid, who tipped his hat in reply.
    I started to unwrap the paper, but Sam reached out and stopped me. “I’ll show you a great place to eat these … a great place to get away to. Come on, we have to move fast before the ice cream melts.”
    Sam trotted off and I again found myself running to keep up with him. We were following a small path worn across a field. The field ended abruptly at a dirt racetrack. In the infield of the track sat dozens and dozens, or more likely hundreds and hundreds, of cars and trucks.
    Sam ducked under the railing of the track and I followed. Boy, he was fast. He crossed the track, again ducking under the inner rail, and continued toward the vehicles, finally stopping at the first car. Just as I reached his side he was off again, weaving between the cars and trucks. He stopped once again at the side of a large gray truck. He reached up into the wheel well of the front drive’s well and pulled something out.
    â€œThe key,” he said, holding it up and showing it to me.
    He reached up, unlocked the door and flung it open.
    â€œGet in.”
    I hesitated.
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said, reading my hesitation. “It’s one of my father’s trucks.”
    â€œOh, okay,” I said, nodding my head. I hauled myself up onto the running board and then into the truck. It felt hot and sticky as I slid past the steering wheel to the far side of the seat. Sam jumped in beside me.
    â€œRoll down your window,” he said, as he did the same.
    I cranked it open and a breeze blew in from his side and right out my window. It felt good. Sam ripped the top part of the paper off his ice cream bar. He tossed it on the floor amongst a litter of candy bar wrappers, newspapers and other assorted garbage.
    â€œEnjoy,” he said, “but be careful you don’t drip on the seat. Lean forward.”
    As I started to unwrap my bar I realized this wasn’t going to be an easy job. It was starting to melt, and I quickly leaned forward so that any drips would fall on the newspapers lying haphazardly at my feet. I took a big bite. Vanilla — it felt very good sliding down my throat.
    â€œI come here all the time,” Sam said.
    I’d guessed that just judging by the accumulation of garbage.
    â€œIt’s good to just get away from everybody and have a little peace.”
    A little privacy had been one of the things I’d missed most since we first got on our boat.
    â€œIf you want to come here sometime by yourself, be my guest. You know where the key is, just lock it up and put the key back when you’re through.”
    â€œBut why is it locked in the first place?” I asked.
    The truck was squarely in the middle of a sea of other trucks and cars, so it wasn’t like it was going anywhere.
    â€œAll the vehicles are locked.” He paused. “And the RCMP took the keys.”
    â€œBut …”
    Sam smiled. “But not all the keys. My father always has a spare in the wheel well of every one of his trucks.
    When you come, though, I need you to be careful.”
    I could understand that his father might get angry, the way the cab of his truck was getting messed up.
    â€œWe’re not supposed to be in here, and if the guards catch us we could be in trouble.”
    â€œThere are guards?” I asked, looking anxiously out the windscreen. All I could see