Isabelle Shows Her Stuff: The Isabelle Series, Book Two by Constance C. Greene

rope was as thick as Guy’s wrist. They meant him.
    â€œLet’s take him back in the woods and tie him to a tree,” MONSTER said. “That way, we’re sure he don’t get loose.”
    They began to argue about where he should be tied up. When that was settled, they argued about who would do the tying. Their voices rose. They forgot everything else—Guy, the dog, everything. The stick was within reach, Guy realized. He put out his arm, remembering the girl on television, smaller than he, who had broken a bare board with her hands. This stick was his weapon, his only one.
    â€œWhat is this? Will you looka the little tiger!” In a body, argument forgotten, they came at him. Guy swung the stick and landed a lucky, finger-tingling blow on the side of MONSTER’S face. A string of swear words came from MONSTER’S throat and he fell to one knee. Crouching, circling, the other two came at Guy, one to the right, the other to the left. In a panic, Guy kept swinging, not knowing what else to do. Once the stick stopped moving, he’d had it.
    Thunk ! He felt a terrible sharp pain. Something had hit him on the back of his head. He let out a yelp of pain, heard someone say, “What’d ya have to go and do that for?” and another voice said “Cops!” and that was all. That was the last he remembered.

Chapter Twenty
    â€œLucky the kid has a lot of hair.”
    Guy opened his eyes. His head hurt. Eyes as blue and shiny as two marbles stared down into his.
    â€œYou all right, kid?” The policeman held out a cup of water and Guy drank some. His head felt like a balloon with too much air in it—swollen, light, ready to take off and fly high.
    A second policeman knelt to inspect the back of Guy’s head. “Three to one and them big as any man, and they bean the kid with a rock.” He shook his head.
    Guy sat up.
    â€œWhere’s the dog?” he said.
    â€œIn the car. He’s a little shook up, you might say, but he’ll be fine. He’s only a pup. Is he yours?”
    Guy shook his head. Something seemed to be loose in it.
    â€œNo,” he said. “I wish he was.”
    â€œTry standing, son.” The blue-eyed policeman helped Guy to his feet. “Anything broken?” He ran an expert hand over Guy to see if he was in one piece. “Can you walk?”
    â€œSure.” Guy tottered a few steps. He felt like lying down again. Most of all, he wanted to go home.
    â€œWe’ll run you home now,” the other policeman said, as if he’d read Guy’s mind. “Just check in so’s your folks won’t worry. Imagine they’re already worried, you not home and it suppertime already.”
    Guy looked at the police car parked at the curb.
    â€œAm I going home in that?” he said.
    â€œWhat else? Hop in.”
    Guy smiled. He was going home in a police car.
    â€œWe’ll drop you off, then run the pooch over to the Humane Society,” the policeman said. “They’ll fix him up good as new.”
    The dog lay on the back seat. Its eyes were closed. Its sides were moving as it breathed slowly, in and out. Guy got in the front seat, sandwiched between the two policemen.
    â€œWhere to, chief?”
    Guy looked up at them. They meant him.
    â€œTwenty-two Hot Water Street,” he said. The car pulled out. They were on the way.
    â€œHot Water Street, huh?” the blue-eyed cop grinned. “They’ll think you’re in hot water for sure when they see you coming home in this.”
    Guy’s heart hammered. That’s what he hoped.
    â€œExcuse me, sir, but do you think you could make your light go?”
    â€œSure thing. I can even turn on the siren, if you want.”
    Guy thought that over. “No thanks, just the light would be neat.”
    The patrol car turned into Hot Water Street. Guy closed his eyes tight. Oh Lord, please let them see me, he prayed. Let Becca see me. Please