Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Power of Justice Jack by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online

Martina. There were only two of them, and since one was seventy-eight and the other was twenty-seven, I went to Google Earth and put in the address of the twenty-seven-year-old.
    And then there it was.
    Justice Jack’s secret hideaway.
    The picture wasn’t razor sharp or anything, and there were lots of trees all around getting in the way. And even though it was mostly an aerial view of the property, I could make out a building, plus something pink that was pretty large, and what looked like big messy piles of rusted junk.
    I zoomed in and rotated the image, but all that really did was make things fuzzier and squashed. So I pulled back out and just sat there staring at the monitor for a while. Even with only this fuzzy view, it was pretty clear that Justice Jack lived out in some chicken-pickin’ area and wasn’t exactly rolling in dough.
    For some reason this made me kinda sad. Obviously,Justice Jack wanted to be a superhero, but if
this
was his secret hideaway? Maybe Officer Borsch was right. I mean, from this picture he sure didn’t seem like a winner.
    And then right behind me a voice goes, “Hey, loser.”
    Now, I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
    It’s the Twisted Sister.
    The Dirty Disser.
    The Hateful Hisser!
    The one and only Heather Acosta.
    I do turn around, though, because it’s never a good idea to let your archenemy anywhere near your back.
    Unless you enjoy knives sticking out of it, that is.
    Sure enough, it’s Heather, along with her half-witted sidekick Monet Jarlsberg. Monet’s carrying a sorry-looking umbrella that’s dripping away, and while Heather seems pretty dry, Monet’s left shoulder and half of her hair are soaked. Like she only got to use one little wedge of her own umbrella.
    And, really, I have no idea why they’d weather a storm to come to the library. I mean, Heather coming into the library at all? And on a Saturday? It’s like seeing a tiger walk into an igloo.
    So I’m in the middle of trying to piece this little puzzle together when Heather says, “So who’s at three-fifty-seven Sandydale Lane, and why are you spying on them?”
    It’s not often I feel stupid around Heather Acosta.
    Mad, yes.
    Defensive, yes.
    But stupid?
    I wanted to kick myself. And while part of my brain’sscreaming, Why didn’t you shrink the window? another part’s going, Don’t do it now! You can’t do it now! and then my mouth takes over, telling her, “It’s research for a historical perspectives project.”
    So
now
my brain goes, Historical perspectives project? What’s that supposed to be? And you have history with her, you dope! She knows there’s no project!
    But Heather doesn’t call me out on it, and my hand just calmly clicks Google Earth closed as I tell her, “It’s not like you to come into the House of Knowledge.” I log out and stand up. “Here, you can have it. I’m sure it’ll help you find your way back to Stupid Street.”
    But as I grab my umbrella, Monet points to it and gasps, “Heather, look!”
    This is not an oh-look-at-the-awesome-umbrella gasp.
    And it’s not a now-
that
-would-have-kept-us-dry gasp.
    It’s a
she
-was-the-girl-with-the-umbrella! gasp.
    Which meant they must’ve heard about the purse snatcher at the mall.
    Which meant that I was now busted.
    And I’m thinking, Maaaaaaaan! How can trying to help get a person in so much trouble? Only then it hits me that Heather’s not looking at me like she’s going to run off and tell the police that she caught the getaway girl with the big black umbrella.
    She’s looking stunned.
    Almost
hurt
.
    And then a woman wearing a fuzzy orange scarf hurries up to me, saying, “It’s you! You stopped that man and saved my purse!”
    Why
didn’t I just go home?
    But I didn’t and I’m stuck and there’s obviously no getting out of the mess I’m in.
    Only then something
else
very strange happens.
    The woman puts a hand on Monet’s shoulder and says, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to