Read Online The Ghostwriter Secret by Mac Barnett - Free Book Online Page A

wanna fight dirty,” he said, grinning. “That’s fine with me.”
    The man lunged forward. Steve took a quick step back. And then, out of nowhere, Dana was stepping forward, as in toward their attacker, and Steve noticed that Dana was holding the white ceramic lid from the back of the toilet. He swung the toilet’s ceramic lid hard and fast into the man’s right knee. The big man doubled over and collapsed onto the floor, holding his leg in both hands. Dana dropped the lid, which crashed on the tile, breaking into three or four large pieces and a puff of white powder.
    â€œAce!” said Steve. Dana smiled, breathless, and ran out of the bathroom with Steve following right behind him.
    They probably shouldn’t have been surprised to see the second baddie standing there waiting for them. “I’m a little tougher than Henry,” he said, smiling mirthlessly.
    Steve glared at him, about to spit out a smart retort that he hadn’t quite yet thought of, when he suddenly recognized the man before him.
    â€œYou’re the doorman!”
    Steve looked him up and down carefully: He wore his greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail that glistened in the light from the window. The sleevesof his shirt were pulled low and covered his tattoo.
    â€œGood to see you again, Steve Brixton. Who’s your friend?”
    â€œThis is my associate, Dana.”
    â€œI’m not really his associate,” said Dana.
    â€œDana,” said the man. “Cute name. I guess you must be the Brixton Sister.”
    And with that Dana went rushing toward the doorman.
    The Shawn Bailey Flying Tackle, deployed with equal enthusiasm against rival schools’ quarterbacks and the underworld’s burliest creeps, looks like this:

    Dana’s bum-rush of the doorman looked more like a remote-control car running at high speed into a wall. Dana bounced off the man, who picked him up and held him, wriggling, in a full nelson.
    Steve, determined to rescue his best friend and really wishing he had looked up “solar plexus” in his mom’s anatomy book this morning, charged forward. He hadn’t taken more than two steps when something hit the back of his foot and he went sprawling onto the carpet. Before he could get up, someone pinned his arms behind his back.
    â€œNice job, Henry,” said the doorman.
    Steve craned his neck around and saw that Henry had indeed recovered and was holding both Steve’s wrists in one meaty hand. Steve kicked his legs wildly and wriggled his wrists, but the struggle was fruitless.
    â€œAll right, grab the rope,” said the doorman. “Let’s tie these two up.”
    Henry froze, looking sheepish.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œUm, I think I left the rope in the car.”
    The doorman gave Henry the kind of irritated look that probably would have been accompanied by an exasperated gesture were he not using both handsto subdue Dana. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
    â€œWait!” said Henry. “I’ve got an idea.” He pulled Steve up to his feet and passed him over to the doorman, who now held Steve in one arm and Dana in the other. Henry disappeared into the bathroom and re-emerged moments later with an armful of fluffy white towels. “These’ll work,” he said cheerfully, and dropped all but a hand towel on the floor.
    Henry unfolded the towel and, taking an end in each hand, ripped it into two thin strips. Steve was impressed. Henry then took one of the strips and tied Steve’s wrists together behind his back. Steve was still wearing his backpack, so it was extra uncomfortable. When he was finished, Henry quickly bound up Dana’s wrists too.
    â€œWorks pretty good,” he said. Steve had to admit he was right.
    â€œAre you taking us to where you’re holding MacArthur Bart?” Steve asked, trying to keep the note of hope out of his voice. He was sure that if they were held in the same