“I don’t think so,” Wallace said, his eyes on the pipe. “Rats would’ve said something by now.”
As they watched, a puff of insulation fell out onto the floor. Then a second puff.
And then, slowly, a small long-fingered hand reached out into the room and felt around on the wall surrounding the hole.
“That’s a HAND!” Butterbean gasped.
“No kidding,” Walt said. But her whiskers trembled when she said it.
Oscar felt a chill.“I know what that is. Go back!”
Butterbean took a step closer and peered up at the tiny hand, which was actively digging away at the insulation.
“Go,” Oscar snapped. “I’ve seen hands like that on the Television. I know what we’re dealing with now.”
Walt looked up at him.“What?”
Oscar’s face looked grim. “Raccoons. The Strathmore’s being invaded by raccoons.”
— 7 —
“RACCOONS? LET ME TALK TO them,” Butterbean said. “I can handle this.” She’d never met any raccoons before, but she liked their stripey tails, and she could start out by mentioning that. Everybody liked compliments.
Walt shot Oscar a panicked look. She didn’t know a lot about raccoons, but she did know Butterbean. She didn’t like the odds.
Besides, if Oscar was freaked out, Walt was freaked out.“No, Bean, not here. Let’s go back and discuss.”
“But—” Butterbean protested.
“Discuss! Now!” Oscar said, flying over to the door, where Chad was still hanging limply, drumming his free tentacles against the doorframe.
“FINE,” Butterbean grumbled, turning around and stomping after him.
“Oh, you’re back,” Chad said in a bored tone. “Any time you’re ready. Take all the time you need. Don’t mind me.”
“I think that’s sarcasm,” Polo whispered to Marco as she held tight to Walt’s fur.
“I think you’re right,” Marco whispered back as they went through the doorway.
Butterbean squeezed through after Walt, just barely making it before Chad slammed the door.“Ooh, so sorry. That must’ve slipped.” He smirked as he dangled from the exit sign.
Oscar didn’t pay any attention to Chad. He brushed past, landing on the floor in front of Butterbean and Walt. (Badly. He was right about the floor. It was way more slippery than he was comfortable with.) Dunkin and the other rats weren’t anywhere to be found. (Oscar couldn’t help but be relieved aboutthat. He was glad his landing hadn’t had an audience.)
Oscar cleared his throat.“Look, Butterbean, I know you want to help, but the situation has changed. I’ve seen programs about raccoons. I know what they’re like. They’re not to be trusted. They’re thieves. They destroy property.” He looked at the others significantly. “They have…” He paused. “A REPUTATION.”
Butterbean put on her best shocked face. (The situation seemed to call for it.)
Marco and Polo exchanged a look.
Oscar frowned at them.“What?” he said in irritation. “You don’t trust my sources? Believe me, I’ve done my research. I don’t say these things lightly.”
Polo squirmed.“It’s not that,” she said, not meeting Oscar’s eyes. “It’s just… well…” She trailed off and looked over to Marco.
“See, rats also have a reputation,” Marco said slowly.
“It’s a bad reputation,” Polo said. She wrung her hands together. “I don’t know if it’s raccoon bad. But it’s bad.”
“Some people don’t like rats,” Marco whispered.
“Hmm.” Oscar frowned. They had a point. He had seen several programs about rats that were less than complimentary, it was true.
“Have you ever met a raccoon?” Walt asked after a minute.
“Well, no,” Oscar said. “Not personally.”
He looked over at Marco and Polo and Wallace in his tiny sailor top. The rats on the Television never wore tiny sailor tops. Maybe Marco and Polo were right. Maybe he was being unfair and judgmental. He hadn’t really given the raccoons a chance. But then he remembered that hand poking out through the insulation. He shivered.
“Just let me talk to them,” Butterbean said, looking up at Oscar hopefully. “I’m sure I can therapy the situation.”
“That’s not how therapy dogs work, Bean,” Walt groaned. She didn’t know how many times she was going to have to explain this.
“No, Bean, it’s too risky,” Oscar said, staring up at the door. If he were smart, he would go right back upstairs and let Butterbean explain the situation to Biscuit in the morning. If he were smart, he’d leave the loading dock rats to fend for themselves. But he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be smart. And he had a worse feeling that Butterbean was never going to give up.
“We shouldn’t mess with raccoons, Oscar,” Walt said in a low voice. “This isn’t some imaginary ghost situation. This could be dangerous.” They’d dealt with sketchy situations in the past, but never situations that put them in real physical danger. (Well, except for once or twice.)
Oscar looked at Walt and nodded. They should definitely go home. Leave it alone. Messing with raccoons was always a bad idea.
“Walt is right, Bean,” Oscar said. “It could be dangerous.” He took a deep breath. “So I should be the one to talk to the raccoons. I’m the only one who can make a quick escape if I need to.” He made elaborate flapping motions. “Wings. See?”
Butterbean nodded.“Right. Wings.” Oscar had a point. She didn’t have wings. Any escape she made would have to be on foot. It wouldn’t necessarily be quick.
“Oscar, seriously?” Walt said, stepping in front of the door. “We can’t go in there! They’ll be through that hole in no time. Didn’t you see that hand?”
Oscar flexed his wings.“It’ll be fast. I’ll reason with them. Surely they’ll understand. And then we can at least say we tried. Chad? Can you get the doors?”
Chad rolled his eyes.“We’re talking extra shrimp. Jumbo.” He tapped the code in again and then opened the door. Then he hesitated. “Wait, doors? What do you mean doors?”
“I mean both doors,” Oscar said. “I’m not stopping at the storage room. I’m going out onto the loading dock.”
“Tell me again why you’re doing this?” Walt said to Oscar as they stood in front of the loading dock door. “Because this is a BAD idea. Capital B-A-D.”
“I know,” Oscar said in low voice. “But you know Butterbean isn’t going to let this go. If we leave now, we’ll just have to come back later. And who knows what the raccoons will be doing then.”
“Fine. But I don’t like it,” Walt muttered. Oscar was right—Butterbean could be very stubborn. And those raccoons had already made it pretty far.
“Besides, if my motivational speech works, we’ve saved the day. If not, we’re not any worse off, and we leave it for someone else to solve.” Oscar was secretly very proud of his motivational speaking skills. It was a natural talent he had.
“I guess so,” Walt said. She still had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Mostly because she didn’t think Oscar was as good at motivational speeches as he thought he was. And she kept remembering that little wiry hand poking through the insulation. She just hoped she was wrong.
“You’resure you don’t want me to do it?” Butterbean said, trotting up behind them. “I can totally go. I have a winning personality.” She’d heard that in the elevator more than once, mostly when she was about to get a treat.
“No, I’ll handle it,” Oscar said. “Chad, remember to be ready with the door.”
Chad dangled overhead and gave what was probably supposed to be an agreeable nod. It was hard to tell with him upside down.
“Remember,” Oscar said. “Open the door, let me out, and close it. And don’t open it again until I tap three times.” He didn’t like having the door closed behind him, but it was the only way they could be sure the raccoons wouldn’t rush the building.
“Right, sure, tap tap, et cetera,” Chad said, inspecting one of his tentacles.