Hallowed Be Thy Name Read online



  Hallowed Be Thy Name

  Book Two of THE GO-KIDS

  by

  Ryan Schneider

  Copyright © 2010 Ryan Schneider

  All Rights Reserved

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  First Edition

  Also By Ryan Schneider

  The Pillow Book

  A Shadow Passed Over the Son

  Book One of THE GO-KIDS

  Chapter 1

  A Single Prayer

  Back in the chaos and noise of Sky City Hobbies and Toys, Sunny and Bubba turned and looked at one another, their mouths still agape.

  “What just happened?” shouted Sunny.

  “Some guys just stole Parker,” shouted Bubba.

  “Wait ’til they hear from my lawyer!” shouted Colby.

  Sunny and Bubba exchanged a look: Colby had clearly missed the point.

  Colby’s dad and Mr. Alvin shouted and called each other names, spittle flying from their wet, shiny lips. The people in the front of the line yelled and waved their arms, commiserating with the people behind them and fighting to get Mr. Alvin’s attention.

  “Come on!” said Sunny, and she ran for the warehouse door. Bubba ran after her.

  Colby watched them go. “Hey! Wait for me!” He ran for the door.

  “Bye, Colbeeeee . . . .”

  Colby stopped as he reached the door. He looked back and saw his mom still sitting behind the big cardboard cut-out. She waved, smiling proudly at him. He shoved the door open and ran through the warehouse, packed with tall shelves full of toys and games and hobby supplies.

  He ran to the back of the warehouse. A big sign suspended from the rafters by chains read Shipping & Receiving. Black and yellow-striped forklifts were lined up along the back wall, all plugged-in to their recharging stations like giant sleeping wasps. Sunny and Bubba exited through a side door and Colby sprinted after them. The door read Freight Elevator.

  On the other side stretched a wide, vast hallway. Tire marks left by busy forklifts covered the cement floor. Along one wall lurked a series of metal roll-up doors, the receiving docks for stores on this side of the mall. Colby ran hard and caught up to Sunny and Bubba halfway down the corridor.

  “Where’re you guys going?” he panted as he ran along side them.

  “They went through there,” said Bubba. He pointed ahead. Far away, at the other end of the long corridor, loomed another massive roll-up door. Next to it was a regular sized man-door. Sunny, Bubba, and Colby ran for it. Bubba began to fall behind.

  “Our father . . . who art in heaven . . .” he yelled, “. . . hallowed be thy name!”

  “Are you praying for Parker?” Sunny called over her shoulder.

  “I’m praying not to puke!” Bubba yelled.

  Sunny and Colby reached the door, turned the handle and yanked it open. Bubba came pounding up behind them.

  Inside was a second corridor. Instead of roll-up doors, it held great freight elevators, a dozen or more. Each freight elevator was a massive square platform surrounded on four sides by shiny aluminum fences, the front and back of which was built to slide up, allowing access to the enormous platform inside; load from one side, unload from the other; another lesson in efficiency learned from Sky City South. The closest elevator was descending, its overhead machinery and pulleys and flywheels spun and hummed and whirred loudly.

  “Now what?” shouted Bubba.

  “We have to follow,” said Sunny.

  “What?” said Bubba.

  “Follow!” repeated Sunny.

  “How do we know they’re in there?” said Bubba.

  “There aren’t any other exits, stupid,” said Colby.

  “Who invited you, anyway?” said Bubba.

  “I invited myself, fat boy. Nobody steals my thunder.”

  “Thunder?” said Bubba. “It ain’t raining, you moron.”

  “Excuse me,” shouted Sunny, “but they are getting away. Why don’t you guys debate meteorology later.”

  “He started it, Sunny!” countered Bubba.

  “‘He started it, Sunny!’” Colby whined, miming Bubba.

  Sunny arrived at the elevator. She pulled up on a red handle. The gate didn’t move. “Help!”

  Bubba and Colby joined her and the three of them pulled with all their might. Gradually, the gate slid upward enough for them to duck underneath it. They rushed inside and with a similar effort managed to lower the gate. They found the controls nearby. Bubba punched the button marked Down and the elevator lurched, then descended slowly into the shaft to the accompaniment of the noisy machinery.

  The calamity of the mechanics gradually subsided. “How will we know what floor they stop on?” asked Bubba. The thick cement walls separating the elevator shafts made it impossible to see anything except the interior of the elevator bay.

  “I guess we should assume they’ll go all the way to the ground floor,” replied Sunny. “That’s what I would do.”

  “You should never assume anything,” said Colby, “because it makes an ass out of ‘u’ and ass out of ‘me.’ ‘Hey Boilermaker, I got my curveball breaking inside three-and-a-half feet.’” Colby looked at Bubba. “‘Don’t jump in, Engelberg, you’ll flood the valley.’ ‘A busted bat and a long fly ball . . . . Any day now Durocher will call!’”

  Sunny looked at him in disbelief. “Are you always like this?”

  “Not always,” Colby replied earnestly. “I do sleep occasionally.”

  “What if we’re wrong?” asked Bubba. “What if we get to the bottom and there’s no one there?”

  “Well,” said Sunny, “it’s Friday, so there aren’t any deliveries. That means the loading docks should be empty. It’d be a perfect place to stash a get-away car.”

  “What’re we going to do if we catch them?” asked Bubba.

  No one said anything. They all looked at each other. No one had thought of what they would do if they met face-to-face with Parker and his captors.

  “It’s not like we can stop them,” added Bubba. “There’re more of them than there are of us. Plus, they’re bigger and probably have guns.”

  The elevator continued its descent. It clearly dropped more slowly than the tourist-happy express elevators. Cool air rushed through the gates all around them, tossing their hair.

  “We’ll follow them,” said Sunny.

  “And then what?” said Colby, as if this were the dumbest idea he’d ever heard.

  “We’ll see where they go,” replied Sunny, “try to find out who they are. And why they took Parker.”

  Their bodies grew heavy as the freight elevator slowed. It clanked and whirred and jerked to a halt. They grabbed the handle and lifted the gate and ducked under again. Before them stood another series of metal roll-up doors and man-doors. They ran to the closest door and shoved the handle, pouring out onto a long walkway running the length of the loading dock.

  “Look!” Colby pointed.

  Two big black Cherrolet Super Urban Vehicles careened around a corner. The big tires squealed and the bodies leaned as the SUVs rounded the building. The tinted windows were almost as black as the paint. It was impossible to see who was inside.

  “Think that
’s them?” asked Bubba.

  “Oh, please tell me you’re not that dumb,” exclaimed Colby.

  “Well,” said Bubba.

  “‘Well?’ That’s all you’ve got? ‘Well?’” Colby rolled his eyes and sighed. “How many conspicuous, unmarked, government-issue SUVs do you see fleeing a loading dock on the one day of the week the docks are empty?”

  “We can’t afford to be wrong,” said Bubba.

  “Bubba’s right,” said Sunny. “We can’t.”

  Bubba stuck his tongue out at Colby, and Colby rolled his eyes again.

  “You’re both right,” said Sunny. “It’s definitely them.”

  Colby stuck his tongue out at Bubba.

  “What do we do?” asked Bubba. “We can’t keep up on foot.”

  “We’ll have to cut ’em off at the pass,” said Colby, “like Igby and I did in act two of our new movie.”

  “I haven’t seen it yet!” said Bubba. “Don’t tell me anything about it. I like to go in fresh.”

  “Oh, like Frank Costanza.”

  “Who’s Frank Costanza?” asked Sunny.

  “The founder of Festivus,” said Colby.

  “What’s that?” asked Bubba.

  “‘These pretzels are making me thirsty,’” said Colby. “‘Are you the master of your domain?’”

  Sunny and Bubba studied him with raised eyebrows.

  “What?” said Colby.

  “We’re wasting time,” said Sunny. “How do we cut them off?”

  “How should I know?” replied Colby. “This is your town. Don’t tell me you don’t know all the secret passageways and unguarded exits and entrances to this building.”

  “We live in the South tower,” said Bubba. “But Sunny used to live here!” He perked up at this last bit.

  “Used to,” said Sunny. “I don’t anymore.”

  “Well,” said Colby, “they’re getting further and further away while we stand here flapping our gums. So, if you’re going to think of something, hurry up and do it.”

  Sunny snapped her fingers. “Let’s just hope they get stuck in traffic.” She ran back up the walkway and through the open door, with Bubba and Colby close behind.

  Inside, Sunny stopped. Bubba and Colby nearly ran into her. She hastily scanned the warehouse and doors and freight elevators.

  “There!” She pointed. They ran to a door with Mezzanine painted on it.

  “What’s a . . . mezz-uh-nine?” asked Bubba, sounding out the word.

  “Mezz-uh-NEEN,” corrected Colby.

  “It’s like a floor between floors,” said Sunny, “kind of like an observation deck. It runs mostly along the inside edge of the tower, but there’s also a bridge from one side to the other. If we run straight across while they have to drive all the way around, we might be able to catch up. We might be able to see them and follow them.”

  “Great,” said Colby. “Then what?”

  “I dunno,” said Sunny. “But let’s go!”

  She opened the door to the mezzanine level and they found themselves in a stair well. They climbed the short flight of steps and emerged onto a narrow walkway. On their left and right, the walkway followed the perimeter of the building, just as Sunny had proposed. It also extended directly out over the lobby level ten feet below, forming an observational catwalk joining several others in the center of the massive lobby. People walked below, some strolling goggle-eyed at the sheer size and beauty of the structure, others sadly immune to it, having lived there for some time.

  The floor of the lobby was constructed of enormous square tiles of gold and emerald green. Sunny, Bubba, and Colby sprinted across the mezzanine bridge. Bubba had the distinct impression they were pawns in a massive chess match, played on perhaps the biggest chessboard in all the world. He decided not to look down again as he ran behind Sunny and Colby. Somewhere, in a small, quiet, far-away place in his mind not overwhelmed with the pursuit, he wondered about Parker, wondered if he’d ever see him again.

  By the time they’d reached the center of the bridge a few minutes later, their pace had slowed, their breathing labored. They stopped for a brief rest.

  “This place is bigger than an airport,” Colby huffed.

  “Now . . . what?” asked Bubba. He and Colby bent over with their hands on their knees, drawing great breaths of air. “Should we keep going . . . in the same direction?” Bubba asked quickly between breaths.

  “What if we split up?” asked Colby.

  “No,” replied Sunny, “if we split up we couldn’t meet up again. Building’s just too big. Let’s keep going.” She again set off. Bubba and Colby limped after her.

  At last they crossed the entire span of the bridge. Their legs burned and their muscles yearned for oxygen. They leaned against one of the giant windows. Bubba looked back but couldn’t see the far side of the bridge. They’d run the entire width of Sky City North.

  “Hey.” Colby gasped for air, his forehead against the window. Neither Sunny nor Bubba had heard him over their own huffing and puffing. “Hey!” he said, louder, “I see ’em.”

  “What?” said Sunny.

  “I see them!” Colby exclaimed. “Look!” He pointed out the window.

  Two menacing black SUVs drove down East Plaza Boulevard, beset on all sides by a flurry of dirty yellow taxi cabs all darting in and out of their lanes, oblivious to the blaring of horns and the notion of traffic laws.

  “They’re coming,” said Sunny. She chanced a small smile. “We didn’t lose them.”

  “I don’t wanna sound like a broken record,” Colby gasped, “but now what?”

  The vehicles came steadily on. Sunlight glinted off the chrome grill of the lead SUV. A shiny sterling silver necktie-shaped emblem in the center of the grill denoted both SUVs as Cherrolet, the top-of-the-line vehicle for top-of-the-line driving in all conditions, as boasted by the most recent campaign slogan. The emblem was jokingly referred to as a Cuban necktie, due to the rumors of ruthless tactics traditionally employed by the late Mr. Ford Cherrolet, the company’s founder. Such rumors were said to be very much in effect today under the savvy and often ruthless auspices of Canary Cherrolet, Mr. Cherrolet’s only son and heir. The brazen disregard for the impending loss of childhood well-being and adult masculinity of a boy growing up with the name Canary was further proof Ford Cherrolet was every bit as ruthless as his impressive reputation. That Canary had succeeded in seizing the reigns of the vast empire from his father and was now one of the richest, most powerful men in the world was more impressive still.

  The necktie glowed in the afternoon sun.

  “Piggy-back,” said Bubba.

  “What?” said Sunny and Colby in unison.

  “Piggy-back,” said Bubba. “We’ll ride piggy-back.”

  Colby rolled his eyes.

  “Simply repeating a statement does not clarify matters in the slightest,” said Sunny.

  “My dad taught me how to tie a necktie by watching him do it in the mirror while I rode piggyback. So, we’ll ride piggy-back on those SUVs.”

  “Are you crazy?” demanded Colby. “Look, I rode on the roof of a car during the shoot for Go-Boy . . . Unleashed.”

  “I told you not to say anything!” said Bubba.

  “I didn’t, Frank, it’s a minor point,” said Colby.

  “But now I know I can expect to see you clinging to the roof of a speeding car.”

  “Anyway, I had a professional stuntman give me hours of tedious coaching. I know what I’m doing and it’s still very hard and very dangerous. Why don’t we just take a taxi?”

  “I think he’s right, Bubba,” said Sunny. “A taxi’s much safer.”

  “A taxi won’t be able to keep up,” countered Bubba. “Colby said it himself, those trucks are government-issue. They can run red lights, go anywhere they want. A taxi can’t keep up. And even if it could, they’d know we were tailing them in no time. We have to stay close to Parker.” He wondered if Parker had been tied up so he couldn’t escape, tape stuc
k to his mouth so he couldn’t speak, a black hood forced over his head so he couldn’t see.

  “How?” said Sunny.

  “We get outside and get up on the pedestrian walkway over the street. When they stop at the light, we climb over the railing and down onto their roof. We just have to pray they turn right onto North Tower Drive, so they pass under the bridge.”

  “Oh, so we’re putting all our hopes on a single prayer,” said Colby. “Wonderful.”

  Outside, the twin black SUVs stopped at a red light. A river of people poured across the street through the crosswalk.

  “They’re stopped,” said Bubba. “Come on. Before it’s too late.”

  Chapter 2

  Warm Donuts