Cyrus ran to the front door, Fergus right behind him.

“Turn on the burners so all twelve are the same temperature. That range is so big, we can line up all three guys and flip them at the same time. What’s the holdup, guys?”

Harry’s friends watched what was going on until one of them finally whispered to Harry to explain what it all meant. Harry patiently explained, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You want to watch or leave?”

“You’re one crazy, wild sum of a bitch, Harry Wong,” Kee whispered as he ushered his friends to the front door.

“Okay, Maggie, as you can see, all three are out cold. The rest of this gang is so traumatized right now, I don’t know if they know their own names,” Ted said.

“Good! Good! Now they know how it feels. Even this is too good for what they did to those people from Happy Village. I can’t wait to go back and tell all of this to Frances Gossett and her cat, Sawdust. After I pretty it up, of course. I don’t want her having a heart attack or anything like that.

“We need to move this right along here. Throw some cold water on them so they sizzle when they hit the burners. It’s gonna stink in here because they’re so hairy and greasy. Yuk! Okay, let’s do it! Keep it up with the water or they’re going to black out again. Meadows, you go first since you started all this. Have at it, boys!” Maggie yelled happily. “This one is for Lady Justice!”

“Santiago, you’re up next!” Maggie singsonged. “One minute on each side, boys. Okay, Mr. Rodriguez, you’re up. Give him two minutes! After that, Avery, they are all yours.”

Maggie walked over to the range and looked down at the three roasting forms on Lizzie’s stove. Their tortured screams were music to her ears. “You all deserve worse than this, but we’re in Vegas now, so you work with the hand you’re dealt. Bye!” she trilled.

“Wait a minute, where are you going?” Ted bellowed.

“When I get there, I’ll let you know. Carry on, boys. Make me proud of you!”

Epilogue

Epilogue

Three days later

Maggie Spritzer fanned herself with the summer camp program as she took her seat with what Jack called the Little Cricket contingent. It was noon, and the blazing sun had finished burning off the early morning fog and dew, leaving it blistering hot. Sweat rolled down her back and arms. “How long is this meet, Jack? I don’t know how long I can handle this heat.” She pointed to the various swim team members, mostly kids Little Jack’s age, as they scampered about screaming and yelling, poking and prodding each other, sometimes shoving an opponent into the crystal-blue water.