Liar & Spy Read Free Page A

realize she means Bennie’s, where I’ve gone almost every day of my life after school to buy a snack. Bennie has a faded blue awning that says CHOCK-NUT , but nobody actually calls it that. When I was in kindergarten and first grade,Bennie would slide a plastic milk crate under the counter for me to stand on so I could see the candy better. I wonder if he does the same for this girl. I think how Bennie is a good guy.
    She hops down from the table, landing silently in her pig slippers. “But once I get there, I might go for a Cadbury Crème Egg instead—that’s another seasonal candy.”
    “But—who’s paying you?” I ask.
    “Safer is paying me.”
    “What’s Safer ?”
    “Safer is not a what. He’s the twelve-year-old human standing right behind you.”
    I whirl around and find myself standing nose to nose with the dog boy.
    “I’m Safer,” the dog boy says.
    “One dollar, please!” The girl holds out her palm.
    Safer takes a folded dollar bill out of his back pocket and hands it to her.
    “Wait,” I say. “You were sitting there for an hour ?”
    “Fifteen minutes,” she says. “Plus forty-five more on the lobbycam during lunch.”
    “The lobbycam?”
    “Yup. Watching you and your dad go out for pizza. It took you exactly forty-three minutes, in case you’re wondering.”
    Before I can ask her what the heck she’s talking about, Safer pushes her out the door. “ Goodbye , Candy,” he says to the back of her head. “Tell Mom I’ll be up in a little bit.”
    “Wait,” I say when he’s closed the door behind her. “Her name is Candy?”
    Safer looks at me. “Yeah.”
    “And your name is—Safer?”
    “Yeah.”
    I smile. I have a strong feeling that I’ve just met two kids who will never make fun of my name.

Safer
    “Coffee?” Safer asks.
    He takes a flask—an actual flask —out of his back pocket. I know what a flask is because Dad has two of them. Dad doesn’t use his, though. He just likes to look at them. They’re really old (of course), and one of them belonged to his grandfather. It even has his initials on it.
    Safer unscrews the top slowly, puts the flask to his lips, and tips it back. He swallows and then holds it out to me.
    “No thanks,” I say. “I heard coffee stunts your growth.”
    Safer shrugs, screws the top back on, and shoves the flask back into his pocket.
    “Let’s get started. Question number one: How many garbage cans are lined up outside that door?”
    We’re kind of leaning against the table from opposite sides, and he’s looking right into my eyes.
    “Was that your sister?” I ask.
    Safer blinks. “Yes. How many garbage cans?”
    “I don’t know,” I tell him. “Do you want me to countthem for you? Or you could, you know, count them yourself. Are you asking me to count them?”
    “No. I’m not asking you to count them. I assume you can count. I’m asking you to remember.”
    “Oh.” I realize it’s a test. “Eight, maybe?”
    “Ten. How many buttons on your shirt? Don’t look.”
    I have an almost-irresistible urge to look down. I stare at the lightbulb on the ceiling to stop myself.
    “Seven?”
    “Eight.”
    “Okay. So—what’s your point?”
    “My point?” He pulls the flask out again, takes a drink, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “My point is that we have a lot of work to do.”
    Safer takes the spy stuff very seriously. He tells me that there’s this guy in the building, who he calls Mr. X, who is almost definitely up to something evil. He says that —evil— like it’s something he deals with every day. Just another day, fighting the world’s evil forces. I like it.
    Mr. X wears black all the time, Safer tells me: “All. The. Time.” Black pants, black shirt, black shorts in the summer. He’s always moving these suitcases in and out of the building. And they look heavy.
    “Wait,” I say, thinking of that morning in the elevator, “does he wear a baseball cap with a fish on it?”
    Safer snaps his head