Top Ten Ways to Die

1 Weenies on Wheels"Would you like relish with that?"I pulled the steel tongs out of my apron pocket and plucked a plump pink wiener out of the steaming vat of water."Just a smear of mustard with a few dabs of ketchup," said the businessman, glancing at his watch. "And make it fast, kid."I rolled my eyes.It was bad enough that I was standing in the middle of Times Square wearing a stupid wiener-shaped hat and Rollerblades. It was even worse dealing with cranky New Yorkers and picky tourists."Here you go, sir. That'll be a dollar twenty-five."The businessman blinked his eyes. "A dollar twenty-five? When did the price go up?"My brother Frank pointed at the sign on the side of the street vendor cart. "The price is listed right here, sir," he said with a polite smile. "And it's worth every penny. You can't buy a better hot dog than Weenies on Wheels. We use only the finest meat products. Absolutely no fillers."I looked at my brother -- in his dorky hot-dog hat -- and started laughing. I just couldn't help myself.The businessman was not amused."It's a rip-off, kid."He thrust the hot dog at me and stormed off.I looked at Frank and held up the wiener. A thick glob of mustard dripped onto the sidewalk."Hungry?"My brother scoffed. "After today, I don't think I'll ever eat a hot dog again.""I'm with you, bro."I gave him a little shove that sent him rolling backward.Then someone screamed.Loud."Help! HELP!"Frank and I spun around on our Rollerblades.Across the crowded sidewalk, a young woman with long dark hair stood screaming in front of an automated teller machine. She clutched a wad of twenty-dollar bills in her hand and shook her head back and forth."No! You can't have it! Get away!"She struggled against her attackers -- three teenage boys wearing black knit caps and Rollerblades."It's them, Joe," Frank whispered. "The ATM Rollers."I recognized them instantly from the hidden-camera footage the ATAC team had sent us. The ATM Rollers had been terrorizing New Yorkers for weeks, targeting victims at cash machines in the Times Square area. Our mission was simple: go undercover, blend into the crowd, and keep an eye on the bank machines.Frank and I were totally psyched about the assignment. It was our chance to hunt down criminals in the streets of New York.How cool is that?Then we got a look at the Weenies on Wheels wagon and the ridiculous hot-dog hats we had to wear.Not so cool.Hey, at least we were wearing Rollerblades.And we were ready to roll."Freeze!" I yelled across the sidewalk at the thieves. "You're under arrest!"The boys looked up and saw Frank and me blading toward them."Run for it!" shouted the tallest boy.The three robbers released the girl -- and took off down the sidewalk.The chase was on.Frank and I dug our Rollerblades into the concrete and zoomed off after them. Weaving back and forth, we made our way through a pack of stunned pedestrians. A woman with a baby carriage shrieked as I rolled toward her. With a fast twist, I swerved around them.And smashed into a guy selling newspapers.The man toppled backward, tossing an armload ofNew York Posts up into the air. One of the pages slapped me in the face, blocking my vision. I shook it off as quickly as I could. Then I skidded to a stop and looked around.Where did they go?The ATM Rollers were nowhere in sight. I glanced down Broadway, but all I could see was a mob of tourists in a long ticket line."Joe! This way!" my brother shouted.Frank waved at me from across the street. Without skipping a beat, I charged after him -- right into the middle of traffic.Honk!A yellow cab screeched to a halt. The front fender grazed my knee, almost knocking me down. Then a bearded cab driver stuck his head out the window and started shaking his fist at me."You idiot! Watch where you'Dixon, Franklin W. is the author of 'Top Ten Ways to Die ', published 0008 under ISBN 9781416908463 and ISBN 1416908463.