Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission

by Christopher Paul Curtis

  The hamster Ursa thingy dropped to all fours and charged at Buster B. Bayliss. The only thing he could do was chew on the brown fringe of Mr. B.'s left moccasin.

  Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, Buster B. Bayliss brought the tiny teddy bear up to his face. “I'd say you're in need of an attitude adjustment, little fella.”

  Russell felt a chill run down his back. The way the Ursa hamster was snarling and snapping and yipping and yapping reminded him of a certain group of small Mexican dogs, an unfortunate meeting at Halo Burger and a couple of stolen fish sandwiches.

  His heart skipped a beat when he noticed a flurry of movement coming from the floor of the forest side of the boulevard.

  Had the Chihuahuas found him again?

  Russell whipped his head around and said, “Whew!”

  There were no Chihuahuas, but there was a gathering bunch of rabbits staring at the cute little Ursa hamster dangling from Buster B. Bayliss's hand. And it was obvious from the expression on their faces that they had something no-good in mind!

  Buster B. Bayliss saw the disgruntled bunnies, turned to the dangling Ursa hamster and said, “Uh-oh! I think these rabbits might have some questions about your eating habits they'd like to discuss.”

  The group of rabbits was growing larger and larger and making a very unbunnylike grumbling, growling sound.

  Buster B. Bayliss set the Ursa hamster on the ground. He did a cartoon double take at the river of growling, charging rabbits and tore into the land of ice and snow, running with his tail between his legs and yipping like he was on fire.

  It took five minutes for the parade of vengeful rabbits to pass.

  When the last little cottontail had disappeared into the land of ice and snow, Buster B. Bayliss gave Russell a certain look and said, “Well, buckaroo, I guess all of the prophecies for my county have been fulfilled. Looks like you might be one of the Old Souls after all.”

  He offered his right hand.

  “You've done a lot of growing in the short time we were together. You've learned a lot. A lot about the woods. About living. Not sure how much is going to stick. Thelonger you're away from the forest, the more of your learning you'll lose.”

  He put his left fist over his mouth and cleared his throat.

  “You know. Never thought I'd say something like this. Been pretty much a loner all my life.”

  The great outdoorsman cleared his throat again.

  “But if you'd like to stay here, I'd …er-erm …be proud to have you as a …uh …as a sidekick.”

  Buster B. Bayliss gave Russell a certain look.

  A look that he usually reserved only for the animals in the woods.

  The animals he understood.

  The animals he felt one with.

  The animals he loved.

  It was a look of well-earned respect.

  It was either that or the beginnings of constipation, for Mr. B. had also discovered the delightfully robust and tangy flavor of fresh mosquitoes and, when Russell wasn't looking, had been himself scarfing down mouthfuls for the past three days.

  Whatever this look was, Russell wanted no part of it.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bayliss, but I've gotta find Bucko and Richelle and we have to get back to Flint before the Oops-a-Daisy goes off. But if we don't make it, I'll come back and see you.”

  Buster B. Bayliss had been right, for Russell was already losing his knowledge of the woods.

  His need to be super attentive.

  His ability to notice every little thing.

  Because he didn't even notice that the final time Buster B. Bayliss seemed to choke up and put his hand over his mouth and clear his throat, it was actually a burp, and three terrified mosquitoes fled from his mouth and headed back to the forest, full of tales of imprisonment and terror.

  Russell was suddenly very nervous. He swallowed twice, looked at his little dog and said, “Rod-Rode, or Ahjah, whoever you are today, are you staying here or are you coming home?”

  The little Madagascar Mountain Munchker looked at Buster B. Bayliss, then at Russell. Three times his head turned from one to the other.

  Finally he helicoptered over to Mr. B.

  Russell's heart sank and his mouth turned into a giant lowercase letter n. He knew whatever Rodney Rodent chose was the best for him.

  That didn't make saying goodbye any easier, though.

  Rodney Rodent gave the outdoorsman's cheek a quick lick, then hovered over to Russell's shoulder, where he landed and sat down.

  Russell quickly shook Buster B. Bayliss's hand, got his Oops-a-Daisy back, gently set Rodney Rodent in his shirt pocket and opened the door to Ourside.

  He might have started forgetting all he'd learned about the woods, but it seemed like he had learned one new thing. All at once the whining that Rodney Rodent was doing started making sense!

  He was talking!

  And Russell understood everything!

  He looked down into his pocket and was shocked to hear his little dog say, “Big buddy! I'm telling you the truth right now, I'd never lie to you. I loved my job in Bayliss Land, I love to work, it's true. But olive burgs and weather-balls have been a giant hint. I'm a Flintstone to the bone, big bud, let's bounce on back to Flint!”

  Of Munchkers and Men …

  THE DOOR FROM BUSTER B. BAYLISS COUNTY shut behind Russell. Marvin Surly-Guide smiled and snarled, “Aha! What did I tell you? Exactly one week. And thank goodness the goof got away from that monster! Now I'll have a clean record.”

  Russell didn't need Great-great-grampa Carter's diction-ary to tell him what the look on Richelle's face was. Once again it was mortification.

  She said, “Russell! How could you run off like that? That was so irresponsible! We've been waiting here a whole week!”

  She put her Oops-a-Daisy one inch from Russell's nose and said, “Now we only have twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, nineteen minutes and fifty-two seconds before ninety-nine years go by in Flint! What were you thinking?”

  Marvin said, “Hmmm? What was he thinking? Seems to me like the talking book made a mistake when it said you were the smartest in this little gang. Seems to me any kind of idiot would know that neither one of your traveling buddies is real big on thinking at all.”

  Richelle snapped, “Listen, I've had just about enough of you! If you can't say or contribute something positive, just keep your mouth shut!”

  Surly-Guide said, “Oooh! I guess you told me, didn't you?”

  Russell said, “I'm real sorry, Madam President, but don't worry, I already got punished real bad for what I did. Buster B. Bayliss made sure I got dramatized every single day for a whole week.”

  Russell raised his right hand. “But cross my heart, hope to die, stick a hundred needles in my eye if I'll ever run off without asking again.”

  Richelle said, “I hope so, Russell. We were worried sick.”

  She touched Russell's head and said, “Why is your hair white in this spot?”

  She gave Russell a big hug.

  He made a face like he'd been bitten by a rattlesnake. “Oh, yuck, Madam President! Stop looking at me! You got the same disease as Bucko, except you think I'm the one who's so hot.”

  Richelle twisted her lips to the right and said, “Dream on, Russell, that was only because it's such a relief to see you.”

  Steven said, “Heya, Russ,” and acted like he was going to hug him too but stopped.

  Russell said, “Heya, Bucko,” and acted like he was going to hug Steven but didn't.

  Richelle said, “Boys! Yuck!”

  Russell said, “Whew, Bucko! I'm glad you didn't hug me, for a second I thought you fell in love with me too.”

  Steven said, “Uh-uh! I'm cured. I haven't looked at Richelle in a week, and now I bet I can look at her and see her for what she really is. …”

  He looked at Richelle. “Yup, I can see she's … she's still …” He couldn't help himself, he began singing in a real deep voice, “Dark and lovely, you over there, new age l
ady, independent girl, you're very special and you're so unique. …”

  Marvin, Russell, Richelle and even Steven himself yelled, “LOOK AWAY!”

  Richelle said, “We are so far behind! We've lost a week and haven't even found a clue as to where Rodney Rodent is yet! If we don't stick together, we'll never be able to—”

  Russell reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out the shiveringest, shakingest, quivering-quakingest dog anyone had ever seen.

  Richelle and Steven yelled, “Rodney Rodent!”

  Surly-Guide said, “Oh, joy. One of those filthy Madagascar Mountain Munchkers.”

  Rodney Rodent looked in the direction of Surly-Guide and whined, but only Russell understood he was saying,“Big buddy! I can't believe you know this guy, I can't believe he's here. I know you're smarter than your friends, so please lend me your ear. Everyone knows throughout Our-side this is one tricky young man. Make sure you keep both eyes on him and lose him when you can!”

  Russell said, “Okay, Rod-Rode, I understand.”

  Steven said, “You understand what, Russell?”

  “Uh, nothing. I was just acting a little dramatized but I'm feeling much better now.”

  Richelle petted Rodney Rodent and said, “Great work, Russell! Now let's get back to Mr. Chickee and Ms. Tiptip. We don't have any idea how long the second messy mission Mr. Chickee's going to send us on will take, but if we average a week to ten days on each one, it's going to be too close. Are you ready, Surly-Guide?”

  The guide grumbled, “Am I ready to get rid of you three pains? I was ready a week ago and I'm even readier now.”

  Richelle growled, “You're not half as ready to get rid of us as we are to get rid of you! All you need to do is zip your lip and take us back to where we came in.”

  “Fine. But there is the little matter of payment that we need to take care of first. I believe it was mentioned that if I got you back safely, you'd give me your cool talking book.” He grabbed at the thumb drive dangling from Steven's neck.

  Steven wrapped his hand around Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary and said, “Maybe it was mentioned, but not by us, it was by you. Ms. Tiptip already told us whatwe're supposed to pay you and we'll take care of that when you get us back.”

  Marvin smiled greasily. “Oh-ho! You guys aren't as un-slick as you look! All right, let's get going.”

  He pointed at the dictionary and said, “But I'm telling you now, it's meant to be that that talking book is mine.”

  Rodney Rodent whined, “Big buddy, I hope you listen to me, I hope you mind my word. This surly teenage guiding kid is a low-down dirty bird. He'll steal that talking book, he'll get it from Buck-oh. He'll disappear and won't come back, these are things you should know.”

  Russell said, “Got ya, Rod-Rode, I'll tell Bucko.”

  Marvin said, “Would you shut that Munchker up? All that whining gets on my nerves. Come on, I know a shortcut back to Mr. Chickee's crib.”

  After a much shorter walk the guide opened a door on a porch and the Flint Future Detectives found themselves back in front of Mr. Chickee's house.

  “Whew!” Russell said.

  Marvin Surly-Guide said, “Okay, you're back safe. Mission completed. The talking book, hand it over.”

  Steven said, “I'm not giving you the dictionary, my dad would kill me if I lost it. Follow us into Mr. Chickee's and we'll pay you the regular guide fee.”

  The guide said, “Plus I believe I deserve the customary Ourside twenty-five-percent tip.”

  Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary said, “Here are the only two tips you deserve: number one, ‘Don't play withmatches,’ and number two, ‘Look both ways before crossing the street.’ ”

  Marvin said, “Oh, man! That talking book is the bomb! The insults I'm gonna learn once I get my hands on it!”

  Russell whispered to Steven, “We gotta watch out for him, Bucko, something tells me he's a crook.”

  Steven whispered back, “Don't worry, Russell. I'll protect this dictionary with my life.” And to show how serious he was he raised his right hand.

  Richelle said, “All right, all right. It is so rude to whisper, knock it off and let's go find out what our next mission is.”

  She knocked on Mr. Chickee's door.

  Ms. Tiptip answered and relief swept over her face.

  “Finally! Come in, come in. We've been so worried.”

  She hugged the Flint Future Detectives. Steven and Russell made funny faces at each other.

  The sullen guide saw Ms. Tiptip and skulked off the porch. He hollered to Richelle, “I'll wait out here. Get my pay and be snappy about it.”

  The three friends followed Ms. Tiptip into Mr. Chickee's living room.

  She called out, “Othello, it's them! They're all safe!”

  Mr. Chickee set down a newspaper. “Oh, thank goodness! I'm so happy you're safe, but do you have the Munchker?”

  Russell reached back in his front shirt pocket.

  Ms. Tiptip said, “Othello! You were right! They are marvelous!”

  Richelle said, “Mr. Chickee, Ms. Tiptip, we didn't think that was going to take anywhere near that long! I'm afraid we might run out of time, we have to get started on the next mission right away.”

  “You're right, Richelle. Let me turn on the Holo-Vision.”

  He said, “Russell, please move that newspaper for me.”

  Russell picked up Mr. Chickee's paper. He read the headline: NEW SUPER-GIGANTIC NUMBER DISCOVERED; CALLED A BRAZILIAN. FOUND TO BE SAME SIZE AS A HUNDRED SKILLION.

  Russell threw the paper on the floor. Mr. Chickee raised his hands to clap but Russell beat him to the punch.

  Horton Flum-Flub Holo-Explainer appeared on the middle of the table. He bowed and said, “Welcome, one and all.” (But guess who he didn't look at!)

  He bowed in Russell's direction and said, “Congratulations on successfully completing the first mission, Russell Braithewaite Woods. In honor of your accomplishment I have been asked to compose a poem. It has been placed in the Ourside Archives of Heroes. Please allow me to repeat it.”

  Russell said, “Wow. Great! That's so coo—”

  Horton said, “Sorry to interrupt, but we're on a pretty tight schedule here. All I really need is your permission.”

  Russell said, “Oops! You can do it!”

  Horton closed his tiny holographic eyes, cleared his throat, then flung his arms wide open.

  “Why? You got me.

  Where? No idea.

  When? Beats me.

  But will rainbows care?”

  Horton bowed again and waited in that embarrassing way people do when they're expecting you to clap for them.

  Everybody did.

  “Thank you! Thank you! Really, you're much too kind!”

  Steven started to say, “Huh? I—”

  But Ms. Tiptip put her hand on his arm and said, “Horton, once again you've proven there is no other person who can do to a poem what you do. Now these fine people need to know where their next mission will take place.”

  Horton disappeared and a map of Ourside filled the table.

  Richelle said, “There! I just had a feeling in my gut that I need to go there.”

  Russell said, “Don't be so sure, Madam President, some of the time those feelings are nothing but diarrhea.”

  Richelle said, “Russell! Be quiet. It's right there, Ms. Tiptip.”

  Richelle touched a place on the table that looked like a giant city with a bright blue dot in the middle of it.

  Mr. Chickee and Ms. Tiptip smiled.

  He said, “Boys, it looks like you and I will be hanging out for a while.”

  Ms. Tiptip said, “Richelle, good news, I'll be accompanying you there. There will be no need to hire a guide!”

  Steven slapped his forehead and said, “The guide! I just about forgot, we have to pay him.”

  Ms. Tiptip handed Steven an envelope. “That's payment in full. Richelle, we need to get started, this is another mission that migh
t prove to have a few surprises in it.”

  Ms. Tiptip walked to the door. The Flint Future Detectives followed her.

  She gave Mr. Chickee a hug.

  “Be safe, Naomi.”

  “I think you might have a harder time with these two than I will with Richelle.”

  They smiled.

  Ms. Tiptip walked onto the porch. “Come, my dear, the next porch is right next door.”

  Steven and Russell followed them onto Mr. Chickee's porch.

  Richelle and Ms. Tiptip walked to the porch next door, turned to wave, then opened the door.

  “Pssst!”

  Steven turned around. On the side of the porch Marvin Surly-Guide suddenly appeared.

  “Well?”

  Steven handed him the envelope.

  The teenager said, “Thanks for nothing.”

  He started to leave but said to Steven, “Don't think it wasn't fun, but you see, you guys and me could never hang.”

  Russell said, “Why not?”

  Marvin said, “Well, for starters, look at him.” He pointed at the front of Steven's shirt.

  “You think I'd hang out with someone who spills food all over their shirt like that?”

  Steven looked down and said, “What food?”

  Man! If you think Buster B. Bayliss fell for the second-oldest trick in the world, Steven had just fallen for the absolute oldest one. As soon as he looked down, Marvin took his finger and boinged Steven in the nose and said, “Psych!”

  Rodney Rodent began whining in Russell's pocket.

  Marvin jumped off the porch, ran into the woods by Mr. Chickee's house and said, “You think I'd hang with someone who'd fall for that? Fat chance, chump!”

  Then he disappeared in a thick grove of trees.

  Rodney Rodent was becoming so rambunctious and whiny that Russell had to take him out of his pocket.

  “What, Rod-Rode? What's wrong? I couldn't hear you.”

  Rodney Rodent sounded very disappointed, “Big buddy! The words I said were very clear, I can't believe this happened. Don't look now but that rotten kid your talking book's kidnappened! Call nine-one-one, call Mr. C, you're gonna need advice. If Bucko goes off by himself, the ree-sult won't be nice!”

  Russell looked around Steven's neck, and sure enoughGreat-great-grampa Carter's dictionary was gone; only the cord hung around Steven's neck.