by Bill Myers
“Really?” Wall Street raised an eyebrow.
“Belch?” Opera asked.
I nodded. “We go across the street to the zoo, one of you crawls back into that monkey cage and—”
“One of us?” Wall Street interrupted.
“Well, yeah. I mean, it was scary enough for me to go in there the first time. You can’t expect me to be the one to go in again.”
They both stared at me.
“Come on,” I insisted, “I went to all that effort of losing it, the least one of you could do is . . .”
Their look continued.
“All right . . . I’ll crawl back into the cage, and I’ll find the ticket.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Wall Street said.
“I’ll wait here and have another order of fries,” Opera agreed.
“Great,” I sighed.
“But you know, we still have one little problem,” Wall Street said.
“What’s that?”
“The zoo’s locked up.”
“Mu metter mafe mat mwee mwitle mwoblems,” Opera added. He’d fished out the last fry from the grease and was scarfing it down.
“What?” I asked.
He repeated himself. “You better make that three little problems.”
“What are the other two?” I asked.
“Good evening, boys and girls,” a male voice boomed from behind me.
“That’s one,” Opera said.
“I hoped I’d never see you brats again,” another voice bellowed.
“That’s the other.”
I spun around to see my old buddy, Big Lug. With him was his woman partner from our Save the Snail days. But before any of us could get too sentimental about old times, she snapped, “You’re sure these are the creeps who stole our lotto ticket?”
I don’t want to be too critical, but it didn’t look like prison life had done much to improve her manners, or Big Lug’s diction.
“Dat’s right,” Big Lug said, “333777. Dat’s the number dat won, and dat’s the number they tooks from me.”
“Hold it, wait a minute.” Wall Street interrupted. “We bought that ticket from you fair and square.”
“Is that true?” the woman asked Big Lug.
“I uh, well, dat is to say . . . listen,” he complained, “you can’t expect me to remember all the details.”
“Well, I remember,” Wall Street said. “In fact, Opera here gave you four times what you paid for it. Isn’t that right, Opera?”
“Burp.” Opera nodded.
“That’s right,” I added. “You were trying to rip us off.”
“You know, now dat you mention it, I do remember something along those lines,” Big Lug said. “And I feel so terrible about it. Here, let me give ya your money back, right now. Just hand over dat ticket, and we’ll call it even. Shoot, I’ll even pay for them fries you just ate.”
“All right!” Opera shouted as he stretched out his greasy hand to shake.
“Opera!” Wall Street grabbed his hand. “What kind of fool are you?”
Opera scrunched his eyebrows into a frown. “How many kinds are there?”
The woman saw our weakness and went for it. “And to prove there are no hard feelings, we’ll even buy an extra order of fries.”
I could see Opera begin to shake. The temptation must have been tremendous.
“No, Opera!” Wall Street cried. “Don’t!”
Beads of perspiration broke out across his forehead as he looked from us to them . . . and from them to us. Finally, he stared down at the empty plate, its pool of grease shimmering in the light.
But the bad guys knew no shame. Big Lug raised the stakes even higher. He leaned forward and whispered, “Make that a double order.”
It was more than Opera could handle. The poor guy’s taste buds were on overload. His lips began to tremble, his face began to twitch. He gulped hard, took a deep breath, and finally asked the all-important question. “Extra crispy?”
“Stop it!” Wall Street shouted as she stepped between them. “Opera’s our partner, and there’s no way we’re going to let you buy us out with some measly meal.”
I heard Opera let out a little whimper. Poor guy.
“Well, then let me see if I can tempt you with another offer,” the woman said as she pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from under her coat.
Wall Street gasped.
I groaned.
And Opera said, “I think I’d rather have the fries.”
“Sorry, Tub-O,” the woman hissed. “Junk food’s bad for your health.”
“Almost as bad as buckshot,” Big Lug giggled. “All right,” Opera agreed, “I’ll just have the single order then.”
“The offer has expired,” she growled. “And if you don’t want to expire with it, I suggest you hand over that ticket.”
“We don’t have it,” Wall Street said.
“Right,” Big Lug sneered, “and I’m a monkey’s uncle.”
“I’m not interested in your family problems,” Wall Street said. “I’m telling you the truth. We don’t have the ticket on us.”
“Where is it?” the woman asked. “At home?”
Wall Street’s eyes lit up. The same way they do whenever she’s about to make a killing off of Opera and me.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “The lotto ticket’s at home.” She began inching toward the door. “Isn’t that right, Wally?”
“Huh?”
She gave me a hard look.
“Oh yeah, right. At home.” I started inching toward the door with her. “Come on, Opera,” I said. “Let’s go home and get that ticket.”
“Home?” Opera said. “I thought Wally left the ticket in the—OAFF!” He would have said more, but it’s hard to talk when Wall Street’s elbow is jammed so hard into your stomach that it’s sticking out your back. (Honestly, sometimes I think she sharpens those things.)
“So,” Wall Street said as we continued easing toward the door, “why don’t you two just stay here while the three of us go home, find it, and bring it right back to you.”
“Not so fast!” yelled Big Lug as he blocked our way.
Uh-oh, the gig was up. He’d seen through our plan.
“If the two of us stay here and you guys go home, how uh, dat is to say, umm . . .” We watched as he struggled to think through the problem. “Uh . . .” (Amazing isn’t it? How dim some folk’s bulbs can glow?) Finally, he had it. “Oh yeah, if you leave and go home, how do we know you’ll bring back the right ticket?”
Well, he had us there. It wasn’t the right question, but it was so incredibly wrong we couldn’t find an answer.
The good news was, we were just a few feet from the door. And remembering how clumsy these two were back in My Life As Dinosaur Dental Floss, I knew we might be able to make a run for it. I threw a glance at Wall Street. I could tell she was thinking the same thing as she threw a glance at me. Then we both threw a glance at Opera, who, unfortunately, was still throwing glances at the empty French fry plate. (I guess everyone has their priorities.)
It was now or never. Wall Street raised her leg and with one powerful
K-stomp
landed hard on top of the woman’s foot.
“OW!” she cried, grabbing her foot and hopping around. “My, this is certainly a most unpleasant experience!” (Actually, that’s not what she said, but since this is a G-rated book, you’ll have to use your imagination.)
And, since she was having so much fun hopping on one foot, I figured the more the merrier, so I stomped down on the other:
K-stomp.
“OW! OW!” she cried. “My, this experience is even more unpleasant than the other!” The poor gal was doing more dance steps than some kid having to go to the bathroom . . . which gave us the chance to make our move.
“Let’s go!” Wall Street shouted. She grabbed Opera, threw open the door, and raced outside.
“Right behind you!” I shouted as I spun around, raced toward the door, and
<
br /> K-Bonk
smashed into the edge of it. I must have hit the thing pretty hard ’cause I was seeing more stars than at the Academy Awards. And what journey through unconscious-ville would be complete without a little staggering back and forth? First to the left, then to the right, then a collision with the hopping woman.
“Excuse me!” she cried. “If it is not an inconvenience, would you be so kind as to release me?” (Time for more language imagination, again.)
I would have loved to cooperate, but I was a little busy being in a daze and hanging on to her for dear life.
Obviously feeling left out, Big Lug got into the act and tried to separate us. “Hey, that’s my girl you’re hugging!”
Now it was an absurd kind of dance . . . the woman hopping and yelling “Ow, ow, ow,” me hanging on, and Big Lug trying to pull us apart—not, of course, without
hop “Ow!”
hop “Ow!”
getting his own tootsies stomped on in the process.
But things didn’t get real interesting until we finally
hop, hop, hop
K-Bamb!
knocked into the table, tipped it over, and
K-rash!
tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
glug, glug, glug. . . .
The K-rash was the empty French fry plate hitting the floor. The tinkle, tinkle, tinkle was it turning into many pieces of French fry plate. And the glug, glug, glug was all that wonderful grease pouring out onto the floor.
No problem, except as we did our three-way dance it made it
“Whoa!”
Slip, slip, slip
K-Bamb!
a little hard to
“Whoa!”
slip, slip, slip
K-Bamb!
stand.
K-BAMB!
K-RASH!
That was another table biting the dust. Only this one had four empty hamburger plates on it, which meant
GLUG, GLUG, GLUG
about four extra feet of grease spilling onto the floor.
“My, oh, my!” the woman cried. “That was certainly unfortunate.”
I don’t know how long we kept that up (it’s hard to keep track of time when you keep getting knocked unconscious). But I was sure grateful when Wall Street raced back in, pulled me to my feet . . . “Come on, Wally, quit clowning around!” . . . and dragged me out the door.
K-BAMB!
Actually I would have been more grateful if she’d dragged me out the door instead of into it. But they say the third time is the charm, so after one more
K-BAMB!
into the door for old time’s sake, we finally made it outside.
That was the good news. But as you know, these chapters seldom end with good news. Because back in the restaurant, staggering to their feet (and saying a few more R-rated words), our bad guys grabbed the shotgun and decided it would be great fun to begin a little chase.
Chapter 6
Returning to the Scene of the Crime
So there we were, racing for home as fast as our hot little feet could carry us. Well, at least that’s where my hot little feet wanted to carry me. Unfortunately, Wall Street’s feet had different ideas. When we got to the first intersection, instead of rounding the block for home, she took a right and started crossing the street.
“Where you going?” I shouted. “Home is this way!”
“I know. The zoo is this way!”
“Zoo?”
“We’ve got to double back!”
“Are you crazy?”
“Wally, that’s where the ticket is!”
“That’s also where the bad guys are!”
“We’ll be on the other side of the street. We’ll stay in the shadows, they’ll never see us!”
“No way!” I shouted. “That’s crazy talk! That’s loony tunes! That’s—”
“The only way to get 2.1 gazillion dollars!” she cried.
“What are we waiting for?” I shouted as I raced across the street ahead of her. “Let’s get going!”
Now, I know that some of you might be thinking your ol’ buddy, Wally, was having a little trouble in the greed department. Well, you’re wrong, dead wrong. I wasn’t having a little trouble with greed . . . I was having a lot of trouble with it! First, there was my destructo-zoo tour on the popcorn wagon that afternoon; then there was my minor attitude about being a hotshot before the drawing (not to speak of my major attitude after it). And now here we were starting a brand-new suicide mission. Of course, in the back of my mind, I knew it was stupid. But in the front of my mind, all I could think about was that cold, hard cash.
We managed to race across the street and duck behind a parked car just as Big Lug and the woman raced outside. By the looks of their greasy clothes, stringy hair, and the delicate sheen of oil all over their bodies, it seemed they’d managed to slip and fall on the grease-covered floor a couple hundred more times. (This would also explain why they were popping about a dozen blood vessels in anger.)
“Which way?” Big Lug yelled.
“They’re heading for their homes!” the woman cried.
“Let’s get ’em!”
I jumped up to start after them, but Wall Street grabbed me and pulled me back down. “Where are you going?” she whispered, “The zoo’s this way.”
“They’re heading for our houses! We’ve got to warn our families.”
“Let’s get the ticket first.”
“But—”
“Our families can take care of themselves.”
“But . . . but—”
“The ticket won’t.”
“But . . . but . . . but—”
“And no ticket means no money.”
That’s when I stopped my motorboat imitation and began nodding my head in agreement. Look, I know I should have put my family first, but I figured with all that money I could buy a couple of bodyguards for them . . . shoot, I could even buy a whole army! Granted, the bad guys would probably find my house before then, but what’s a minor detail like that compared to all that loot?
By now, Big Lug and the woman had disappeared around the corner. So, we got up and raced to the zoo. In less than a minute, we were standing in front of the closed ten-foot-tall gates.
“What do we do now?” Opera groaned.
“We climb over them,” I said as I leaped toward the black iron bars. Unfortunately, I missed the gate by half a foot.
K-thunk!
However, I did manage to leave a lovely impression of my face on the sidewalk in front of it.
“Wally, . . .”
I rose to my feet and tried again. After all, we were talking 2.1 gazillion dollars. Besides, I knew my friends were depending on me. With great determination (and no athletic ability), I took a deep breath and started to climb the gate.
“Wally, . . .”
I continued the impossible task, working my way up the slippery bars. Minutes ticked away. It was exhausting work, but I had no choice. I couldn’t let us down. Finally, I paused to catch my breath. I looked back down to check my progress. Incredibly, I was already eight, maybe even nine inches off the ground.
“Wally, . . .”
I pressed on, gasping for air. Nine inches . . . nine and a half. Every muscle in my body cried out in pain (and embarrassment) as I continued up and up.
“Wally!”
Finally, I looked down at my friends. No doubt they were impressed with my awesome strength. No doubt they were calling up to cheer me on. Then again, maybe it was because the gate hadn’t been locked at all, and Wall Street had just pushed it open, and she was now standing inside with her hands on her hips shouting up to me: “Will you quit fooling around, Wally; we’ve got work to do!”
* * * * *
The zoo was scary. Without any lights and with all those unknown creatures lurking about, it was majorly creepy in a Scream, Part XXI kind of way. Then there were all those strange noises—the howling hyenas, the chattering chimps, my knocking knees. It’s not that I was
frightened or anything, I could just think of a lot safer things I could be doing . . . like sticking my tongue into electrical outlets to see if they’re on.
Still, the thought of all that money kept pushing me forward.
“ROARK! ROARK!”
“What’s that?” I cried.
“Sounds like we’re back at the walrus exhibit,” Opera said.
I felt the rough wall beside me and stuck my head over the top. Sure enough, there was the walrus staring up at me.
“Nice boy,” I whispered, “good boy.”
To show his friendliness at having just been awakened, he lunged up at me with an incredible
“R O A R !”
which caused me to leap back with a terrifying
“Augh!”
which sent all of the surrounding animals into various forms of cries, screams, and screeches. The noise was awful, the sounds terrible, almost as bad as sitting through a concert of our All-School Choir. I mean, everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs. Most of all me.
“AUGH!!”
“Wally, knock it off!” Wall Street whispered.
“AUGH!”
“Wally! Wally!!”
“AUG—OAFF!”
Suddenly, Wall Street’s elbows were back in action . . . as pointed and painful as ever. I quit screaming and began feeling for puncture wounds.
Wall Street peered through the darkness. “The best I figure,” she said, “if this is the walrus exhibit, then Monkey Land should be right past the Snake Palace and over to our left.”
I nodded in agreement. We continued forward until we reached the Snake Palace. It’s a pretty cool place to visit during the day when there’s lots of light. Not so cool when there’s only darkness.
“Boy, am I glad we don’t have to go in there,” I said as we passed by, giving it a wide berth.
“Me, too,” Wall Street agreed. “Snakes give me the creeps.”
“Not rattlesnakes,” Opera argued.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re supposed to be a delicacy.” (Good ol’ Opera, if he can eat it, he can love it.)
“There it is! There’s Monkey Land!” Wall Street pointed across the lawn to a series of big cages, one right next to the other. Fortunately, they were out in the open, and the moon was full so we could see everything. Everything including the shiny new bars they’d just installed to replace the ones I’d busted out earlier that afternoon.