From Russia with Lunch

by Bruce Hale

  “Lock me up and throw away the key.”

  She paused again. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you. You are going to owe me big-time.”

  A strange knot choked my throat. Probably the wolf spider quesadillas I’d eaten earlier.

  “Thanks, partner.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  The next morning, I acted the part of the heartbreak kid. I lingered in bed. I moped over my dragonfly flakes. I dawdled over my homework (actually, that part wasn’t acting).

  In short, I did everything possible to reassure my mom that this gecko was going to grump around the house all day.

  Still, when she headed to work at 10:30, Ma Gecko issued a warning: “If I find out you’ve left the house for any reason while I’m gone, you are grounded, mister.”

  No fool, my mother.

  As I watched her go, I mulled it over. True, if I went to school I’d probably be grounded. But since I’d be a worm if I didn’t solve this case, I’d be grounded if I didn’t go—and permanently.

  I decided to stick with the plan.

  Waiting a few minutes to make sure my mom was really gone, I slipped out the door and hotfooted it down the street. The neighborhood was quiet—kids at school, parents at work. I felt as conspicuous as a tarantula on a dinner plate.

  My feet slowed as I neared Emerson Hicky. It would take some major sneakiness to avoid Mrs. Crow’s eagle eye. (Or should that be crow eye?)

  I scoped out the school gate. All clear. I checked out the office windows. Blurry shapes passed inside—too risky.

  Crouching low, I scooted across the street and made for a shaggy oak tree by the fence. So far, so good. With a last look-see for stray teachers, I scrambled up the tree and out onto a limb.

  For a moment I dangled at arm’s length, then dropped like an overripe fruit.

  Whump! The grass broke my fall. I was in!

  “Nice drop,” came a scratchy voice.

  In trouble.

  15

  Snare and Snare Alike

  I whirled to face my captor.

  “Why you never come through the gate?” asked the mongoose.

  “Ms. DeBree!” I cried. Would she turn me in? Maybe the custodian hadn’t heard about my suspension. “Oh, uh, I’m undercover.”

  She surveyed the wide expanse of grass. “Not much cover, if you ask me. Where you headed?”

  “The cafeteria.”

  Ms. DeBree flipped back the lid of her rolling rubbish bin. “Hop in,” she said.

  “What happened to the Yard Czar?” I eyed the bin.

  The custodian shook her head. “Chee whiz, the frikkedy thing keeps breaking down.” She patted the bin. ”The old ways is best.”

  I climbed into the oversized plastic trash container. It reeked of spoiled food, sour milk, and something even fouler. I coughed.

  “Sorry, eh?” said Ms. DeBree. “Shoulda warned you. Some kindergartner had an accident.”

  “Now you tell me.” I pinched my nose and cracked the lid for fresh air.

  The cafeteria lay just down the hill. It couldn’t come soon enough.

  After my brief but breathless ride, the custodian dropped me off behind the building. I hopped out.

  “Just one second,” she said. “I heard you was suspended.”

  Busted. I turned up my palms. “Uh, you see . . .”

  “But I never believed it,” she said. “Good luck, Mr. Private Eyeball.” Ms. DeBree trundled off.

  I blew out a sigh. Now, to solve a mystery.

  The cafeteria’s side door led backstage. (Yes, our cafeteria doubles as an auditorium. Blame it on the school’s cheapskate first principal.) Climbing the wooden steps, I found myself in the dimness behind the red velvet curtain.

  Earlier this morning, Natalie had planted notes with all of our suspects, from the most likely (witches), to the least likely (Dr. Lightov), to the completely unlikable (Al Dentay). The message was simple and anonymous:

  I’VE GOT PROOF THAT YOU DID IT. MEET ME BACKSTAGE AT 11 A.M. WITH A BAG OF MONEY. WE’LL TRADE.

  By now, everyone knew I’d been suspended (except maybe Mr. Dentay). So they wouldn’t be expecting me there.

  I groped around inside a big box of erasers. My fingers closed on cool metal. Good ol’ Natalie. She had stashed her brother’s camera, so I could capture the crook on film.

  Turning the camera on, I leaned against the wall to wait. It didn’t take long.

  Footsteps echoed outside. The door creaked open, and the culprit stood revealed in a wash of daylight.

  I leaped forward and snapped off a shot. “Got you red-handed, you witch!”

  Dr. Tanya Lightov raised a paw against the flash’s glare. “Zhese are strong vords,” she said. “Maybe I am bad lady, but I am still lady.”

  My mouth fell open. “You? You made those kids go nuts? You fooled my partner and framed me?”

  The woodchuck frowned. “Eh?” she said. “I don’t know vhat you speak of.”

  “Then vhy—I mean, why are you here?”

  She clutched a brown bag to her lab coat. “Don’t toy vith me. You know vhy. Now give me ze proof, and I give you money.”

  It was my turn to frown. “But I—”

  “You cruel child,” she said. “You vant me to say it? Okay, I say it: I copied ze inventions of my brother, Ivan.”

  “Huh?”

  The inventor hung her shaggy head. “I am not proud. But I needed zhis job, so I borrowed his ideas. I am bad, bad sister.”

  “Um, that’s really rotten and all,” I said, “but that’s not the crime I had in mind.”

  Dr. Lightov’s head came up. “Vhat?”

  “Keep your money. I’m after whoever hexed those kids and got me thrown out of school.”

  “You have no proof?” The groundhog’s eyes lit up like a volcano project at Science Fair. “Ha! Zhen everyzhing I just tell you is a lie. I never stole my brother’s ideas.” She shook the brown bag. “Zhis? Zhis is my lunch!”

  And with that, the inventor parted the curtains, hopped off the stage, and skedaddled through the cafeteria.

  I stood flat-footed, staring after her. So, Dr. Lightov wasn’t the culprit.

  Then who was?

  At that, the side door banged open. “Me!” cried a voice.

  A shortish figure stood haloed in the bright sunshine. It wore a coat and hat, and seemed awfully familiar.

  I squinted.

  Green skin. Long lizard tail. Slight gut. Detective-y hat. Handsome face.

  It was like looking in a mirror.

  A wave of wooziness swept me, like army ants crawling up my body—from the inside. But this was no mirror; this was my exact double!

  I stumbled back a step.

  “It was me,” said the fake Chet Gecko. “I did it!”

  16

  Double Whammy

  If you’ve ever stood up too fast and gotten lightheaded, you might have some slight idea of how I felt—if you multiplied the effect by about a million.

  My head spun like a dizzy dame in a shampoo commercial. My legs wobbled. My brain was a soggy bowl of mantis mush.

  “What?” I said. “How?”

  I stared at the other Chet Gecko. Every detail was perfect, from the battered fedora, to the striped T-shirt, to the jaunty curve in the tail.

  The sheer impossibility of it staggered me.

  Strangely, the first thing I thought was, Man, this is going to bug Mr. Ratnose.

  Pull it together, Chet. Focus.

  “How is this even possible?” I said.

  “I am the guilty one,” said the bogus Chet Gecko in a stiff voice. He held out a bag. “Here is the loot, Jack. Just do not rat me out.”

  I sniffed. Loot? Rat me out? Sure this guy looked like me, but he didn’t sound a thing like me. Natalie and Shirley must have been deaf not to catch it.

  Moving closer, I noticed that his skin seemed a little too perfect and his movements a little too awkward. “Who the heck are you?” I said.
<
br />   “I am Chet Gecko,” he said.

  I clattered down the steps to stand beside the impostor.

  His head swiveled to watch me, whirring faintly.

  I touched his cheek. Cold. But not lizard-skin cold, metal-cold.

  “A robot,” I muttered. Somebody had built a scary-good Chet Gecko robot.

  The creature’s eyes flashed. “What?” it said. “Who is this?”

  “I’m the real Chet Gecko, you bucket of junk!”

  I reached for the impostor, but it swung the sack and clocked me, hard.

  Whonk! The bag must have held concrete, kryptonite, and rolls of quarters.

  Down I went like a skydiving elephant. The steps crunched into my back.

  “Oooh.” I slowly sat up, holding my throbbing cheek.

  The door was closing. The robot had hightailed it.

  “Hey!” I cried. “I’m not done with you, mister!”

  Struggling to my feet, I pushed outside. A green tail was disappearing around the building.

  I dashed in pursuit. Just past the corner, a mob of first graders was piling into the lunchroom. No sign of the robot.

  “Hey, did you guys see a green gecko?” I asked.

  “Right here,” said a rat, looking at me.

  “Besides me,” I said.

  A little porcupine stared up, big-eyed. “Yeah. You went thataway.” She pointed down the hall.

  As I hit the next corridor, I spotted the robot to my left. Dang, that droid was fast. But I was faster.

  I made like a bakery truck and hauled buns. We passed one building, two buildings. Stride by stride, I gained ground.

  Then, up ahead of Fake Chet, I saw someone else running—someone furry, familiar, and about my age. Was the robot chasing him? Or was I chasing both of them?

  We’d know soon enough. I pounded onward.

  The gymnasium loomed ahead.

  I closed the distance. Ten feet. Five feet. I reached out.

  And I would’ve caught the cyborg, too. If not for the big fat badger.

  Goldie Locket stepped from the gym doorway, arms spread wide.

  I was going too fast to stop. So I did the only thing I could—ran straight into her, up her body and onto her head.

  “Hold still!” cried the badger. Goldie swatted with her huge paws.

  I hopped off her noggin and onto the wall. She cracked herself on the skull.

  “Real cute, shamus,” she growled.

  “That’s what I say every time I look in the mirror.” I scrambled upward.

  Goldie swung, but I was out of reach.

  “Where’s that kid who was running just now?” I asked.

  Her eyes shifted. “What kid?”

  “You’re the one behind the robot?” I said. “Nice trick, using that bad boy to get me bounced out of school. And to think I believed your story about your ‘friend’ wanting me to cool it.”

  “But he—” she said. “I mean, uh . . . took you long enough to figure it out.”

  Wait a minute. Goldie might be a great goon, but she was a lousy liar.

  I pursed my lips. “So tell me, mastermind, how did you make all those kids go loco after lunchtime?”

  “I, uh.” The badger glowered. “None of your beeswax.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I needed to get inside the gym and catch the real mastermind before he or she scrammed. I needed a distraction.

  Looking off down the hall, I said, “Uh-oh. Is that Principal Zero?”

  Goldie followed my gaze. Sucker.

  In a blink, I zipped down the wall, around the doorframe, and into the gym.

  “I don’t see—hey!” she cried.

  The robot gecko’s tail was vanishing out the back door. Dang. I sprinted in pursuit.

  Bam! I blew through the door, stumbling out onto the field.

  “Got you at last, you—” I stopped cold. “Huh?”

  The droid had climbed onto the Yard Czar. And sitting beside it in the driver’s seat was the super-average woodchuck, Pete Moss.

  He gunned the engine with a wicked grin. “At last we meet, Gecko.”

  “Pete, we’ve met before,” I said. “Every day in class.”

  He frowned. “But now you will see what happens when you interfere.”

  I held up a hand. “Wait, you?” I said. “You’re the evil genius? I’m sorry, but—” I started to laugh.

  “It’s not funny, Chet! Stop laughing! I am behind it all, and now you will pay.”

  “Come on,” I said, chuckling. “What’s with the crazy talk?”

  Pete gnashed his teeth. “I asked Goldie to warn you off, but you did not stop investigating. I built this robot to discredit you and split you from your partner. But you still keep sticking your big nose into things.”

  I felt my schnoz. “My nose isn’t that bi—”

  “No more!” the woodchuck yelled. “I’ll show you. I’ll show my aunt. I’ll show everybody!”

  With a grinding roar, the Yard Czar rolled toward me. Gleaming blades and rakes jutted from its sides like a giant, motorized Swiss Army knife.

  Pete may have been a joke, but his contraption was deadly serious.

  The laughter died in my throat. I turned.

  The badger blocked my retreat.

  “Goldie,” I said, “you can’t really be helping this wacko.”

  She shrugged. “Wacko or no wacko, he pays top dollar. It’s hard to find steady work as a thug.” Goldie spread her arms and stepped forward.

  The machine closed in.

  Crouching, I prepared for quick action. Then I heard a sound that froze me in my tracks—literally.

  The noon bell rang.

  And before its echoes faded, the witches’ curse took effect.

  My legs and arms went stiffer than a freeze-dried centipede. My body was being squeezed like an old toothpaste tube, longer and longer. I fell to the ground, writhing.

  Pete’s puzzled mug peered over the Yard Czar’s steering wheel, but he kept right on coming.

  My legs were useless. I stared up at the grille of the oncoming monster.

  Closer and closer it rumbled.

  Was this the end of Chet Gecko?

  17

  The Worminator

  Then I got a bright idea. True, I couldn’t run, but worms don’t run; they crawl.

  I twisted my body and humped along on my belly, knees, and chest. Up and down, up and down.

  Fweee! The machine’s rotating hedge trimmers missed me by a hair. They sliced up a soccer ball and sprayed its bits all over.

  I crawled faster.

  Pete wheeled his big hunk of junk. Goldie was lumbering toward me.

  I made for some krangleberry bushes. I knew I didn’t have the chance of a snow cone in a roomful of overheated kindergartners. But I had to try.

  Fwap, fwap, fwap! Soft wingbeats reached my ears.

  “Hang on, Chet!” a familiar voice called.

  Then, ungh, something snatched me by my coat and hoisted me into the air.

  I looked up. “Natalie!”

  She grinned. “The early bird gets the worm.”

  “But how—?”

  Natalie flapped hard. “I got a tip from a little porcupine that two Chet Geckos—ugh—went running this way,” she panted. “Imagine my—oomph—surprise when I saw that one of them was half worm.”

  “Half?” I said, glancing down at myself.

  Natalie was right. I had stumpy arms and legs, and a stretched-out body.

  “Too bad you—oof!—don’t weigh the same as a worm.”

  Flapping with all her strength, Natalie still couldn’t gain much altitude. She struggled upward and sank down again.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “I’m only half worm?”

  “Maybe they’re—ugh—newbie witches. Or maybe it’s because you—oof—half caught the bad guy.”

  I glanced back. Goldie was gaining. And Pete and his robot copilot were right behind her.

  “Faster, Natalie! To the
office!”

  She wheeled, heading for the administration building. But she was losing height with every wingbeat. We sank lower, lower.

  It was a valiant effort. But we weren’t going to make it.

  Just then, I spied Ms. DeBree sweeping a walkway.

  “Hellllp!” I yelled, as loud as I could. “Ms. DeBree!”

  The wiry mongoose looked up at us, then at the machine closing in. Her eyes narrowed. “That hamma-jamma contraption!” she cried. “Hang on, kids!”

  Pete and Goldie were only a few steps behind us now.

  “Hurry!” Natalie gasped.

  In one smooth move, the custodian spun her push broom in her paws, cocked it over her shoulder, and took three strides. Then she flung her makeshift spear. “Take that!”

  The broom soared through the air. For a few heartbeats, I thought it was going to skewer me.

  Then it arched lower. Thunk!

  It plunged straight into the heart of the Yard Czar, skewering its transmission.

  Gnitttch-squeeeee! The brute made an awful grinding noise and shuddered to a halt.

  Natalie dropped me with a whump. She landed, and we turned to watch.

  Pete punched the controls. “Go, you stupid rust bucket! Go!”

  The Chet robot stared blankly. Goldie started backing away.

  Suddenly, Pete Moss, evil genius, looked more like Pete Moss, fourth grader in big trouble.

  “Nice shot, Ms. DeBree,” I said as she approached.

  The custodian shrugged. “Can’t beat the old-style technology,” she said. “You know what they say . . .”

  “There’s no tool like an old tool?” Natalie smirked.

  Ms. DeBree nodded. “For real.” She looked down at me. “Hey, you hit a growth squirt, or what?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I said.

  The custodian turned to Pete and Goldie. “You kids, come with me. Principal Zero is gonna want a word or three with you.”

  She slung the robot over her shoulder, confiscated its controls, and marched the two troublemakers off.

  Natalie and I watched them go.

  “Thanks, partner,” I said. “You really saved my hide.”

  “Again,” she said.

  “Again,” I agreed. “Well, I guess we should go hunt up the witches.”