KALAMAZOO CITY UNIVERSITY, MAIN AUDITORIUM, 5:50 P.M.
Zengo arrived back in the dressing room just before Myers. McGovern was no longer there. Zengo had the satisfaction of asking “Where have you been?” when the manager rushed through the door.
“Just meeting with someone,” said Myers. “And it paid off—I’ve got your debate curveball right here, Frank. McGovern, the ‘man of the people,’ has not been on the straight and narrow when it comes to his finances.”
Pandini perked up his ears.
“The reason why he’s been able to buy so much airtime for his attack ads is because he’s been receiving money from Nutter’s Nuts. He’s been running a pro-nut platform because he’s getting paid to.”
Myers held up his hand for a high five, but Pandini was deep in thought. “I don’t know what you expect me to do with this information,” he finally said.
Myers was shocked. “You’ve got to be kidding me, sir,” he said.
“I don’t know if I want to stoop to that level,” said Pandini. “No matter how much I want to win this election, McGovern is an old friend. I’m not willing to embarrass him with hearsay. Once the press gets ahold of it, true or not, they’ll print it everywhere.”
Myers said, “Respectfully, sir, this is the only way. It’s not as if everything McGovern has said about you is fair. It’s time we punch back!”
“Not like this, Irving.”
Zengo admired Pandini’s principled stance and opened his bill to say so. But Myers cut him off.
“Shouldn’t you be checking on security arrangements or something?” he snapped. “I don’t think your career will survive another assault on Mr. Pandini.”
Zengo sighed and left the room to give the stage a final sweep. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. He did see a fully packed auditorium. Not just with students and ordinary citizens, but with reporters as well. The reporters, in fact, seemed to have multiplied even just in the last day or so. He could hardly see anything but for the pulse of flashbulbs. And he could hardly hear anything but for the general hubbub.
Only when he had assured himself that Bobby and his team were manning security at all the doors did he relax his vigilance. He went back to the dressing room to check in.
Television reporter Jaiden Meltzer was moderating that evening’s debate. He was shaking Pandini’s hand when Zengo entered the room.
“Good luck tonight, Mr. Pandini.”
“Thank you, Jaiden.”
Zengo looked across the stage and saw Patrick McGovern buttoning up his suit coat. He looked confident, unfazed by all the commotion of the evening.
Meltzer made his way to shake McGovern’s hand and then took his seat at the moderator’s desk, placed before two podiums. A floor-to-ceiling photo of the Kalamazoo City skyline provided a backdrop. The house lights went down, and the crowd’s murmur was reduced to a hush.
Meltzer smiled a wide grin and said, “Welcome, everyone, to the first debate in this special election for mayor of Kalamazoo City! Thank you for joining us this evening. First, let’s welcome the candidates.”
Pandini and McGovern walked to the center of the stage, shook hands, and took to their podiums.
Zengo and Myers stood just offstage. Zengo kept his eyes roving around the room. Myers still seemed nervous, but he was paying rapt attention at the same time.
Meltzer explained the rules. Each candidate would take turns being the first to answer a question, followed by a minute when the other candidate could answer. He began by asking Patrick McGovern: “How would you solve the city’s current budget crisis?”
“Thank you for the opportunity to answer that fine question,” said McGovern. “The real crisis our beloved city faces is one of confidence. Our citizens need a mayor they can trust, one whose character is above reproach and whose past is an open book. I am that candidate. My opponent is not. We need a public servant who puts the public first and business interests second. I am that candidate. My opponent is not. . . .”
As he went on and on, talking about how rich Pandini was, how out of touch with the common citizen, Zengo could see that Pandini was getting worked up.
Finally, Meltzer turned to Pandini. “Mr. Pandini, you have one minute to respond.”
Before Pandini began to speak, Myers’s cell phone rang again. He excused himself and disappeared. Where is he going now? wondered Zengo. Then he turned his attention to what Pandini was saying.
“I have met many fine citizens in the course of this campaign,” began Pandini. “I know about their plight and their pain.”
Across the stage, McGovern scoffed. Pandini must have noticed. He continued. “Mr. District Attorney, you say you are against businesses having a hand in city government. Yet your own campaign has been fueled by, and influenced by, a major corporate entity.”
“That’s rubbish, Mr. Pandini. It is you—”
Pandini raised his hand to silence McGovern. “It’s not rubbish, sir. It’s nuts. Quite literally. You have been taking an enormous amount of money from Nutter’s Nuts. Which is why you oppose my stance on nuts. I’m sorry, Mr. McGovern, but isn’t the safety of our students more important than your campaign funds?”
The crowd gasped. Jaiden Meltzer pleaded with the crowd to maintain their composure so that they could stay on schedule and abide by the strict guidelines set forth for debates.
McGovern was fumbling for just the right comeback. Across the auditorium, flashbulbs were popping. Pandini had nailed his opponent.
At that moment, the skylights above shattered, showering the crowd with broken glass.
A dozen masked flying squirrels swooped down onto the stage.
KALAMAZOO CITY UNIVERSITY, MAIN AUDITORIUM, 7:05 P.M.
Zengo withdrew his boomerang and charged the stage. “PLATYPUS POLICE SQUAD! FREEZE!” The detective stood center stage, placing himself between Pandini and the masked assailants. There were about a dozen of them. He could take down seven of them with his rapid-fire boomerang technique. He’d wrestle the remainder if he could catch them before they fled.
But when each masked squirrel withdrew a boomerang, Zengo knew the odds were not in his favor.
“I suggest you step aside,” said the biggest, scruffiest squirrel. He aimed his boomerang right at Zengo’s head. “We’re here for Pandini. We don’t want any problems.”
“Well, you’ve got a problem, punk,” said Zengo, drawing himself up to his full height. He towered over the squirrel. “If you want Pandini, you’ll need to go through me.”
Jaiden Meltzer dove under the moderator’s desk. Patrick McGovern ran backstage. Pandini remained at his podium with his head held high.
Zengo’s pulse throbbed; he could feel the sweat trickle down his back. “I know where you’re from. You’re from Nutter’s Nuts.”
The squirrels looked at each other. Who snitched?
“Not only that,” said Zengo. “I know you’re not really flying squirrels.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Detective,” said the scruffiest squirrel. He turned to his comrades. “ACTIVATE!” he called. Each squirrel clicked a button on a special wrist band. The flaps they had glided in on folded up and disappeared—and jets sprouted from special packs on their backs.
Zengo had to admit, it looked pretty cool.
“Now drop your weapon and get out of the way, or things are going to get really ugly around here,” spat the ringleader.
“The Platypus Police Squad NEVER backs down!” shouted Zengo, keeping his boomerang locked on the ringleader of the group, who was aiming to launch a boomerang right at Zengo’s head in return.
“You got that right!”
Jo Cooper was suddenly at his side. She held her boomerang locked on the gang. “Drop your weapons!”
“You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us,” called O’Malley, who crept up from stage left with his boomerang at the ready. “We know who sent you. It’s over.”
One of the squirrels stepped forward. The crowd screa
med as he turned and faced the auditorium, boomerang held at the ready. “Frank Pandini Jr.’s anti-nut legislation is a threat to the entire city! And he hasn’t complied with our demands. Now we are taking matters into our own hands!”
Eight of the squirrels jumped on Pandini and grabbed hold of him. Their jetpacks burst to life and they lifted him up into the air above the crowd.
O’Malley aimed at the fleeing squirrels and pulled back to throw his boomerang. But before he could let it loose, another scurry of squirrels grabbed hold of him and lifted him up into the air too. Soon both captives were being carried out of the auditorium through the broken skylights.
“Quick! Let’s go!” Zengo called to Cooper.
Cooper flashed her badge to the audience. “All of you—remain in your seats!” The two detectives raced out of the building.
“Cooper,” said Zengo breathlessly, “thanks for your help back there.”
Cooper gave him a smile that might almost be called friendly. “I never leave a fellow detective hanging.”
Once they spilled out into the street, they looked up at the night sky. The two groups of kidnappers flew in opposite directions, carrying their victims.
Zengo looked from Pandini to O’Malley and back again. Every second counted.
“You take the squad car. Go save O’Malley,” he said. “I’ll go after Pandini.” As he ran after his set of squirrel perps, he called back, “Don’t let them out of your sight, Cooper. And keep your radio on.”
Zengo flashed his badge at a biker and said, “The Platypus Police Squad needs to borrow your bike.” Before he could respond, Zengo had pulled him off his motorcycle. “And your helmet. Safety first!”
Zengo buckled the helmet, gunned the engine, and roared off.
THE STREETS OF KALAMAZOO CITY, 7:15 P.M.
Zengo’s fur blew straight back as he zoomed through the streets of Kalamazoo City. As he weaved through traffic, he never lost sight of the flying squirrels on the horizon. At every turn, cars swerved to avoid him, nearly clipping him several times. Drivers leaned on their horns and shook their fists. Zengo wished he had a siren, but the best he could do was drive on and hope his luck held.
He caught every green light until he got to Pandini Crossing, where the light changed just as he drew up. Should he stop? He scanned the darkening skies, glad for the light of the rising moon. The perps and their prisoner were almost out of sight. He opened the throttle and sped through the red light, narrowly missing an oncoming city bus.
An engine roared behind him. Glancing in the side mirror, he saw an enormous tractor trailer bearing down. Worse yet—there was a masked squirrel behind the wheel!
Zengo gripped the throttle tighter and accelerated again. He was determined not to lose sight of Pandini. But if he didn’t get that truck off his tail, he was going to be roadkill. Another glance in his mirror told him the truck was gaining on him. Zengo had no choice.
He eyed the fast-approaching intersection. If he swung wide enough to the left, his odds of clearing the turn at this speed were decent. He took a deep breath and braced himself.
Just then another eighteen-wheeler barreled down from that direction, pulled its brakes, and skidded sideways, blocking the road. Not only would Zengo not be able to turn left, he wouldn’t be able to continue driving straight. The Nutter’s Nuts logo was emblazoned on the side of the trailer.
Zengo didn’t stop to think. He had to try his favorite trick from every awesome cop movie he had ever seen. He hoped it would work. He tilted the bike over as far as possible, shut his eyes, and held his breath. If he could have taken his hands off the bars, he would have crossed his fingers, too.
The motorcycle skidded across the pavement underneath the truck, sending up sparks. Zengo’s head was almost taken out by the underside of the truck. When he dared to open his eyes, he and the bike were safe on the other side. The bike skidded to a stop, and Zengo jumped off. His leg throbbed. He could barely stand. But he couldn’t think about the pain right now. He had to get out of there.
He leaped to the side of the road, just in time. The trucks collided, sending up flames. Debris flew everywhere. Hunks of flaming metal fell on either side of him. He turned to look at the wreckage—it was a disaster. He stopped to catch his breath.
And felt the cold steel of a boomerang, placed at his temple.
“Hands up!” said a rough voice. Zengo turned slowly to see the squirrel who had been in the truck behind him.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” came another voice from the darkness. It was the other truck driver.
Zengo was relieved that they hadn’t been in the middle of that explosion, but he wasn’t happy to be at boomerang-point while the kidnappers made their escape.
Zengo slowly reached his webbed hands to the sky, and at the same time got ready to pull his second-favorite cop trick. He reached for the goon’s arm, pulled him in, and head-butted him, knocking him out. Then he swung the unconscious squirrel around and threw him into his accomplice, knocking him down too—and out. He grabbed the fallen squirrels by the collars and lifted them off their feet. He shook them awake.
“Where’s the panda?”
“Okay, easy! He’s on the roof of Nutter’s Nut Factory.”
Zengo looked down the road. The factory was a few miles away—by the time he got there, he didn’t know what the squirrels would have done to Pandini.
A car barreled down the road, headed straight for Zengo. Not again, he thought as he was blinded by the headlights. The tires let out a deafening screech as the car came to a stop, just inches away from where Zengo stood.
“Hey, Rick—need a lift?” called O’Malley from the passenger seat.
“You did it!” Zengo shouted to Cooper, who was driving.
“Get in!” she yelled.
Zengo cuffed the squirrels and threw them in the backseat. He jumped in beside them and knocked on the plastic partition behind his partner’s head. That’s when he saw O’Malley’s arm in a sling. “What happened?”
“Injured it when those squirrels dropped me,” he said. “But I’ll be all right. Cooper, step on it!”
NUTTER’S NUT FACTORY, 7:33 P.M.
Cooper slowly approached the factory, cutting the headlights. It was eerily quiet: no workers, no smoke, no movement at all. The plant typically ran on a twenty-four-hour operation to keep up with the demand. Something was going on.
They pulled up to the shipping dock and Cooper put the car in park. “Corey, you stay here in the car while Zengo and I go in.”
“No way,” said O’Malley, opening the door. “There’s no way the two of you can take those squirrels on your own.”
“We need someone to be the lookout, and your arm is broken,” she replied.
“Okay, fine! I’ll radio for backup. But be careful.”
Cooper and Zengo crept up to the factory wall. “What’s the plan?” she whispered.
Zengo pointed to the roof. “They’re up there.”
“We can’t just go up there boomerangs blazing,” said Cooper. “They are armed—and dangerous.”
Zengo shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said, pulling out his phone and sending a text message. “We won’t be alone.”
The detectives pulled their boomerangs from their holsters. Zengo spotted a fire-escape ladder and pointed up. Cooper nodded. They double-checked that the coast was clear and signaled to O’Malley, who responded with a thumbs-up.
Zengo leaped to grab the lowest rung of the ladder. He pulled himself up, glad for all those hours in the gym. Cooper came right behind.
When they got near the top, Zengo’s tail brushed past Cooper’s nose. She stifled a sneeze. They both froze. Zengo’s heart pounded. They would be easy targets if they were discovered. But no one approached the edge.
They pulled themselves up and onto the roof, then ducked behind a smokestack. They could see all of Kalamazoo City spread out around them, with Pandini Towers standing proud to the east, taller than all the rest.<
br />
There was a cluster of figures at the center of the roof. Pandini sat in a chair, his arms tied behind his back, disheveled but apparently unharmed.
A shadowy figure with a shock of white hair stood before Pandini, his back toward Zengo and Cooper.
“So, Pandini,” said a deep voice. “It has come to this. You want to bring down Nutter’s Nuts. I won’t have it.”
Zengo recognized that voice—he’d been hearing it in television commercials since he was a kid. The shock of white hair was unmistakable. It was Mr. Nutter.
“Jacob, this is pointless,” said Pandini. “You’re not a kidnapper. What do you think you’re doing? We are friends.”
“Friends don’t destroy each other’s businesses, Frank,” said Nutter. “Your campaign stops here.”
The squirrels flanking Pandini crept closer to him, but before any of them could lay a finger on the panda, Zengo and Cooper came charging.
“Platypus Police Squad! Hands in the air!” yelled Zengo. The squirrels turned and threw their boomerangs at the charging detectives. Zengo and Cooper jumped in separate directions and rolled behind stacks of crates. The squirrels leaped into the air, fired up their jetpacks, and launched more boomerangs from above.
The crate in front of Zengo shattered into a thousand pieces. He spun around to flee and called for Cooper. “Aim for their packs! We don’t want any casualties!”
Zengo threw his boomerang over his shoulder. It was a direct hit. The jets sputtered and the squirrel did a face-plant onto the roof. Zengo caught his boomerang as another squirrel shot at his feet. Zengo sidestepped and chucked his boomerang and again—another precise hit.
Cooper threw round after round as well, taking out each of the jetpacks in rapid fire. Zengo had never seen anything like it.
Last Panda Standing Page 9