Dial M for Mongoose

by Bruce Hale

  As we were passing the basketball courts, we spotted Miss Warts-a-lot, one of the Dirty Rotten Stinkers. The hefty toad was leaning against a pole, polishing her warts. When she saw us, the Stinker crooked a finger.

  "Hey, Gecko," she croaked. "C'mere."

  I tipped my hat. "No, thanks. I like my face the way it is."

  "Yeah, we've finally gotten used to it," said Natalie.

  Miss Warts-a-lot glanced over her shoulder at some nearby sixth graders."Come closer. The name's Helen Weals. I don't bite."

  "Neither does a rattlesnake," I said. "Much."

  The toad scowled. "I'm tryin' to do you a favor, buddy. Don't tick me off."

  I shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet. "And what kind of favor can a Stinker offer, Miss Weals?"

  "Ah, forget you, wise guy," Helen snarled. She pushed off the pole, glanced around again, and then fixed us with a stare. "You don't wanna hear about the missing frog? Fine. But here's one piece of advice."

  I couldn't help myself. "Never order the cafeteria's Mystery Meat on a Monday?"

  The toad clenched a fist and took a step toward us.

  Natalie and I backed up.

  Helen stabbed a clawed finger at me. "You, you're too smart for your own good."

  "Funny," said Natalie, "but Mr. Ratnose never says that."

  "You, too, birdbrain," croaked the toad. "You think you're such hotshot detectives, but the answer to your case is right under—"

  Just then, a familiar voice rumbled from off to the side, "Way to go, Helen! Now we got 'em."

  A quick glance revealed the cuddly, car-sized tarantula Erik Nidd with the rat Kurt Replie circling behind us.

  Helen Weals cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, you lousy, uh, peepers. Now you're gonna find yourself in a world of ouchiness!"

  Natalie and I turned back-to-back to face the Stinkers. "What's your gripe, Guido?" I asked Erik."I mean, aside from the usual."

  "Ya mean, hatin' the world?" he asked.

  "Yeah."

  Erik sidled closer. "Well, ya keep stickin' yer nose where it don't belong," he said. "That's a good way to lose it."

  I took a step back and bumped into Natalie. "And since when do you care about my nose?"

  "Since it got all up in my beeswax," snarled the tarantula. Kurt clenched his paws and stepped to one side, blocking our escape. Helen spread her arms. Erik crawled forward.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  "Alley-oop on three," I muttered to Natalie. "One..."

  "Two...," she said.

  "Three!" I cried, taking a step and a hop straight at the huge tarantula.

  His mouth hung open in confusion. On him, it looked natural. "Huh?"

  "Alley-oop!" I jumped again with all my might, right onto Erik's back.

  "Hey!" he bellowed. "Ya can't do that, ya mug!"

  I grabbed his two long feelers like ski poles and bent my legs for balance. "Too late," I said. "I done did it."

  Erik's front legs waved like a bunch of hairy trolls dancing the Hot Cucamonga. But he couldn't reach me. I kept my feet planted as his back rocked to and fro.

  Natalie had taken to the skies and was flapping just above the grasp of Kurt and Helen.

  As Erik twisted and struggled, a thought ran through my mind: It's one thing getting onto an angry tarantula; it's a whole 'nother thing getting off.

  The class bell rang.

  Like that mattered. The Dirty Rotten Stinkers had about as much use for school rules as a raging bull has for little pink booties. If I didn't find a way off of this thug pronto, I'd soon be gecko sushi.

  Round and round Erik whirled. Tighter and tighter I clung to his furry feelers.

  "Yow!" he cried. "Easy with them things!"

  As he turned, I caught glimpses of empty basketball courts, fresh piles of dirt, and a panting janitor bustling up to us.

  "Hey there, you kids," shouted Jerry Dooty. "Knock it off!"

  "He started it!" cried Erik.

  "Only because he"—I tweaked his feeler—"was trying to clobber me."

  "Ow!"

  The gopher janitor held up his hands. "I don't care who started it. Stop it now!" He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "You're trying to make me look bad, aren't you?"

  I followed his gaze and spotted Principal Zero standing over by the classrooms, arms crossed. Erik noticed him, too.

  "Truce?" said the tarantula.

  "Truce," I agreed.

  I hopped off and stood near the janitor. Erik crawled over to join his pals. Natalie mouthed, "Later," and flew off to class.

  "This ain't over, peeper," growled the tarantula.

  Jerry Dooty gave him a warning look and a head shake.

  The tarantula rolled his many eyes. "Come on, Stinkers," he said. "Let's motorvate."

  They swaggered across the grass.

  "Mr. Dooty," I said, "you saved my bacon."

  He blew out a sigh. "Like I don't have enough on my plate already. Nobody knows how tough this job is. It's thankless, I tell you."

  What could I say to that, but "Um, thanks"? Then off I dashed to class.

  13. Clue in the Face

  I slipped into my seat just as Mr. Ratnose was finishing up roll call.

  "There's one of our missing members," he said. "Thanks for joining us, Chet Gecko. Now has anyone heard from Rick Shaw? Olive Drabb? Bo Newt?"

  My classmates shrugged or shook their heads.

  Mr. Ratnose paced. "This is highly irregular. Their parents are going to hear all about it at Parents Night."

  Of course, if they were lucky, the kids would miss Parents Night altogether. (Which was far more than I could hope for.)

  Mr. Ratnose surveyed the classroom. "Hmm," he said.

  I knew just how he felt. Something was fishier than an orca's breath at breakfast. But what?

  And was it tied into my case or just some random happening?

  I watched Mr. Ratnose for a clue, but all he said was "Open your math books to page forty-three." And as clues go, that was pretty disappointing.

  The minutes stretched like your mom's oldest swimsuit. It seemed to take a short forever for recess to arrive and another brief eternity until lunch.

  After a hurried meal of curried centipede casserole and mayfly salad (with cicada strawberry shortcake for dessert), Natalie and I continued our dogged search for clues, insights, and the elusive thread that would tie everything together.

  We found exactly bupkes, zip, nada, and diddly-squat.

  Being thorough, we even followed up on Mrs. Crow's lead and talked to the teacher whose building had collapsed. No clues there either.

  (Detective work isn't always easy confessions and fat bonuses, you know.)

  Natalie and I climbed to the top of the jungle gym to try to get a different angle on things. No luck. The world looked just as confusing from up there.

  We saw a group of rodents playing tag, a pair of sixth-grade sweethearts swapping spit, a ragged game of football, and a long-tailed weasel (the new assistant janitor) bounding after three kids who'd overturned a trash can.

  The usual lunchtime hijinks.

  "That weasel," said Natalie.

  "Yeah?"

  "Something bugs me about him," she said, cocking her head.

  I slowly stood, balancing on the highest bars. "What?"

  Natalie cocked her head the other way. "His looks ... the way he moves ... I don't know. Does he remind you of anyone?"

  My arms windmilled. "Uh, no."

  "Aw ... it's on the tip of my tongue."

  "Then spit it out, sister," I said, swaying this way and that, like a politician looking for votes.

  Natalie stuck out a wing feather and tickled my toe. That was all it took.

  "Hee, hee—yahh!" Down I tumbled into the sand.

  Flat on my back, I gazed up through the bars at my partner's face.

  "What are we missing?" she asked.

  I pulled myself to standing. "Um, a pink Cadillac, a
secret hideout, the answers to every test question, a lifelong pass to Dizzyland, the world's biggest mosquito milk shake, and, oh ... a suspect that ties all these crimes together."

  She glided off the jungle gym and landed in the sand. "Exactly. And what did that Stinker, Helen Weals, say?"

  "That I was too smart," I said.

  "Besides that." Natalie led the way out of the sandbox. "She said the answer was right under ... something. Our noses?"

  "Our armpits?"

  As if we had conjured them up, three of the Dirty Rotten Stinkers appeared across the playground. They snatched a little shrew and dragged him back into the shadows of the nearest building, no doubt to "borrow" his pocket money.

  The shadows ...

  "I have a thought," I said.

  "Better give it to me," said Natalie. "You're not used to taking care of them."

  I ambled across the grass, mulling things over. "Something is definitely going on at this school."

  "As the wise man said, 'No duh.'"

  "And I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts it's going on when nobody is looking," I said."In the dark. After hours."

  Natalie eyed me. "Okay..."

  "So that's when we need to be here."

  She stopped. "You mean tonight?"

  I nodded. "Tonight."

  "But tonight is Parents Night. We need to be here anyway."

  "There you go," I said. "Am I not brilliant, or am I not brilliant?"

  "Chet," said Natalie.

  "Yeah?" I said.

  "You're not brilliant."

  14. Charge of the Night Brigade

  That evening, the school was lit up like Grandma Gecko's birthday cake. Doors dripped with colorful student artwork. Kids roamed about. Parents said embarrassing things and practiced strange contortions to sit in their kids' chairs.

  Normally I would've found this scene a barrel of yuks. Normally my school wasn't falling apart, thanks to some nutcase on a rampage.

  I gave my parents the slip as they went in to hobnob with my sister Pinky's teacher.

  "We'll meet you at Mr. Ratnose's class in twenty minutes," called Ma Gecko.

  My father just rolled his eyes. He knew how my parent-teacher visits usually turned out.

  "And don't forget!" said Pinky.

  I gave her the traditional brotherly salute: one tongue, sticking straight out.

  Only twenty minutes. And I had to make each one count.

  Natalie was waiting near her classroom. "The clock is ticking," she said. "So, where to, Mr. PI?"

  I bit my lip, deciding. "The cafeteria."

  She smirked. "Big surprise there."

  "Not for food," I said, hotfooting it down the halls. "To answer a question that's been bugging me."

  "You mean,'Why is Natalie so much smarter than me?

  "No, birdbrain. 'How did the thieves get in to steal the food?'"

  We rounded the corner and approached the cafeteria. I tried the kitchen door. Locked. We made a full circuit of the building. No secret passages revealed themselves. No broken windows gaped.

  "Okay, I give up," said Natalie. "How did they get in?"

  I straightened my hat. "Let's go inside and find out."

  We slipped into the auditorium, where Mrs. Bagoong had laid out cookies and other treats for the horde of visiting parents. One or two blister-beetle brownies found their way into my pockets as we passed. (Okay, three or four.)

  Nobody paid any mind as we made our way back into the dim kitchen. Methodically, I paced through the room, tapping on walls and feeling for hidden catches.

  "Remind me again," said Natalie, "why we're here, when the culprit could be anywhere at school, stirring up trouble?"

  I lifted a shoulder. "Just a hunch," I said. "Maybe they'll return."

  "For more food?" Natalie said.

  "Mmm." I reached into my pocket, pulled out a brownie, and bit off a chunk. The pantry door was slightly ajar, so I nudged it open.

  "Just because you're a bottomless pit doesn't mean the thief is," said Natalie.

  I took a step into the darkened pantry. "Hey, I'm just a growing gecko with—"

  But I never did finish that sentence. Instead, I stepped into thin air and fell, whacking my head on the edge of the hole and vanishing into the earth.

  Whump! I belly flopped hard, knocking the wind out of me.

  "Chet?" Natalie's voice came from above. "What are you—"

  I tried to warn her, but could only whisper.

  Thump! Natalie landed smack on my back, smashing me flatter than Darth Vader's fan-mail file.

  "Oof," I wheezed.

  She bounced to her feet. "You could've at least given me a heads-up."

  With Natalie's help, I sat and looked around.

  We found ourselves in a low-ceilinged tunnel, lit with strings of Christmas lights. Sort of a festive secret passage. It smelled overpoweringly of fresh earth, like the assembly line at a mud pie factory.

  "Wow." I patted the ladder that led up into the pantry. "No wonder he could rob the cafeteria so easily."

  Natalie whistled. "Pretty slick for an underground highway."

  I got to my feet and started down the passage. "Wonder where this goes..."

  "Do you think it's safe?" asked Natalie.

  "No," I said. "But if we wanted safe, we should've become cheese testers. Come on."

  Carefully, we crept onward, hugging the wall. The tunnel was quieter than a king snake in a snowbank. Before long, we reached another ladder, which led up to a trapdoor.

  Muffled voices and crowlike squawks drifted through the floor.

  "The office," I whispered. Natalie nodded.

  We resumed our trek through the tunnel. It began sloping downward, and the farther we went, the

  colder it got. Two smaller tunnels fed into it from the left, but we stuck with the main passage.

  "Just think of all the burrowing it took," said Natalie. "That's a lot of earth to move."

  I grinned. "I can dig it."

  She groaned. "This explains all the dirt piles around the playground."

  Natalie brushed the wall with a wing tip as we walked down, down, down. "Must have taken more than just one bad guy to do all this burrowing."

  "Unless we're talking about one monster-sized earthworm," I said.

  "Mmm," said Natalie dreamily. "Giant worms."

  But I didn't get the chance to hear about her food fantasies. Because just then, we rounded a bend in the tunnel and saw its destination.

  "Holy mole, Batman," breathed Natalie.

  "You ain't a-woofin', sister," I said.

  The tunnel ended at the lip of a crater. Stretching below and above was a huge cavern, lit with spotlights and dangling Christmas bulbs. Somewhere nearby, a generator rumbled.

  "This explains the extra-high electricity bill," I said.

  Small, round doors studded the sides of the cavern, all around. And way out in the middle, a huge earthen throne arose.

  "Look!" said Natalie.

  Kids labored below us, lugging buckets. I spotted Popper, Bo Newt, and about a dozen other students, all handcuffed to a ladder and dragging it by their ankles.

  "This is either Santa's dirt workshop," I said, "or the winter palace of the Worm King."

  "Wrong on both counts, peeper," growled a familiar voice.

  And up over the lip of the cavern crawled Erik Nidd.

  15. The Hole Thing

  "Erik!" I said, backing up. "I never figured you for a tunnel spider."

  His fangs glistened in a wicked smile. "Ya never figured on a lot, shamus."

  Natalie and I edged back into the tunnel as Erik, the rat Kurt Replie, the ferret Bosco Rebbizi, and our old friend the eggplant-nosed mole climbed up onto our level. My tail bumped against some empty buckets.

  "You're behind it all?" I said to the tarantula."The stealing, the burning—"

  "The cave-in," said Natalie.

  "That was a mistake," snapped Eggplant Nose. "Somebody didn't follow my diggin
g instructions."

  Bosco waved a finger at the mole. "And somebody forgot that I'm a ferret, not a prairie dog."

  "So you're behind it all?" I asked Eggplant Nose, slipping my tail through the bucket handles.

  "Pal, you are way too curious," he said. "That's gonna land you in real trouble one of these days."

  I gave him a friendly grin. "Like now?" In a flash, I whipped my tail and slung the buckets straight into the thugs.

  The Stinkers staggered back, disoriented.

  Natalie and I whirled around and beat feet.

  "Snatch 'em, boys!" cried the mole.

  The gang gave a yell. Footsteps thundered behind us.

  We pounded up the passageway with the bullies in hot pursuit. Round the twists and turns we went, higher and higher. Somehow, we carved out a lead.

  But the tunnel was a lot trickier going uphill. My legs grew heavier than a cheater's conscience. My lungs burned. Soon I was panting like a black dog on a summer day.

  Natalie and I rounded a corner. The first side passage lay just ahead, and the Stinkers were still out of sight.

  "Quick!" I hissed. "In here!"

  I took off my hat and flung it farther up the main tunnel. Then we dove into the smaller passage and scrambled up it.

  Natalie and I pressed ourselves to the wall. I tried to quiet my steam-train breathing and slow my drum-soloing heart.

  Behind us, muffled voices echoed.

  "This way!" said Erik. "That's Gecko's hat."

  Their footsteps thudded on.

  I exhaled. Natalie gave me a shaky thumbs-up.

  "Wait," said Bosco's distant voice. "They're just the kind of low-down sneaks that would try to give us the slip." Footsteps padded closer.

  I shot a worried look at Natalie.

  "I smell fresh gecko!" cried Bosco, his voice suddenly loud. "Up here!"

  Natalie and I hightailed it. The side tunnel narrowed and rose. After another minute of full-tilt running, we turned a bend.

  I stopped short. Natalie piled into me.

  "Dead end?!" she said.

  The passage sloped up sharply into the ceiling. My scrabbling hands touched wood.

  "Another trapdoor." I put my shoulder to it. "Push, Natalie!"

  We shoved, hard. It didn't budge.

  The Dirty Rotten Stinkers rounded the final corner and spotted us.