by Matthew Ward
“Wait here,” he whispered. “I’m going to try and call this in.”
Making sure the giant and the dwarf were looking away, Arthur slipped across the alley and hid behind a stack of discarded boxes on the other side. He crouched there a few moments while he collected his courage, then took a deep breath and scampered around the corner, opening the phone box door and stepping inside in one swift motion. With the rain’s constant patter helping to camouflage the sound of the door clapping shut, Arthur felt confident he had remained undetected.
He yanked the receiver to his ear and dialed Emergency.
“Yes. Hello. I must speak to Inspector Hadrian Smudge. I have urgent information concerning suspects involved with the Whipple Birthday Cake Catastrophe. Lives are in danger…. Yes, I can hold.”
After what seemed to be a never-ending stream of the World’s Schmaltziest Hold Music (which provided a rather bizarre contrast to the otherwise cloak-and-dagger setting), a man’s voice finally crackled through the receiver.
“D.S. Greenley speaking…”
“Oh. D.S. Greenley. Is Inspector Smudge with you?”
“Ah—unfortunately, the inspector is across town receiving the Golden Magnifying Glass Award from the Academy of Qualified Award Givers—but can I help you?”
Arthur was rather disappointed to hear the record-breaking detective would not be available to witness what was likely to be the boy’s crowning achievement in crime fighting. D.S. Greenley seemed a nice enough fellow—he had, after all, treated Sammy the Spatula with respect and mercy during his arrest—but then again, Greenley hadn’t exactly displayed the most effective suspect-apprehension skills on that day either. This worried Arthur. If the man had not been able to properly take custody of a drunken chef, whom Arthur knew to be harmless, how would he handle two bloodthirsty assassins, one of them a giant, no less? But of course, Arthur did not have access to an alternative army of record-breaking detectives, so D.S. Greenley would have to do.
“Well, yes,” the boy replied, the urgency returning to his voice. “This is Arthur Whipple…”
“Oh, hi-ya, Arthur,” Greenley interjected, jovially. “Haven’t seen you since that unfortunate business with the chef. Poor bloke…. So what seems to be the problem?”
“Well, earlier today, at the Unsafe Sports Showdown, this girl Ruby and I saw the same giant and dwarf I reported seeing at the Birthday Extravaganza—the ones suspected in the cake catastrophe. They tried to kill my brother Henry by sabotaging his event—I mean, somebody saw a giant and a dwarf shoot an arrow toward the Penny-Farthing Stunt Park during his run—but we found them, and we followed them to…Hold on a second.” Arthur gingerly cracked the door open so he could get a peak at a nearby street sign. “Dankly Avenue and Bleak Street, it looks like. We’ve got them pinned down outside an abandoned warehouse…. Well, they don’t actually know they’re pinned down, so they could conceivably leave at any moment—so maybe ‘pinned down’ isn’t completely accurate. But they’ve been standing in the same spot for several minutes now, and we’ve been watching them real hardlike.”
“Good work, Arthur,” commended a noticeably impressed D.S. Greenley. “Now just stay put. I’m on my way.”
“Right,” said the boy. “We’ll just keep standing here, watching them as hard as we can until you get here.”
“Don’t you worry, Arthur. We’ll get them this time—thanks to your exceptional detective work. Now, don’t make a move till I get there—I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line went dead, and Arthur found himself alone again inside the rain-battered phone box.
Not wanting to put the operation at risk by stepping out into the open a second time, Arthur cracked the door and stealthily extended his arm through the resulting gap. He then gave a thumbs-up, followed by two flashes of five fingers, hoping Ruby would know that he meant: Hang on, backup is coming in ten minutes—and not: Proceed north, fifty-five degrees—or: Thumb fingers fingers, which would have been very confusing. They really should have come up with a standardized set of signals before the stakeout, but it was too late for that now.
Retreating back into the relative cover of the phone box compartment, Arthur resolved to sit and wait. It was not yet nighttime, but the sky was dark with thunderheads, and light was scarce. Through the rain-distorted glass, he could see the glowing tips of the saboteurs’ cigarettes as the giant and the dwarf continued their cryptic conversation against the warehouse wall.
Several minutes passed, and the barrage of raindrops on the phone box roof gradually slowed to a drizzle, affording Arthur a slightly clearer view. Fortunately, the suspects had neither altered their position, nor seemed to suspect being under surveillance.
D.S. Greenley would be arriving any moment now, and the assassins would be taken away in shackles, thereby absolving Sammy the Spatula of all wrongdoing. Arthur’s heart leapt at the thought of it.
He traded another round of thumbs-ups with Ruby from her position in the alley, then shifted his eyes back to the suspects. Everything was going according to plan.
Until it didn’t.
Before Arthur knew what was happening, the giant and the dwarf extinguished their cigarettes and stepped out from underneath the overhang, where the giant began fiddling with something on the wall. The next moment, the loading bay door to their left began to open, its massive steel-sectioned face hoisted upward by some unseen motor.
Arthur leapt to his feet. His first stakeout as a junior detective was crumbling before his eyes. If his suspects were to enter the warehouse, there was no telling where they might disappear to, making it unlikely for even the police to find them. He had to do something.
Throwing the phone box door open, Arthur burst out into the misty air and charged across the street, the wild-eyed look of a man possessed carved into his face.
“Aieeeeeyah!” came the boy’s involuntary battle cry.
As the baffled giant and dwarf turned to see what sort of wounded animal was hurtling toward them, Arthur realized he had no idea what he was going to do once he reached them.
His battle cry fading into self-conscious silence, Arthur skidded to a stop a few yards in front of his suspects, where he stared up at the giant for one uneasy moment—and then down at the dwarf for another. Both men’s eyes were filled with equal parts bewilderment, annoyance, and rage, prompting Arthur to take a stumbling step backward in an abrupt bid for retreat.
“Get ’em, Arthur!” called a voice behind him.
The boy turned to find Ruby standing a few paces to his rear, her eyebrows arched in defiance. As glad as he was to see that she supported his half-baked plan, her vocal encouragement had now rendered it impossible to abandon.
Arthur turned to face his foes once again—and found that their expressions had grown even more hostile. “I…” he stammered, floundering for either a brave word—or an excuse.
The giant cut the boy off with a loud grunt, and then, covering half the distance between them in one gargantuan stride, moved menacingly toward Arthur, raising his right arm into the air. Now trembling, the boy held his hand to his face in a pathetic attempt to shield himself.
But before the crushing force of the giant’s fist could reach Arthur’s skull, there came a howl of sirens.
The next moment, two police cars screeched onto the lot on either side of them, effectively halting the giant in his tracks. The car doors flew open, and four men leapt out—three of them in full police uniform, the fourth in a gray trench coat.
“Freeze!” shouted the plain-clothed officer. “Step away from the boy!”
Exceedingly thankful for his timely arrival, Arthur immediately recognized Detective Sergeant Greenley.
“On the ground—now, now, now!” barked the sergeant.
For a moment, the giant and the dwarf simply stood there, knees half-bent and hands half-raised, seemingly stunned by the officers’ abrupt arrival. Without delay, the three uniformed men swooped
in to enforce Greenley’s command, the smallest of them going for the dwarf, while the other two tackled the giant. Soon, both suspects had been brought to the ground, where they proceeded to writhe and squirm with cries of protest.
“Let me go!” squealed the dwarf.
“Hands behind your head, now!” ordered Greenley.
“You’re making a mistake!” growled the giant.
“We’ll see about that,” said Greenley as the uniformed officers clapped handcuffs onto their detainees.
Now, the series of events leading up to that moment—from Arthur leaving the phone box to the police arriving and restraining the giant and the dwarf—had taken place in a mere matter of seconds, so that the loading bay door, which had been set in motion prior to the giant’s incapacitation, was only just reaching its halfway point as Greenley uttered that soon-to-be-regretted phrase. A moment later, the bottom of the massive metal door had reached eye level, and the warehouse’s shocking interior was revealed.
It was a boardroom.
At the room’s center was an enormously long table, behind which hung a series of ornately framed painted portraits of aging men in burgundy blazers. But far stranger than the existence of such a polished meeting chamber inside so grimy an exterior were the chamber’s occupants.
In the high-backed chairs surrounding the table sat two dozen men, all wearing the same matching burgundy blazers—half of them giants and half of them dwarves.
Arthur turned to D.S. Greenley in time to see his eyes bulge in terror.
“Police! All of you—stay where you are!” cried the sergeant, knowing full well that if they decided to do otherwise, he and his men would be unable to stop them.
Fortunately, the blazered men appeared to be heeding his orders—at least for the time being—and simply sat silently glaring outward.
It was a bizarre sight indeed. Arthur had the sickening sense that he and his comrades had stumbled upon some clandestine death cult—the sort that could make a couple of children and four policemen disappear in minutes without a trace. But as the dwarf coldly addressed D.S. Greenley, an even more unexpected explanation was offered.
“You, sir, have just handcuffed the newly elected co-presidents of the Global Guild of Dwarves and Giants, on their way to deliver their inaugural speeches, no less! Congratulations, officer—this must be some sort of world record for police stupidity!”
Arthur could see that D.S. Greenley shared his own confusion.
“But—you were going for the boy!” cried Greenley, pointing his finger at the giant. “I saw you! How do you explain that?”
“I simply wished to give the lad a leaflet on dwarf/giant sensitivity. Check my breast pocket. There’s a stack of them in there. You might want to give one to him and his friend there—they both could badly use some education on the subject.”
Greenley nodded to his partners, who promptly hoisted the two men to their feet, their once tidy jackets now sullied and wet from the rain-slicked pavement. Standing on pointed toes, one of the officers searched the giant’s pocket, uncovering a small stack of leaflets, thereby substantiating the giant’s claim.
Not sure what to make of this, Greenley turned to the dwarf. “Where were you on the night of March the first?”
“I don’t know—do you see a calendar stitched to my sleeve?”
Greenley shot the dwarf a stern look, and he reconsidered.
“Probably a hundred miles away at the old headquarters, packing boxes. We’ve only just moved to this new location a week and a half ago. As you can see, we haven’t even had time to paint or put up the proper signage.”
“So you weren’t anywhere near the Whipple estate, then?”
“Ahh, that was the night of that self-indulgent birthday binge they host every year, wasn’t it?”
Greenley nodded.
“Weren’t invited,” replied the dwarf. “Apparently it doesn’t matter to them that we’re the leaders of one of the most respected branches of the World-Record Breakers Union, so long as we haven’t broken any world records ourselves. Some of us have more important business to attend to than constantly trying to make ourselves feel special—such as protecting the rights of exceptionally sized people everywhere! And anyway, after what ended up taking place at this year’s debacle, I’d say we owe them a debt of gratitude for not inviting us. As it stands now, I wouldn’t go near that house if they paid me.”
His face filling with desperation, D.S. Greenley abandoned all subtlety and blurted, “These children—one of whom is in fact Arthur Whipple—say they witnessed you leaving the scene of a murder attempt today, after two men matching your descriptions were witnessed perpetrating an act of sabotage!”
“Oh,” the giant countered calmly, “you mean the children who have been blatantly stalking us for the past half hour?”
Arthur gulped and glanced at Ruby, who widened her eyes and pulled the corner of her mouth to one side in the widely accepted expression for “oops.” It seemed they hadn’t been nearly as stealthy as they had thought.
“I mean, we’re used to having children stare at us every now and then, living in this narrow-minded society of ours, but to be tracked like animals through the city after volunteering at an Exceptional-Size Awareness booth…I guess that’ll teach us to try and get involved with community sporting events from now on.”
“And as for these preposterous claims,” added the dwarf, “that we were somehow involved in sabotage and attempted murder simply because we match some vague description—well, clearly, we’re not the only exceptionally sized people on the planet.” He motioned to the boardroom behind him. “It could have been anyone.”
At this, one of the dwarves at the table, a tan-faced, silver-haired man, rose to stand on his chair. “Officer,” he started in an oddly deep voice, “if I may—” But he was promptly cut short.
“I’ll do the talking here, Mr. Lowe!” snapped the tiny co-president. “I won the vote fair and square, despite your shameful smear campaign; if you want to be the voice of the GGDG, you’ll have to do a far sight better at the next election!”
The silver-haired dwarf hung his shoulders, muttered something under his breath, then returned to his seat.
“Now,” sighed the dwarf in handcuffs, turning again to Greenley, “where was I? Ah, yes. Your glaring mistreatment of this guild’s members!”
“Indeed,” the giant concurred. “I truly hope you’re not suggesting we all look the same—or that it should be considered strange for two persons of contrasting sizes to socialize!”
It was at that moment Arthur noticed the giant was significantly shorter than he remembered him being at the party. The man presently standing before him couldn’t have been over eight feet tall, but the giant he had seen at the Birthday Extravaganza had measured nine feet, at least. Likewise, the dwarf now appeared significantly taller—standing almost three feet high, where the clown from the party had measured only two. Suddenly sick to his stomach, Arthur realized that he and Ruby had indeed followed the wrong giant/dwarf duo.
“I hate to say it,” concluded the dwarf, “but this sounds like a case of size-profiling in the worst degree. Not all dwarves are baby-thieves and witch servants, you know!”
“Yeah,” added the giant. “And not all giants make their bread from ground-up human bones!”
“Well,” replied the dwarf, turning unexpectedly to face his lofty companion, “let’s be honest, Stuart. That does still happen a lot more than it should. You giants do love your bone bread. I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about this—and I wish you didn’t have to find out about it this way, but it’s already been added to the agenda for the next meeting, because frankly, it looks bad for everyone in the GGDG that you still insist on baking that stuff. Even if you have largely limited the ingredients to animal bones, we believe it’s an insensitive practice which needs to stop.”
“Who’s we?”
“The dwarves.”
“I see. Well, I never would have v
oted for the merger if I’d known this is how we giants would be treated! Because, as you know, Brian, the art of bone-bread baking is an ancient giant tradition passed down through countless generations, not unlike your ridiculous custom of sneaking into people’s houses and fixing their shoes.”
“Look, Stuart, we’ve been over this before; undercover shoe cobbling is a benevolent service to the community!”
At that moment, another car screeched onto the lot. Before it had even reached a complete stop, the rear door opened, and a man in a white bow tie and black overcoat leapt out. Still clutching a glistening golden trophy in the shape of an oversized magnifying glass, Inspector Smudge sprang forward.
“Where are they?!” demanded the inspector in the split second before he noticed the large giant and tiny dwarf standing before him in handcuffs. “Ah, what do we have here?” he smirked, stepping toward them in taunting triumph.
“Um, sir,” D.S. Greenley muttered through his teeth, putting a hand on Smudge’s shoulder and delicately pulling him aside, “I’m afraid these are not our suspects. Apparently, they are the co-presidents of the Global Guild of Dwarves and Giants, which has recently relocated its offices to this ramshackle warehouse. It seems the boy and his friend saw them at the Unsafe Sports Showdown today after another possible sabotage attempt, and assumed they were the same men he’d seen at the party.”
The smugness in the inspector’s voice promptly shifted to seething anger. “Do you mean to tell me I rushed out of the Golden Magnifying Glass Awards banquet for nothing? Do you think the Academy of Qualified Award Givers gives out awards willy-nilly?!”
“Of course not, sir.”
“Well, I guess I’ve only got myself to blame for thinking you’d actually made a break in the case. I don’t have to tell you how valuable it would have been to collar a co-conspirator who could testify against Mr. Smith for us, since the man himself is proving so difficult to break. Honestly, after the amount of interrogation he’s been through, you’d think he’d have confessed to the crime by now, or at least given up his accomplices. Very frustrating indeed. Not that any jury will find him innocent—but as an agent of the law, it is my duty to make their job as easy as possible…. Of course, most agents of the law are not constantly hindered by inept assistants—are they, Greenley?”