Alvin Fernald, Superweasel

by Clifford B. Hicks

  “I have a great idea!” she said suddenly. “Oh, Alvin, it’s so good I’m about to explode. It will help get Superweasel oodles of publicity.”

  “Well. What is it?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not going to tell you now. I want to surprise you later.”

  “I suppose you’re going to put on a diving exhibition in the secretarial pool,” he kidded her.

  But the Pest was far off. Far off in another world.

  Chapter 6

  A Loud Rip in the Night

  Again Superweasel sneaked out long after he was supposed to be in bed. This time the kids met in front of the pickle works on the west side of town, just a couple of blocks from the Biggs home.

  It was a Saturday night, three days after their planning session. They’d been jittery all day, waiting for Superweasel’s second adventure to begin.

  Alvin and the Pest had arrived at the pickle works first. The Pest was carrying a large paper sack. Alvin had demanded to see what was in it, but she had refused.

  Moments later Shoie appeared in the pool of light. In one hand he, too, carried a paper sack; in the other hand a short-handled shovel.

  “Power to Superweasel!” whispered Shoie.

  “Power to Superweasel.”

  “Do you have the fish?” asked Alvin.

  Shoie opened the mouth of the sack. Alvin tried to look inside, but the light was too dim to see anything. He could smell it though. One whiff of the dead fish and he quickly closed the bag.

  “Pfooooooey!” he exclaimed, handing the sack to his sister. “Here they are, Pest.” He stared at her for a moment. His voice took on a strange softness. “Sis, are you sure you’ll be all right? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Are you sure you can toss those fish into the Biggses’ swimming pool without getting caught? And then get back home, and back into your room?”

  “Power to Superweasel,” said the Pest solemnly. “Don’t worry, Alvin. I can do it. I won’t let you guys down.”

  “Okay. Then this is where we split. You go on over to the Biggs house, and Shoie and I will head up the river just like we planned.”

  “Wait just a minute, Alvin,” said the Pest, an edge of excitement in her voice. She held out the mysterious paper bag. “Your surprise. I only had time to make one of them. Maybe later I’ll be able to make two more. Anyway, this one’s for you, Alvin.”

  “What is it?” he asked, opening the bag.

  “A Superweasel costume,” she announced proudly. “Batman has a costume, and Superman has a costume, and Spiderman has a costume, so I made Superweasel a costume.”

  Alvin took it out and looked at it. “Not bad. If I’m seen, the newspaper will hear about it, and we’ll get even more publicity. Let me try it on.”

  “Not under the streetlight,” warned Shoie. “We’d better go around to the alley, where nobody will see us.”

  Alvin struggled into the costume. As the Pest coached him, he slipped the knit legs of his long winter underwear over his jeans. The jeans created big lumps all over his legs and hips, but the Pest squished the lumps around until at least he was comfortable.

  “Put on the shirt,” the Pest whispered proudly. Alvin slipped the old potato sack over his head, stuck his arms through two holes, and pulled the ragged hem of the homemade shirt down to his waist. Letters painted across his chest read SUPERWEASEL.

  “Here’s your cape, Alvin,” the Pest said. She draped the black velvet fabric, left over from her dancing costume, across his shoulders and tied it with a string at his throat. Then she reached in her bag and pulled out a mask.

  “Could be a weasel mask at that,” he said, slipping it down over his face.

  Shoie had been watching in silence. Now he began to laugh, softly at first, then more loudly, finally roaring. He dropped to his knees and beat the ground with his fists. “Man, do you look weird!” he gasped.

  “Sssh!” hissed Alvin. “Doggone it, Shoie, do you want everybody in town to see us? Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  They circled the building, back to the street. Shoie was still trying to control his laughter.

  “Good luck, Sis,” said Alvin softly. “Be careful.”

  “You too, Superweasel.” She began to giggle. “You do look sort of funny, Alvin.” She dashed off down the street.

  Alvin and Shoie turned in the other direction. Superweasel was about to strike again.

  Trying to negotiate the path along the river at night was tiring work, and they were exhausted when they finally approached the sewer pipe just outside the chemical plant. For the last hundred yards or so they didn’t dare use Shoie’s flashlight. Twice, in the darkness, Shoie fell into the river. Alvin had found Superweasel’s mask unbearably hot, and had pushed it up on top of his head, where it grinned at the stars.

  Now the discharge pipe was at their feet, hidden by the weeds. They stood beside it for a moment, listening. Had they been heard by the watchman inside the plant?

  Alvin put his lips close to Shoie’s ear. “Well, here goes. No use wasting time. Why don’t you wade in after the rocks? That way I can keep my costume dry. I’ll get any junk I can find along the bank, and also shovel in the dirt.”

  Shoie sighed. “Okay, old bean. I’m already wet.” He waded out into the stream. Alvin placed the shovel where he could find it, and crawled along the bank of the stream, feeling for anything that might serve as material for a dam. He found an old board, a piece of a fence post, and a rusty square of sheet metal. He dragged these back to the pipe and lowered them across its mouth. Shoie promptly stacked three big rocks where they would hold the junk in place. Alvin picked up the shovel and scooped loose dirt and gravel across the stack of debris.

  Every few minutes they had to stop and climb up to the top of the bank for fresh air. The odor coming from the pipe was sickening. But they kept working. And as they worked, the flow from the pipe became only a tiny trickle, and the odor diminished, too.

  Alvin risked turning on the flashlight for one quick inspection of the dam. Only a few drops of yellow liquid now oozed across the dam, right at the top of the pipe, and Shoie quickly stopped even that small leak. They had stopped the flow of the awful stuff; soon it would fill the pipe.

  “Quick!” whispered Alvin. “I’m starting Phase Two.”

  “Are you sure you want to? I mean, they’ve probably got extra guards in there now. Maybe you better not risk it.”

  “Give me the flag,” Alvin demanded. Though he was feeling brave at the moment, he knew from long experience it was a feeling that wouldn’t last. He’d better move fast.

  Shoie located his paper bag where he had dropped it along the bank. He pulled out a folded piece of cloth. Alvin slipped it beneath his Superweasel shirt and stuffed it under his belt. For Phase Two he’d need both hands free.

  “Good luck, old man,” whispered Shoie.

  Alvin nodded, then scrambled up the bank and crawled toward the spot in the factory fence that they had used so successfully a few nights before.

  Halfway up the fence, Alvin begain feeling lonesome. The fence somehow seemed much higher tonight, and the light much brighter than it had been before. During their planning session they had decided, quite logically, that there was no reason for two of them to risk capture. Now he wished Shoie was along. In fact, Shoie should be doing this job. After all, wasn’t he the Mighty Athlete?

  Alvin had pulled the mask down over his face when he left the safety of the stream bed. As a result, he couldn’t see very clearly in any direction except straight ahead. Twice, as he climbed, he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched, but he couldn’t spot the watcher.

  At the top of the fence Superweasel slipped one leg across, then the other, and was about to step downward when he discovered that he was stuck; he couldn’t move. Frantically he clung to the fence with one hand and felt about him with the other, trying to find what had seized him. At last he found it. The bottom of his cape was twisted into a knot that was snagged on one of the sharp wi
res across the top of the fence.

  He grabbed the cape and jerked with all the strength in his one arm. A loud ripping sound seemed to echo through the night. But he was free!

  He climbed down inside the fence as fast as he could, hoping that he wasn’t plopping right into the arms of a guard.

  Just as he hit the ground he heard a shout, then the sound of feet running toward him.

  Chapter 7

  Who Can Stop Superweasel?

  Superweasel dashed frantically around the corner of the plant, looking about for a place to hide. There was no cover, just a lone car in the middle of the big parking lot. It probably belonged to one of the guards. He ran to it and opened the back door.

  Suddenly the Magnificent Brain flashed a warning — and an idea — to him. Instead of climbing into the car, Alvin slammed the door as loudly as he could, then dived under the car.

  None too soon. Feet pounded around the corner of the building, then stopped momentarily. A man’s deep voice said softly, “He’s inside my car!”

  “Yeah!” said another voice. Then the sound of feet scuffling toward him.

  The toes of a pair of polished boots appeared right in front of Alvin’s nose. It was stifling inside the mask, and he could feel the sweat rolling down his face.

  Suddenly the doors flew open on both sides of the car.

  “Come out of there!” ordered the deep voice.

  A pause. Then, “There’s no one in there,” said the other voice.

  “Something funny is going on here. I did see a figure — looked like some kind of a big animal — run around the corner of the building. Didn’t I? Didn’t you? I’m not going off my rocker, am I George?”

  “Naw. I saw the same thing. Do you suppose it could have been that Superweasel guy?”

  “I’ll bet that’s who it was. He sure does know how to appear and disappear.” The words were spoken with grudging admiration. “And we don’t even know whether he’s armed. We’d better be careful. Let’s not run around out here in the open any more than we have to. We’re sitting ducks because we don’t know where he is. Tell you what. Get into my car, and I’ll drop you at the phone by the front gate. You call Mr. Biggs and tell him I’m on my way over to pick him up. Tell him Superweasel is loose somewhere inside the plant. Maybe he’d better bring some help.”

  “Right.”

  The springs of the car squeaked as the two men climbed in. The engine roared into life, and the car squealed into motion. Alvin had moved his right hand just in time. Suddenly he found himself lying in full view, in the glare of the floodlights, his nose pressed against the concrete. He lay still until the car was well out of the way and he couldn’t be seen in the rear-view mirror.

  At that moment his nose detected something. It was the smell of the yellow liquid, faint now, but getting stronger every second.

  Alvin raised his head. Oozing across the pavement toward him, out from under the back door of the factory, came a trickle of water. Except, as Alvin knew, it wasn’t just water. It was poison — poison for fish, frogs, crawdads, everything that lived in the river.

  Superweasel had succeeded in damming the pipe!

  Alvin’s courage was renewed. He leaped to his feet and ran to the building, cape flowing out behind. Peering around the corner, he saw the gate close behind the car, then the second guard walk to a phone booth beside the gate.

  Alvin felt a prickle of excitement — and fear. Should he go ahead with his plan? Or should he give up, knowing he’d be detected if he stayed inside the fence much longer?

  Superweasel!

  The name popped through the circuits of the Magnificent Brain. He couldn’t back out now. If the kids of the world were ever going to do anything to fight pollution, they’d have to use all the ingenuity and courage they possessed.

  Alvin slipped around the corner and raced for the front door, in full view of the guard in the phone booth if he should turn his head. It seemed a million miles to the entryway, but he made it, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the door unlocked. Inside, he suddenly felt much safer.

  He cautiously peered back out through the big glass door. The guard had emerged from the phone booth, and now was standing beside it, sniffing the air. He looked suspiciously toward the corner of the building. It was apparent that he wanted to investigate the smell, yet was afraid to set out alone.

  Alvin waited in agonized suspense. Perhaps he’d done the wrong thing. Now he was stuck in the building. There was no place else for him to go.

  Headlights came boring through the night, and two cars pulled up in front of the fence. The guard opened the gate, let the cars through, and then locked it behind them. Alvin watched in terror as the two cars drove up and parked directly in front of him. He tried to move, to slip farther into the building, but seemed frozen to the spot.

  Mr. Biggs and the guard climbed out of one car. From the other emerged Mr. Moser, star reporter of the Daily Bugle, his hand protecting the flash camera he always carried on a cord around his neck.

  Now all four men were talking at the curb just outside. Alvin eased the door open an inch so he could hear.

  “— bother you, Mr. Biggs,” one of the guards was saying, “but there’s something funny going on here. I think we have Superweasel trapped inside the fence.” Alvin could hear the words clearly.

  “Nonsense!” snapped Mr. Biggs. “This Superweasel — whoever he is — has just been at my home. I found several dead fish in my swimming pool, and a warning sign on my diving board. It was some kind of childish poem, and was signed ‘Superweasel.’ I called Mr. Moser here to show him the damage — the outright vandalism—this criminal trespasser is causing. He was there when your call came in. Now—” his voice became slightly sarcastic, “—suppose you tell me how Superweasel can be in two places at one time.”

  “I dunno, Mr. Biggs. I dunno anything about Superweasel. All I know is that I saw something that looked like a big animal run around the corner of the factory and disappear into thin air. And since then, there’s been this horrible smell coming from somewhere at the back of the factory.”

  There was a pause as all noses began to sniff the air.

  “You’re right,” said Mr. Biggs. “But I don’t know why two healthy men, both armed, can’t guard the inside of a high fence.” He sniffed again. “Something is wrong, though. Let’s take a look back there.”

  The four men headed toward the other side of the building, one guard on each side of Mr. Biggs, with Mr. Moser trailing behind, notebook sticking out of his pocket and his camera held ready in his hands.

  The instant they disappeared, Alvin raced out the door toward the flagpole that stood smack in front of the building. As he ran, he tugged the piece of cloth from beneath his belt. He slid to a stop at the foot of the flagpole.

  Ever since he’d been in first grade, he’d enjoyed helping Mr. Maloney raise the flag in front of the school, and now he was doing it himself. Only this flag was an old piece of sheet, with letters spray-painted across the front. Strings were tied at two of the corners, and Alvin now fumbled with one of them in his excitement. Finally he managed to tie it to the rope that ran up the flagpole, then fastened the other one, too. He pulled on the rope, and the homemade pennant sailed upward.

  But it sailed upward with a horrible squeak of the pulleys, a shrill squeal that cut through the night.

  Alvin was sure the sound could be heard all the way around the building. Frantically he pulled hand over hand on the rope until the homemade flag jolted to a stop at the top of the pole. He tied the rope to the pole, then raced back toward the front door.

  He was just swinging open the door when one of the guards dashed around the corner of the building and spotted him. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” he shouted, reaching for his gun.

  Alvin dived inside and raced blindly down a corridor. He turned left down a hallway lighted by a single overhead bulb. At the end of the corridor he spotted a swinging door. As he ran toward it, he knew that the guards
and Mr. Biggs could hear his footsteps and would follow him anywhere he went. He was certain to be caught.

  But as always in Alvin’s moments of desperation, the Magnificent Brain came through. Just as he reached the door, a sudden thought flashed through his mind. He gave the door a tremendous shove. Then he ducked into a nearby doorway.

  He found himself in a janitor’s closet filled with brooms, mops and cleaning supplies. Standing there in the dim light he could hear the slapping sound as the corridor door swung to and fro. At the same moment he heard what sounded like an army of footsteps racing toward him down the hallway.

  “This way!” shouted one of the guards.

  The door to the closet was wide open, and Alvin was perfectly visible had the men glanced in his direction. But they were too intent on slamming through the doorway and capturing him somewhere on the other side. He did notice a strange thing. Only three men raced past. Mr. Moser wasn’t with them.

  Alvin slipped back into the corridor, and retraced his steps as silently as he could. No one was in front of the building, so he raced out the front door, and around the corner, heading for the fence.

  Abruptly he slid to a stop.

  Not more than ten feet from him Mr. Moser was kneeling on the ground. His hand was feeling the wet pavement. By now the whole area behind the factory was wet. Mr. Moser raised his hand to his nose. His eyes came up to lock with Alvin’s. Both figures remained motionless.

  It was Mr. Moser who broke the silence. “Pfooooooey! The stuff smells awful! No wonder you’re trying to keep it out of the river.”

  Alvin tried to say something, but simply gurgled.

  “Mr. Biggs was lying when he told me he wasn’t causing any pollution. Right? He’s been getting rid of this stuff by dumping it in our river. Right?”

  Alvin nodded his head.

  Mr. Moser looked Alvin up and down. “That’s some get-up you’re wearing, young feller. So you’re Superweasel!”

  Alvin nodded again.