“Squeeze tighter!” I shout. If Oscar ends up in the garbage unit he’ll come out the other end as a steam-cleaned cube of aluminium! But he can’t seem to slow himself down.
Somehow, I forget the big drop below me and drag myself to the end of the power pole. I look down and see Oscar inside the disposal unit, clinging onto its top edge by the tips of his paws. Through the howling wind, I can hear him whimpering and bumping the insides of the unit with his back legs.
“Hold on, Oscar!” I scream. “I’ll be down there in a second.”
I drag myself the rest of the way to the building and grab onto the same drainpipe Oscar just slid down. I clutch it so hard my hands turn purple, and ride it all the way down to the edge of the disposal unit. By now, Oscar’s clutching onto the edge by half a paw. With one hand on the drainpipe, I lean over the disposal unit and grab for his front leg.
I can only get two fingers around it ... but luckily that’s just enough to pull him upward and out of there. As I squeeze him tight, he licks my cheek happily with his silver tongue.
“Oscar, I’m very disappointed in you,” I say sternly. “You weren’t programmed to blow your circuits every time a robo-rodent comes along.” Oscar lowers his snout and looks up at me with sorry eyes as I carry him back toward the Down-station. Just before we turn off Rovers Road, I look back at the building. Up on the twelfth floor window ledge, I can see the silhouette of a robo-rat, lying on its back with its front paws behind its head. I could swear it’s laughing at us . but I don’t tell Oscar.
CHAPTER 7
No-good Newsflash
An hour later, we’re back in the storeroom, flat on our backs in our cozy packing case. Oscar’s so tired he’s dribbling all over his own tummy. I’m exhausted too, and my stomach’s rumbling like an earthquake. I’m about to warm up some Zegg Eggs for dinner when Oscar flips over and switches on his 3D projector and starts screening the evening news above our heads.
It starts off with a boring story about overcrowded zip-coasters, and another one about an approaching plague of electro-fleas. It’s one piece of bad news after another. I don’t want to hear it - we’ve already got enough to be upset about this evening.
I’m about to tell Oscar to switch the projector off and play some music instead when a very familiar pair of eyebrows appears in the projection. We both gasp. In his left hand, Dr. Grizzlowe is proudly holding up a rectangular piece of plastic that should be in one of my hands right at this very moment.
“Yes,” he beams. “It’s a remarkable find. It was only when my assistant cleaned out the storeroom and put it out with the rubbish that I noticed it for the first time. It turns out that we’ve found the world’s last surviving Snowie recording from the 1980s. It’s a treasure beyond calculation. But, having said that ...” he pauses, smirking and looking up at his eyebrows, “... I’d be happy to hear from any music conservationists out there. Perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement to ensure the future of this incredible piece of musical history.”
My blood boils and nearly bubbles out of my ears as the presenter asks Dr. Grizzlowe what that arrangement might involve.
“Well,” he replies slowly, “being such an ancient treasure, I would have to ask no less than ... $30 million for it. Of course, I need to know it’s going to someone who would value it as much as we do at Grizzlowe Musicology.”
“Quite understandable,” agrees the presenter. “This is an amazing find. Almost like finding an alien fossil, or a new Egyptian mummy.”
“That’s right,” smirks Dr. Grizzlowe, “but this particular find has a much better singing voice than most mummies!”
His eyebrows shed a snowstorm of dandruff as he laughs at his own joke. The presenter laughs too, and congratulates him. I can’t watch any more of it. Neither can Oscar. He switches the broadcast off and runs around in circles with steam spraying out of his leg sockets.
“Somehow, someway, we’re getting that tape back,” I tell him. “Don’t worry. Old Grizzle-guts isn’t going to make a cent out of our discovery.” Oscar stops and looks up with big round eyes that say, “Nice idea, buddy, but what's your plan?” Okay. Good point!
“How about we start with a phone call?” I say. Oscar barks his approval, and the panel in his back opens up. My phone goggles pop out of the panel. I slip them on and ask Oscar to find me the number for Dr. Ivan Grizzlowe, Expert Forensic Muzicologist. A number pops up across the lenses, and beneath it I see the same address as the one we visited this afternoon.
Before I ask Oscar to put me through to Dr. Grizzlowe, I grab three gumballs out of my pocket and shove them in my mouth. I chew them until my mouth is a big mess of sticky gum, and then I start talking to Oscar, who looks at me like I’m speaking some kind of ancient cyber-cat language.
It’s perfect. I don’t sound like me at all. The doctor will never know it’s his best buddy Max Booth on the line.
“Okay,” I say to Oscar. “Get grimy Grizzlowe on the line, please.”
The phone rings through, and I nearly choke on my gum when someone actually answers. “Hello,” croaks a male voice, “Ivan Grizzlowe speaking.”
“Doctor,” I mumble. “I’ve just seen you on the news. Congratulations on this momentous cassette robber —, I mean, rescue of yours.”
“Mm ... hmm.”
“I’m a huge fan of David Snowie. I also happen to be a recent winner of the Bluggsville MegaLotto.”
“Oh, I see. How nice of you to call — sir!'
“I was hoping we might be able to meet and try to come to some kind of ... agreement between the two of us.”
“May I ask who I’m speaking to?”
“Anton Drimble, Musical Archaeologist. I grew up in the town where Snowie was born. Only last year I led a team to excavate his birth house. We found two fossilized guitars and a perfectly preserved platform shoe.”
“That’s astounding,” says the doctor. “How strange that I never heard about any of this.”
“Oh . um . no, we haven’t . released our official report yet. But, of course you will be the first liar we send it to.”
“The first what.?
“The first ... li— like-minded music lover!”
“Well, I look forward to it,” he replies, seeming to have bought my ploy. “In the meantime, perhaps we could meet at my office tomorrow morning?”
“How would 10 o’clock suit you?” I ask.
“That will be perfect. But, before we proceed ... you are aware of the price I’m placing on this item?”
“Oh, yes,” I reply. “It’s an absolute STEAL, if you ask me, doctor!”
“You’re a well-educated man,” he says approvingly. “I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”
“I certainly don’t too,” I reply. “Do too ...
DO too!”
As I hang up the line, Oscar grins up at me from the floor. He raises his right paw and I high-five it, just as the storeroom door creaks open and Jessie calls my name with a quiver in her voice.
“I got here as quickly as I could,” she says. “Are you guys okay?”
I stick my head out of our box and see Jessie in her pajamas, with sweat tricking down her forehead.
“I guess this means you watched the news,” I squeak back awkwardly.
“Uh-huh,” she says. “Dr. Reilly seems to have turned into an old man with terrifying eyebrows.”
I tell Jessie all about our crazy afternoon. She listens but doesn’t get angry about our mistakes, or even growl at Oscar for his little rat romp.
“It’s my fault,” she sighs worriedly. “I should’ve come with you.”
“It’s okay, Jessie. You couldn’t have known he’d do that to us. Anyway, don’t stress about it. We have a plan to get the cassette back, don’t we, Oscar?”
Oscar nods at Jessie with a big grin. He sits up on his hind legs and throws two big punches in the air before losing his balance and falling flat on his face.
“Well,” laughs Jessie, “if anyone can
do it, it’s you guys! Let me know if I can do anything to help.
Thanks Jessie,” I say, as Oscar sits up and shakes himself off. “We’ll give Grizzlowe something to groan about tomorrow - don’t you worry about that!”
CHAPTER 8
Drimble and the Doctor
At 9:55 the next morning, I’m loitering with Oscar at the far end of Dr. Grizzlowe’s street, keeping a very close eye on the time. We’re in perfect disguise - me in moustache, glasses, and business suit, and Oscar in the best rabbit costume I could dig out of the storeroom. There’s absolutely no way he’ll recognize us now - unless he recognizes my voice. But I’ve covered that off too - my mouth’s restuffed with gumballs, and I’m wearing a wintery scarf that covers both lips. I figure, I’ll just talk in whispers and he’ll think I have a throat bug.
What could possibly go wrong?
We land on his doorstep at 10:00 a.m. precisely, and Oscar knocks on the door. This time, we only have to wait a few seconds. Heavy footsteps pound toward us, and Dr. Grizzlowe flings the door open with a flourish.
“Good morning, doctor,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’m Anton Drimble, and this is my loyal assistant, Osc ... Os ... Oswald Bunny-bot.”
The doctor’s head jolts backward in surprise. “I’m sorry,” he says suspiciously. “I was expecting someone a little taller.”
I think it’s rather rude of him to comment on my height, but I offer him my right hand and point to my throat with my left, coughing at the same time so he knows I’m sick.
“I’m probably not the kind of doctor you need today with that cough,” he says, shaking my hand slowly, “but please, come on through.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I whisper. “The pleasure’s all yours - I mean ours ... OURS!”
We follow Dr. Grizzlowe up the stairs and into an office we got to know a little too well yesterday. I take the same seat at the same desk and draw in a very deep breath.
This is where the plan is supposed to go like this:
a. Dr. Grizzlowe shows us our cassette tape.
b. | pick it up and inspect it closely.
c. Oscar dazzles his eyes with a 3D projection of the word THIEF!
d. We run like mad, with the cassette safely zipped up in my pocket.
The problem is, Grizzlowe really is taking care of the cassette - such careful attention that I can see it’s now sitting in a laser locker on the desk! The closer I lean toward it, the more of the laser’s searing heat I can feel in the air. I know very well that if I try and grab it, my hands will turn to vapor - and that probably won’t feel too good.
“So,” says the doctor. “Here it is! This must be a very exciting moment for you.”
“Yes,” I whisper back. “And for you too.” I wink as I take my wallet out of my pocket and wave it in the air.
A smile slides across Grizzlowe’s face. “Yes,” he says. “Why waste time? Let’s talk business.”
I nod and tap my wallet. I’m doing my best to look calm, but right now my stomach’s gurgling like a flushed toilet. Especially with my plan looking a little shaky.
“So, the agreed price was $30 million, was it not?” says Dr. Grizzlowe.
“That’s right,” I whisper. “Such a reasonable sum for an item that means so much to you.”
“It does hurt to let it go,” he says with a pained look. But he seems to recover quickly when he asks his next question: “So, Mr Drimble, how would you like to pay for the item today?”
“I have the cash right here in my wallet. But before we make our exchange, I’d be grateful if we could inspect the item a little more closely.”
“Of course,” he says. “Move as close to the laser locker as you like.”
“Actually, I was hoping to inspect it slightly more closely than that.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he protests. “I cannot allow handling of such a rare item prior to purchase.”
I hear a low growl coming from Oscar down on the floor. I gulp and place my right hand over his mouth.
“We completely understand,” I reply. “Ancient plastic can be extremely fragile!”
This is not looking good. I only have one card left to play. Sadly, it’s not a very good one, but I throw it on the table anyway. “I’d be prepared to raise my offer to $35 million,” I say, “if a brief handling inspection could be arranged.”
Dr. Grizzlowe’s eyes narrow. He exhales slowly and loudly through his nose. “Well,” he says. “This is highly irregular, but ... given your revised offer, I will make a rare exception ... if you can show me the full amount first.”
For a moment I can’t think of anything to say. I’m stumped! I’ve only got $4.50 in my wallet ... slightly less than the $35 million the evil Doctor is expecting!
“Um, I don’t know if .”
Just then, I feel Oscar’s tail thumping against my leg, and I hear a faint hum as his 3D printer whirs into action. The next thing I know, there’s a pile of $100,000 notes on the floor beside him. Relieved, I pat him slightly too hard on the head and pick the notes up. They’re strangely heavy, and cold. Probably because they’re not banknotes at all — compliments of my tinny pet, they’re one solid lump of plastic that happens to look like a pile of banknotes.
From across the table though, that seems to be good enough for Dr. Grizzlowe. He nods, reaches across to a panel on the side of the desk, and presses a button. Instantly, the laser beams guarding the cassette tape fade away. And that’s when our plan appears to get slightly back on track.
With the speed of a hyper-hound, Oscar leaps onto the desk and grabs the cassette tape between his metal jaws. He leaps off the desk and makes a perfect landing on the floor. Grizzlowe gasps as I roll off my chair and we sprint back toward the doorway.
“Have a nice day, Grizzle-chops!” I yell, suddenly feeling very clever.
My glasses fall off as we tumble into the hallway and down the stairs. My moustache gets caught on the hat stand near the front doorway, and somehow, I trip over Oscar just before I reach the door handle. But luck finally seems to be on our side.
As I tumble across the floorboards, for a fraction of a trilli-second I find myself looking straight into the face of Dr. Grizzlowe. He stands at the top of the stairs, glaring at me with recognition washing over his face like a storm of pink clouds. Then, he starts stomping down the staircase as fast as his stumpy legs will carry him.
“Give me back my Snowie!” he screams. “You’re too young to appreciate classical music!”
“And you’re too old to catch us, Grizzle-gob!” Oscar lends me a paw and helps me up. Just before Grizzlowe gets too close for comfort, we burst through the doorway and out onto the street. A second later, he pushes through the doorway, yelling all sorts of unprofessional words at us.
We run back toward the Skyburb Up-station, fully expecting to shake him off before we’ve even turned the first corner. But he’s fitter than he looks. The faster we run, the more his legs seem to stretch out and speed up. By the time we can see the Up-station, he’s only about 10 meters behind us.
For once, our timing couldn’t be better. We reach the Up-station just as our home - Skyburb 6 - arrives and sends down its cell tube. We don’t even have time to glance back and see how close the doctor is - we leap the barrier and pile into the first available cell. Through the glass we can see him trying to climb the barrier. He’s struggling to get his leg over the top - it looks like he’s caught his pants on a hinge! Oscar and I sigh in relief as the door slides shut and we shoot upward.
The relief lasts about twenty seconds. As we pass into the basement of Skyburb 6, we look down through the glass floor of the aircell and gulp at the same time. There’s a very angry figure in the cell below, pointing up at the two of us.
I smile as hard as I can and wave back. Oscar blows him a kiss with his left paw. For some reason, this only seems to make him angrier.
When our cell pulls to a halt, I know we’ve got about twenty seconds to spare before Grizzlowe’
s cell slides in beside us. That should be plenty of time to sneak out of the dock, but it’s a very busy place, even on a Saturday. As soon as the door opens, we leap out of the cell and push through the crowd toward the nearest exit gate.
When we reach the gate, I turn around and see the doctor’s cell hissing to a halt in the landing area. Its door slides upward and he steps out and looks around, his glances darting about like arrows. Then, just for a trilli-second, our eyes lock onto each other. He crashes through the crowd and runs toward us, pushing people out of the way as he goes.
Oscar and I leap the exit gate and run like crazy. Oscar takes the lead, with the cassette tape still clamped between his jaws. We run onto the footpath, frantically dodging the hordes of Saturday shoppers.
Tape Escape Page 4