by Bruce Hale
"Hah!" cried Erik. "Say your prayers, Gecko."
The bullies rolled forward slowly, deliberately, smiling evil smiles.
"Push harder!" I cried.
And with one last "Oof!" we slammed the trapdoor back on its hinges, tumbling out into...
The janitor's office?
Jerry Dooty slumped on a stool just above us, staring down with his mournful eyes.
"Mr. Dooty," said Natalie. "Help us!"
We scrambled to our feet.
"Another problem for my to-do list?" he whined. "What is it this time?"
Bosco's head and shoulders emerged from the trapdoor. "They saw our operations, boss."
The gopher sighed. "My, that is a problem."
"Boss?" I said.
Jerry Dooty grinned and picked up a fancy golden crown from the table. "I prefer 'All-Powerful Emperor of the Underground,'" he said. "But 'boss' is a start."
16. Dooty Calls
My brain felt like a locomotive that had piled into a Jell-O mountain. The wheels were spinning, but I couldn't get any traction.
"You huh?" I said. "You whuh?"
The gopher tsk-tsked. "Really, I would've thought a detective would be a little sharper than that. Yes, I'm the genius behind it all."
"You?" said Natalie.
Jerry Dooty placed the crown on his head."What, you don't think I'm smart enough?" He pouted. "Nobody ever does. I'm so unappreciated, even as an emperor."
"But... emperor?" I said.
"Yes," said the gopher. "I'm tired of the way things are run around here."
"Us, too," said Erik, peeking up through the hole in the floor.
Mr. Dooty gestured to the trapdoor."So I decided to create my own underground empire, with a little help from my minions. Like it?"
Natalie and I exchanged a quick glance.
"Yeah, it's, uh, swell," I said.
"Especially the twinkly lights," Natalie added.
The janitor nodded. "Thanks. I wanted it to be cheery."
My stunned gaze wandered around the room, from the deranged gopher, to the bottles of cleaning products, to the Stinkers peering up through the floor.
"So you got Ms. DeBree fired?" I said. "Why?"
"She was just too darn clean," said the janitor.
I blinked. "How's that?"
He waved a paw. "Always tidying things up, poking her nose into stuff. She was getting suspicious. Maureen could have derailed my whole plan."
Natalie shifted from foot to foot. She cut her eyes at the trapdoor and floor bolt, then back to me. I gave a tiny nod.
"One thing I don't get," she said."Popper saw Ms. DeBree running away just before that building caught fire."
"Hah!" said Erik. "Should I tell 'em, boss?"
"That's emperor," said Jerry Dooty.
"I'll tell them," a new voice cut in.
I turned to see the weasel assistant janitor pushing through the office door. "You!"
"Yes," he said, tossing a lighter from paw to paw. "Funny how from behind, a weasel looks just like a mongoose."
Natalie snapped her forefeathers."I knew there was something odd about him."
"His bad-guy vibes?" I said.
"No, the way he moves," she said. "Mongooses dash, weasels bound. And Popper said the culprit bow-bow-bounded away. So it couldn't have been a mongoose."
I shook my head. "You spend way too much time watching the Natural Channel. But good work, partner."
Bosco the ferret raised a paw." 'Scuse me,boss—"
"Emperor!" snapped Mr. Dooty.
"—but are we gonna stand around jawing all night, or are we gonna chain these two up on the work crew?"
The janitor adjusted his crown. "Excellent idea, minion."
"The name's not Minion," said Bosco."It's Bosco."
They glared at each other. The weasel kept on tossing his lighter.
Natalie threw me another sharp look and cut her eyes back to the open trapdoor. "Now!" she cried.
Together we sprang for the door, lifted it, and slammed it—thonk!—right onto the heads of the Dirty Rotten Stinkers.
Muffled ows rose through the floor as I snapped the bolt home, locking the bullies below.
"Hey!" said Emperor Dooty. "That's not fair!"
With my quick gecko reflexes, I snatched the lighter from the weasel, mid-throw. "Neither is this, but I'm doing it anyway."
I grabbed the nearest jar marked FLAMMABLE, unscrewed the lid, and held the lighter near it.
"You wouldn't," said the weasel.
"Just try me, Sparky," I said, backing toward the exit.
Natalie slipped around me and went to the door. "Stand back, or you'll find out who else around here can play with fire."
The pyro weasel eased off to stand beside the janitor.
"You are a dead lizard," growled Jerry Dooty.
"You should know about dead," I said. "Because, judging by your breath, something died in your mouth."
I managed a cocky chuckle, but I just knew my parents would kill me if they found out about this.
Natalie opened the door. I backed through it, still holding the lighter and the solvent.
"Sayonara, nutbags!" I said.
Wham! Natalie slammed the door, I tossed the lighter and cleaning fluid into the bushes, and we screamed out of there like a kindergartner with a brand-new trike.
Parents and kids stared as we blew past.
Fhomp! The janitor's door banged open behind us. I risked a glance back.
Emperor Dooty and his minions spilled into the hall. The gopher took in all the witnesses. With both hands, he made a keep cool gesture to his crew.
The Stinkers and Pyro Weasel chased us at a fast walk. "Just a game," called the weasel to the parents. "Heh-heh. No reason for alarm."
Sure. And if you believe that one, I've got some beachfront property for you at the North Pole.
Natalie and I poured on the gas—me running, her flying. We blew past a classroom door."Chet!" someone called.
"I think that was your teacher," said Natalie.
Pumping my arms, I panted, "I'll save my grade after I save my skin."
I kept my eyes peeled for Mr. Zero, Vice Principal Shrewer, or any teacher with enough clout to stop Mad Emperor Dooty. The last person I expected to see was Maureen DeBree.
And yet, as we veered around a corner, there she was.
"Hey, the private eyeballs!" said Ms. DeBree. She wore a blond wig and floppy hat, but I'd have recognized that mongoose mug anywhere. Definitely not a weasel.
I skidded to a halt. "Why the weird getup?"
"Disguise," she said. "I like find some evidence and clear my name. Where you off to?"
"No time to explain."
She blew wig hairs away from her mouth. "Try anyhow."
"Bad gopher. Dug tunnels. Got you fired. Wants to be underground emperor."
Natalie landed on a nearby bush."Guess there was time after all."
I glanced behind us. No Stinkers yet, but they wouldn't be long.
"Hurry!" I said. "How do we stop him?"
The mongoose smiled a crafty smile. "Where's the bugger got his tunnel entrances at?"
17. Fine Feathered Ends
In three shakes of a gecko's tail, we were standing outside the administration office. Ms. DeBree held a thick green hose with a spray-nozzle gizmo at the end. Jerry Dooty and his crew strode up the hall with bloody murder in their eyes.
The mongoose stepped to the door, hose in hand.
"Where do you think you're going?" called Emperor Dooty.
"To clean up after you," said Ms. DeBree.
"Talk about a full-time job," I muttered.
I turned the knob, and we stepped inside. Principal Zero stood talking with several parents in the hall outside his office. He raised a bristly eyebrow.
"Don't mind us," said Natalie.
She and I dropped to the floor and began tapping the tiles.
"Excuse me?" said the secretary, Mrs. Crow.
&n
bsp; "You're excused," I said.
Mr. Zero broke away from his conference."Gecko, what is the meaning of this?" Then he caught sight of the ex-janitor. "You? I fired you!"
"We came for flush out one dirty rotten gopher," said Ms. DeBree.
I kept tapping."Jerry Dooty is behind everything. The fire, the stinkbomb, the building collapse..."
"The thefts and the disappearing kids," said Natalie.
The gopher burst through the doorway. "Lies! All madness and lies!"
Mr. Zero looked from him to us. Hard to say who looked crazier—Maureen DeBree with her wig, hat, and hose, or Jerry Dooty in his crooked crown.
The big cat turned to Natalie. "Miss Attired, you're usually saner than your partner."
"Hey!" I said.
"Tell me what's going on here."
Natalie thumped the floor. "Mr. Dooty tunneled under the whole school—even this office. That's how he stole things; that's why the classroom caved in."
"Ridiculous!" scoffed Emperor Dooty."Who will
you believe—your head custodian, or a couple of cockamamie kids and an ex-employee with a grudge?"
"Well...," said Mr. Zero, undecided.
I kept thumping.
"Tunnels under the floor?" said Pyro Weasel over Mr. Dooty's shoulder. "Preposterous!"
Just when I was about to give up, one tile gave a hollow tonk! "Help me, birdie," I said. Working together, Natalie and I pried up the trapdoor and let it fall open.
"Preposterous?" said Mr. Zero. Mr. Dooty turned pale. "I've never seen that hole before."
Maureen DeBree stepped up to the tunnel entrance. The hose was so full of backed-up water, she had to wrestle it under control."Okeydokey," she said."Then you won't mind if we ..." She lowered the nozzle into the opening.
At that moment, I heard children's voices below us. An image sprang to my mind: helpless kids, handcuffed to a ladder.
Time slowed down.
The mongoose's fingers tightened on the trigger.
I reached for her arm, but before I could speak...
"Wait!" cried Mr. Dooty. "Don't—there's kids down there!"
"Kids?" said the principal.
We leaned over the hole. Below us, dirty faces looked up. "Hippety-hi-hi-hi, Chet," said Popper.
Mr. Zero's eyes went wider than the waistband of an elephant's undies."They're cuffed together? To our good ladder? Get that hose out of here!"
Ms. DeBree hauled it back out. "Sorry, eh," she said. "I just wanted for expose his evil—" She gestured at Jerry Dooty with the hose.
Psssshhht! A supercharged stream of water blasted from the nozzle and hit the gopher smack-dab in the chest.
Foom! Down he went like a greenhorn tightrope walker, taking out the weasel and one or two Stinkers with him.
"Oops," said Ms. DeBree. "Clumsy me."
Before long, Mr. Zero had sorted out the whole mess like a—well, like an espresso-fueled janitor on a cleaning binge. He hauled up the captive kids and uncuffed them, and ordered the new-old head custodian, Maureen DeBree, to plug up the tunnel pronto.
The boys in blue roared into the parking lot, sirens wailing. They hauled offJerry Dooty and his crew in the paddy wagon—even the Dirty Rotten Stinkers. Bo, Popper, and the other former captives stood at the curb, cheering.
Natalie and I watched the van drive away. The crowd slowly dispersed.
I kicked at a weed sticking up through the pavement.
"For a gecko who just helped stop an evil emperor and save some kidnapped kids, you don't look too happy," said Natalie.
I sighed. "Ah, it's just that ... I was wrong all the way down the line."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I had no clue who was behind it all, I nearly got us thrown on the chain gang ... Heck, without Ms. DeBree, I wouldn't even have been able to get those guys locked up." I hugged my arms."Some detective I am."
Natalie patted my shoulder. "Relax, Chet. You always goof up."
"Thanks a lot."
"But you always get there in the end."
I trudged down the sidewalk. "I dunno, birdie. Maybe the time has come to hang up the old trench coat."
Natalie frowned. "What are you saying?"
"Time to quit being a PI."
She stopped dead. "You? Quit detective work? You're kidding."
"I'm as serious as a ten-page math test." I rubbed my neck. "Time for me to focus on being a regular kid. You know—do homework, bring my grades up, do chores around the house."
For a long moment, I stared at Natalie. She stared right back at me.
"Nah," we said together. "It'd never work."
Natalie punched my arm. "Besides, who's the school's best lizard detective?"
"Me?" I said.
"Right as usual, Sherlock. Sharpest mind in the business."
Just then, a voice rang out from behind us."Chet Gecko! Did you forget something?"
I turned to see Mr. Ratnose and my parents standing by the office.
"My reward?" I said.
"Your parent-teacher conference," said Mr. Ratnose.
Natalie smirked. "Like I said, sharpest mind in the business."
* * *
Look for more mysteries from the Tattered Casebook of Chet Gecko in hardcover and paperback
Case #1 The Chameleon Wore Chartreuse
Some cases start rough, some cases start easy. This one started with a dame. (That's what we private eyes call a girl.) She was cute and green and scaly. She looked like trouble and smelled like ... grasshoppers.
Shirley Chameleon came to me when her little brother, Billy, turned up missing. (I suspect she also came to spread cooties, but that's another story.) She turned on the tears. She promised me some stinkbug pie. I said I'd find the brat.
But when his trail led to a certain stinky-breathed, bad-tempered, jumbo-sized Gila monster, I thought I'd bitten off more than I could chew. Worse, I had to chew fast: If I didn't find Billy in time, it would be bye-bye, stinkbug pie.
Case #2 The Mystery of Mr. Nice
How would you know if some criminal mastermind tried to impersonate your principal? My first clue: He was nice to me.
This fiend tried everything—flattery, friendship, food—but he still couldn't keep me off the case. Natalie and I followed a trail of clues as thin as the cheese on a cafeteria hamburger. And we found a ring of corruption that went from the janitor right up to Mr. Big.
In the nick of time, we rescued Principal Zero and busted up the PTA meeting, putting a stop to the evil genius. And what thanks did we get? Just the usual. A cold handshake and a warm soda.
But that's all in a day's work for a private eye.
Case #3 Farewell, My Lunchbag
If danger is my business, then dinner is my passion. I'll take any case if the pay is right. And what pay could be better than Mothloaf Surprise?
At least that's what I thought. But in this particular case, I almost paid the ultimate price for good grub.
Cafeteria lady Mrs. Bagoong hired me to track down whoever was stealing her food supplies. The long, slimy trail led too close to my own backyard for comfort.
And much, much too close to the very scary Jimmy "King" Cobra. Without the help of Natalie Attired and our school janitor, Maureen DeBree, I would've been gecko sushi.
Case #4 The Big Nap
My grades were lower than a salamander's slippers, and my bank account was trying to crawl under a duck's belly. So why did I take a case that didn't pay anything?
Put it this way: Would you stand by and watch some evil power turn your classmates into hypnotized zombies? (If that wasn't just what normally happened to them in math class, I mean.)
My investigations revealed a plot meaner than a roomful of rhinos with diaper rash.
Someone at Emerson Hicky was using a sinister video game to put more and more students into la-la-land. And it was up to me to stop it, pronto—before that someone caught up with me, and I found myself taking the Big Nap.
Case #5 T
he Hamster of the Baskervilles
Elementary school is a wild place. But this was ridiculous.
Someone—or something—was tearing up Emerson Hicky. Classrooms were trashed. Walls were gnawed. Mysterious tunnels riddled the playground like worm chunks in a pan of earthworm lasagna.
But nobody could spot the culprit, let alone catch him.
I don't believe in the supernatural. My idea of voodoo is my mom's cockroach-ripple ice cream.
Then, a teacher reported seeing a monster on full-moon night, and I got the call.
At the end of a twisted trail of clues, I had to answer the burning question: Was it a vicious, supernatural were-hamster on the loose, or just another Science Fair project gone wrong?
Case #6 This Gum for Hire
Never thought I'd see the day when one of my worst enemies would hire me for a case. Herman the Gila Monster was a sixth-grade hoodlum with a first-rate left hook. He told me someone was disappearing the football team, and he had to put a stop to it. Big whoop.
He told me he was being blamed for the kidnappings, and he had to clear his name. Boo hoo.
Then he said that I could either take the case and earn a nice reward, or have my face rearranged like a bargain-basement Picasso painted by a spastic chimp.
I took the case.
But before I could find the kidnapper, I had to go undercover. And that meant facing something that scared me worse than a chorus line of criminals in steel-toed boots: P.E. class.
Case #7 The Malted Falcon
It was tall, dark, and chocolatey—the stuff dreams are made of. It was a treat so titanic that nobody had been able to finish one single-handedly (or even single-mouthedly). It was the Malted Falcon.
How far would you go for the ultimate dessert? Somebody went too far, and that's where I came in.
The local sweets shop held a contest. The prize: a year's supply of free Malted Falcons. Some lucky kid scored the winning ticket. She brought it to school for show-and-tell.
But after she showed it, somebody swiped it. And no one would tell where it went.
Following a strong hunch and an even stronger sweet tooth, I tracked the ticket through a web of lies more tangled than a rattlesnake doing the rumba. But the time to claim the prize was fast approaching. Would the villain get the sweet treat—or his just desserts?
