by Bruce Hale
But it wasn't a map at all. It looked like a crazy spider had crawled into an inkwell and danced the Funky Chicken across the paper. The sheet was covered with Xs and Os, and arrows and squiggles—almost like a football play.
Maybe it had nothing to do with the case. But it was the only clue I had. I needed to talk with a football player named Brick, and I thought I knew where to find him.
I walked into my own classroom and sat down. Mr. Ratnose started to tell us all about the history of Mesopotamia, or the messes of Hippopotamia—I forget which. I raised my hand.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Mr. Ratnose, can I go to the principal's office?"
He frowned at me.
"No, you may not. Now, please don't interrupt."
Mr. Ratnose kept rattling on about ancient ruins. I gave him thirty seconds, then raised my hand again.
"What is it, Chester?"
"Can I please go to the principal's office?"
"No!" he said. His eyes narrowed. "Now, for the last time, stop interrupting me."
I gave him ten seconds this time. My hand shot up.
His whiskers twitched. "What ... is ... it ... Chester?"
"Can I please—"
"Absolutely not! You've interrupted me for the last time!"
Mr. Ratnose scribbled a quick note. He shoved it into my hand.
"Take this note and go straight to the principal's office. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Ratnose." I walked to the door and turned around. "Oh, Mr. Ratnose? Thanks."
I didn't know for sure that Brick would be in Principal Zero's office, but most of the football team spent half their days there. It was like a game with them. Whoever bugged his teacher the most won an all-expenses-paid trip to the principal's office.
If I'd had a choice, I would have stayed as far away as possible from the three-time winner of the Meanest Principal in the Universe award. But duty called.
And the twisted trail of my case led right to the door of that fat cat, Principal Zero.
6 Thick as a Brick
I entered the administration building. It was a light day. Only a dozen kids sat in the hard chairs outside the principal's office.
And his spanking machine wasn't even turned on.
The secretary didn't look up as I gave her my note. "Take a number, take a seat." She sighed.
I ripped number 187 from the ticket roll and sat down. I sized up my fellow troublemakers. They were carving their names on the chairs, flicking spitballs at each other, and playing punching games.
Pretty quiet for a Friday.
Half of the kids looked like football-team material—wide as refrigerators, but without the little lights inside. I leaned toward one of them.
"Brick?" I said.
"Say what?"
"I'm looking for Brick."
"Ask a building." He laughed, showing teeth as yellow as candy corn.
"He's a football player," I said. "You know, football?"
The light went on behind his eyes.
"Yeah, football good," he said. "Brick over there."
The goon pointed toward the corner with a hand the size of a dinner plate. Mmm, dinner. That reminded me: It was almost time for lunch.
I took an empty chair beside a big redheaded hedgehog.
"You're Brick," I said.
"Yeah, so?"
"Chet Gecko, private eye. I want to ask you a few questions."
"What is this, a pop quiz?" he said.
I thought I'd be tricky and try the old switcheroo.
"You might say that. First question: What is the square root of 369?"
"Uh...," he said.
"Next, what is the capital of Mesopotamia?"
"Hmm," he said.
"And third, when did you last see Billy Chameleon?"
"Billy? Me and Herman was talking with him after school yesterday."
The old switcheroo. It worked every time.
"What were you talking about?" I asked.
"Herman made a joke about some cheerleader. I don't think Billy liked it."
"Why not?" I said.
"I think she was his sister."
Shirley, a cheerleader? That dame was as full of surprises as a toad is full of flies. I wondered what else she hadn't told me.
"Do you remember anything more?"
"That's about it," said Brick. He scratched his neck bristles. "I went to football practice after that."
Football. I remembered the strange drawing in my pocket. I fished it out and showed it to him.
"This mean anything to you?" I said. "Is it a football play?"
He squinted at the paper and turned it around in his hands.
"Number 184!" said the secretary.
"That's me," he said. "Gotta go."
"Wait. What about that drawing?"
"Hah! Whoever drew this was some lame football player."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"It looks like the crowd is playing and the football teams ain't."
He wadded up the paper and tossed it at me.
What did I look like, a trash can? I was going to have to start dressing better.
7 Big Fat Zero
While Brick got his tongue-lashing from Principal Zero, I puzzled. This case had more unanswered questions than a five-hour math test.
Where was Billy? What did Herman have to do with his disappearance? Why hadn't Shirley told me she was a cheerleader?
And what the heck was "osmosis"? (I needed to learn that for Monday's science quiz.)
I puzzled until the secretary called out, "Number 187!"
I got up, turned the knob, and stepped into the principal's office. Behind the desk sat the enormous Mr. Zero. Big Fat Zero, the kids called him. But never to his face.
"Come in, Mr. Gecko," he purred.
I shut the door. Principal Zero picked up the note Mr. Ramose had written. He stroked his whiskers.
"So you've been giving poor Mr. Ratnose a hard time, eh?" he asked. "Why did you disrupt his class?"
"I just wanted to come to the principal's office."
Mr. Zero eyed me suspiciously. "You wanted to come here? What for?"
"Just wanted to say, Have a nice weekend."
"That can't be it," he said.
"Oh yeah. That's it. Have a nice weekend, Principal Zero."
His eyes narrowed. He sharpened his claws on the office drapes. They looked pretty ragged, like he'd done it a time or two before.
"I know you're up to something," he said. "And I don't like your attitude."
"Neither do I," I said. "It's pretty bad. I stay up late at night worrying about it."
Principal Zero ground his teeth. His tail twitched. He looked scarier than a grumpy parent on report-card day. But he had nothing on me.
"I'm letting you go this time, young Gecko," he said. "But watch your step. I've got my eye on you."
I slipped out the door before he could change his mind. On the way back to class, I reviewed what I had so far on this case.
Absolutely nothing.
Without a break, I'd never find Billy before the football game. My stomach whimpered.
If things didn't start looking up, I'd have to ask for help. But first I wanted to put the squeeze on Shirley. She was holding out on me, and I had to know why.
I stepped into Mr. Ratnose's class. His nerves were ragged. I could tell because it was quiet-reading time again. Once a day was normal. Two reading periods meant my teacher had a headache. Three times meant he was on the edge of a breakdown.
I eased into the chair behind Shirley and opened a book.
I scrawled a quick note and slipped it to her. It said:
Why didn't you tell me you're a cheerleader?
She stamped her foot and wrote back:
It has nothing to do with the case, and it's none of your business, anyway!
Is so! I wrote. I was good with comebacks. And how do you know Herman the Gila Monster?
Shirley started to write something, then
scribbled it out. She wrote again and slipped me another note:
Wouldn't it be easier to talk? Why are we writing notes?
They always do this in spy movies, I wrote back.
Shirley sighed and turned in her chair. She whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "Chet, Herman caught me doing—I'd rather not say. Look, I hired you to find my brother. Why are you sticking your nose into my business?"
"Your business may be connected to your brother's disappearance," I said. "I've got a hunch Herman's up to something, and Billy's involved."
"Well, hurry up and find him," she said. "I'll be dead meat if he's not at that football game."
And I knew what that would mean: Bye-bye, stinkbug pie.
8 Rats for Lunch
When the lunch bell rang, I scooted out the door. I wanted to catch the Rat Sisters before they started stealing little kids' lunches. If they were hungry, I could pump some information from them.
I leaned against a trash can and waited. It didn't take long.
"Hey, Nadine. Hey, Rizzo," I said. "Guess what? It's National Take-a-Doofus-to-Lunch Day, so I thought I'd share a sandwich with you."
"Very funny, Gecko," said the bigger one, Rizzo.
The Rat Sisters make the Wicked Witch of the West look like a Girl Scout. The only thing they like more than bullying smaller kids is pigging out on food—any food. I had just what they wanted.
I pulled a peanut butter-and-ladybug sandwich from my lunch bag. Both rats stared at it, hypnotized.
"So," I said. "I hear you girls hang out with Billy Chameleon."
"Yeah, sometimes," said Nadine. "What's it to you? Are you his boyfriend?"
I moved the sandwich to the right. Their eyes went right. I moved it to the left. Their eyes went left.
"Have you seen Billy today?" I asked.
"Not since—no," said Rizzo. "Hey are you going to eat that sandwich, or just dance with it?"
"Well, I might share, if you'll share information," I said.
"Like what?" said Nadine.
"Like, did you take Billy's excuse note to Old Toady? Like, where is Billy right now?" I said.
"Yeah, I gave her that note. He's—" Nadine began.
"Cool it, Brillo Whiskers," said her sister.
"You're the Brillo Whiskers," said Nadine.
"You were about to spill the beans. The Big Guy wouldn't like that." Rizzo bared her teeth and glared at her sister.
"Was not," said Nadine, glaring back, eyeball-to-eyeball.
I dangled the sandwich above them.
"Why wouldn't the Big Guy want me to know anything?" I said.
They both looked up at the sandwich. I waited.
"No way, Gecko," said Rizzo. "You can't bribe us that easy."
Suddenly Nadme pointed past my shoulder, across the playground.
"Uh-oh," she said. "Now we're in trouble."
I looked. Nobody there but kids eating lunch. I turned back. My lunch was bounding over the grass, held fast in the grubby paws of two running Rat Sisters.
"Nice try, private eye," Nadine shouted over her shoulder. "If you want a clue, ask the Big Baboo."
Rizzo added, "Or answer this: What do you get when you cross a duck with a trash collector?"
I watched my lunch disappear, and I wondered if I could convince Shirley to pay me in advance. My stomach wondered, too.
9 To Grill a Mockingbird
"What do you get when you cross a duck with a trash collector?" I asked myself. "Grease and quackers? No, that's not it. A trash can that flies? Nawww..."
This was one tricky clue. And who the heck was the Big Baboo? I knew I needed help. And I knew where to turn.
Across the playground, under a shady tree, sat Natalie Attired. She was a good friend. Natalie was also the smartest mockingbird around, and she never let anyone forget it.
"Hiya, Chet!" she said. "Care for a worm?"
She held out her lunch bag. Normally I prefer bugs. But my stomach said yes before my mouth could say no. I snatched a worm and chomped into it. Kind of rubbery.
"So what's shaking, Mr. Detective?" said Natalie.
"Mmm-hma-vhmph," I mumbled around the worm.
"Chasing some bad guys?"
"Mmmf, you might say that," I finally said. "Hey, Natalie, I—uh, I need your, uh—that is..."
"Ha!" she laughed. '"Natalie, I—uh, I need your, uh—that is...'" Natalie made her voice sound even more like me than I did.
"Hey, cut that out!" I said.
"'Hey, cut that out!'" she echoed in my voice.
My eyes narrowed. "Natalie—"
"All right, all right," she said in her normal voice. "I'm a mockingbird. Sometimes I mock." Natalie cocked her head. "So what were you trying to say before I interrupted?"
I took a breath and tried to start again. "Well, urn, you see—"
Natalie's eyes lit up. "Wait, don't tell me," she said. "You've found a clue you can't crack, so you want to borrow my brainpower."
I hate it when she's right. I tried to slip the rest of the worm back into her lunch bag. It limped away. I let it.
"Yeah." I sighed. "I need your help. What do you say?"
"Sure, I'll help you," she said. "But on one condition: If I solve your clue, you take me along when you investigate."
"But I'm a private /," I said. "Not a private we. All the best private eyes work alone."
"Okay," she said. "Fine with me. Solve it yourself." Natalie fluffed her feathers and poked her beak back into her lunch bag.
I swallowed my pride, along with the last bits of worm.
"All right, it's a deal," I said. I told her about Shirley's missing brother and showed her the strange drawing I'd found in Billy's desk.
"Hmm," Natalie said. She cocked her head. "Can't solve this without more information."
"Some help you are."
"Have you dug up anything else so far?" Natalie asked. She slurped another fat, juicy worm.
I looked away. Then I told her about the mysterious Big Baboo and the riddle that the Rat Sisters had given me.
Natalie laughed. "Man, don't you ever read joke books? I don't know any Big Baboo, but that other clue is so easy, I almost feel guilty."
"Oh yeah?" I said. "If you're so smart, what do you get when you cross a duck with a trash collector?"
"Down in the dumps," she said.
I smacked my forehead. The dumps! Of course—maybe Herman had dragged Billy to the city dump to beat him up. Or worse.
"That was so easy," I said. "Why didn't I think of it?"
Thankfully Natalie didn't answer me. She preened her feathers while a sly look came over her face.
"That's why every detective needs a partner," she said.
"Partner?! I never said you could be my partner."
"We'll talk about it on the way to the dump," said Natalie.
10 Cheers Looking at You, Kid
As we were heading across the playground, I noticed a group of girls (a giggle of girls?) over by the gym. I looked closer. Shirley was with them.
"Hang on a minute," I said to Natalie. "Before we check out the dump, I've got to do a little shadowing."
"Shadowing?" said Natalie. "Oh, goody. I love to make shadow animals. Did I ever show you my bunny rabbit?"
I gave her my deadpan stare. "Enough with the wisecracks."
"Polly wanna wisecracker?" Natalie's bright birdy eyes twinkled. "Sorry. So who are we shadowing?"
"Shirley Chameleon."
"You're following your client around?" said Natalie. "Why? Are you in love with her?"
I grabbed Natalie by her tail feathers and twisted. "Take that back," I said. "Private eyes don't go for mushy stuff."
"Ow!" Natalie hopped from foot to foot. "Okay, okay, I take it back."
I let her go. Natalie rubbed her tail feathers. "So you're not in love with Shirley," she said. "But how come you're following your client instead of the suspects?"
"She's holding out on me. I can feel it. She knows about some l
ink between Herman and Billy, and she won't tell me."
Natalie and I looked over at the girls. Two football players joined the group, and the girls giggled even louder. Why is it that jocks make girls twitter? They never twitter for private eyes.
Not that I would want them to. Yuck.
"So what's the plan, Stan?" said Natalie.
"Time to play a little I Spy," I said. "Come on."
We strolled past the swings, then ducked behind some bushes and sneaked toward the gym. As we edged along the wall, just around the corner from the group, I raised a hand.
"Up," I whispered, and pointed to the gymnasium roof.
Natalie napped to the rooftop, and I climbed the wall. I figured Shirley and the girls might not notice us if we came in from above. As I crawled closer to the corner, the voices and laughter grew louder below me.
"Oh, Brick, you're just the funniest thing," a girl said.
"Not half as funny as that goofy gecko in your class," he said. Brick snorted and giggled, a sound like two owls in a blender.
"Who does he think he is?" he said. "With the detective getup and everything? He couldn't detect a football if it hit him on the head."
I stifled a snarl. Brick should talk. He couldn't detect his nose with two fingers up his nostrils. I peeked carefully around the corner.
"Oh, he's not that bad," said Shirley quietly.
Hoots and laughter greeted her remark. "Ooo, Shir-ley's in lo-ove, Shir-ley's in lo-ove," chanted a couple of mynah birds.
Natalie looked down at me and smirked.
"Am not!" said Shirley.
"And I thought you liked Herman!" said a sassy mouse, Frenchy LaTrme.
"I don't, either!" said Shirley. "You guys are so thick!" She turned brick red and flounced off with her tail in a tangle.
I glanced at Natalie. I mouthed, "She likes Herman?"
Natalie shrugged. I turned back to the conversation.
