The Grateful Fred

by Greg Trine

  Big Al smirked. “You and every other crime fighter in town.”

  “Someone is out to get The Grateful Fred. Do you have any ideas who that might be?”

  Al began humming “Baby, Yeah, Baby, Baby.” Then he caught himself and said, “The Grateful Fred? I love those guys. Who would want to hurt them?”

  “We’d like to ask you that same question,” Candace spoke up. She usually let Melvin do the talking, since he had better noggin power, but that was getting very boring.

  “Sorry,” Al said. “No can do. If word got around that I was snitching on my customers I’d be out of business. Bad guys would hate me. You know, I’ve been serving Southern California’s bad guys since 1985.”

  Melvin turned to leave. He knew there was no use arguing. Al was not going to let his business go down the tubes, even if it meant saving The Grateful Fred. But Melvin also knew that Al had information that he needed. He wondered what the Superhero’s Code said about breaking and entering.

  “What do we do now?” Candace asked.

  “I have a plan,” Melvin said. “But it may involve doing some night work. How do you feel about that?”

  This was a tough one. Candace was all for saving the world, as long as she was home for dinner. But she also loved The Grateful Fred. Maybe some things were more important than following the rules.

  “Anything for The Grateful Fred,” she said finally and launched herself in the air.

  “I’ll come and get you at midnight,” Melvin called to her. “Bring a flashlight, Candace.”

  He decided to jog home rather than try to launch himself in public.

  7

  THE CLONE-O-MATIC 6000

  The Grateful Fred’s latest tune, “Baby, Yeah, Baby, Baby,” was number four on the hit charts. And climbing. Every time it moved up, Joe the Bad Guy got madder.

  What did he do when he got mad? Punch something, that’s what—usually the walls of his lair. You could always tell when The Grateful Fred had a hit song by the hundreds of dents in Joe’s walls.

  He had tried to go solo after he was kicked out of the band, but no one liked his music. They hated his lyrics even more. His song “You Have Hairy Knuckles but I Love You Anyhow” was turned down by every record company in the country. His song “Bucktoothed Sally” did even worse. A record company in England said they’d pay him to burn his music equipment. Once he played for free at a wedding reception, but after just one song everyone left the party and went bowling. Poor Joe the Bad Guy. He couldn’t even work for free.

  And so with every Grateful Fred hit song, his hatred deepened. He wanted revenge and he wanted it now. Sooner if possible!

  Back in his lair, Joe began putting the Clone-o-Matic 6000 together. The Grateful Fred would soon pay the price for kicking him out, he thought with an evil laugh. His evil laugh wasn’t quite what it should be, but he planned to read up on the subject. He’d gotten a copy of Perfecting Your Evil Laugh at Big Al’s and was going to start reading it as soon as he took care of The Grateful Fred.

  But there was a problem. In order to clone a person, you needed to start with a piece of that person. You couldn’t create something from nothing.

  He needed a piece of Fred. A strand of hair. A toenail clipping.

  At the stroke of midnight, Joe set out to get the piece of Fred that he needed.

  8

  SPEAKING OF MIDNIGHT

  Melvin looked up at Candace’s bedroom window. He waited until midnight before tossing the first pebble.

  “Hark!” he said when she appeared.

  “Wrong story again,” she said. She climbed out of the window and joined him. Then the two of them took off. Or at least Candace did.

  Crash!

  Splat!

  “Hurry up, Melvin,” Candace called, hovering above the trees.

  Yes, Melvin, would you get a move on? You’re holding up the story.

  “Who said that?” Candace asked.

  “Who said what?” Melvin said, launching himself on the fifth try.

  “Who said, ‘You’re holding up the story’?”

  “Some handsome genius.”

  “Who?”

  “The narrator. Don’t encourage him.” Melvin zoomed off toward Big Al’s Rent-a-Lair. Candace stayed with him. “Can I kick in the door?” she asked.

  Melvin had kicked in the last door. They usually took turns at this, since kicking in doors was a big superhero perk.

  “I’m going to try my hand at picking the lock,” Melvin said. “I don’t want Al to know anyone has been here.”

  Melvin and Candace snuck around to the lot behind the store. They were surrounded by lairs.

  “Look at this,” Candace said. “A lair with a Jacuzzi.”

  “You’re one of the good guys. You don’t need a lair.”

  “But I’ve never had a lair. Can I have a lair, Melvin? Please, can I?”

  Melvin put a finger to his lips. “Shhh!”

  “At least you have a hideout. All I have is a stupid bedroom.”

  “WOULD YOU BE QUIET!” Melvin had removed a stiff wire from his pocket and grabbed the doorknob. It was unlocked.

  “Al forgot to lock up,” Melvin said. “Darn! I wanted to see if I could pick it.”

  “Never look a gift-lock in the mouth,” Candace replied. But secretly she had wanted the door to be locked, too, and she’d wanted Melvin to fail at picking it so she could kick it in.

  Melvin swung the door open and went inside. Candace followed, holding the flashlight. “What are we looking for?”

  “Clues,” Melvin told her.

  “I know that. What kind of clues?”

  “Receipts. Whoever is after The Grateful Fred may have rented a lair recently.”

  Melvin found Al’s office. That door was also unlocked.

  “Darn,” Candace said under her breath.

  Melvin started going through a filing cabinet. “Uh-oh,” he said. “They had a storewide lair sale last week. They sold a dozen lairs.” Melvin read the sales receipts out loud. “Max the Wonder Thug, Stinky Gillespie, Calamity Wayne. Hey, the McNasty Sisters are in here.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We go down the list. See who has a grudge against The Grateful Fred. See who doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the concert.”

  “I don’t suppose we could find a door to kick in before we go?” Candace asked. “I’m kind of going through withdrawal.”

  “We don’t have time,” Melvin said, stuffing the list in his pocket. “On the next case I’ll let you kick in two doors. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds—”

  Suddenly something growled at them from the darkness outside the office. Candace swung the flashlight beam and there in the doorway was—

  —the biggest dog she had ever seen.

  “Holy Rottweiler!” Candace said. She backed up into the office.

  Holy Rottweiler, indeed! It was the biggest one they’d ever seen.

  And the meanest looking.

  Meaner than a school principal on a bad day …

  Meaner than the McNasty brothers …

  Meaner than a junkyard dog.

  Hey, that sounds like a song.

  The dog drooled a lot too–like it was going out of style. Melvin and Candace backed farther into the room.

  “What’s the plan, Melvin? We need noggin power and we need it now!”

  The dog growled again and moved toward them.

  “Melvin?” Candace said in a very unsuperhero voice.

  “How do you feel about kicking in a wall?” Melvin said. “It’s our only way out. Go for it, Candace.”

  Candace didn’t need to be told twice. She kicked through the wall and Melvin followed her out. They found themselves in the back lot of Rent-a-Lair, the dog hot on their tail.

  “In there,” Melvin said, pointing to the lair with the Jacuzzi.

  They ran inside and slammed the door just ahead of the dog. Candace flashed her light around. “I’m askin
g for a raise in my allowance. I gotta get one of these.”

  9

  JOE THE BAD GUY’S MIDNIGHT RUN

  It was just after midnight when Joe the Bad Guy set off for the Hollywood Hills. This was where Fred of The Grateful Fred lived. It wasn’t part of the Rock and Roller’s Code to live in a mansion on a hill, but it was very common.

  Joe made his way through the back gate of Fred’s house, past the pool and Jacuzzi, and began checking doors and windows. All the doors were locked, but he found an open bathroom window and climbed through. Now to find Fred, he said to himself, grabbing the toenail clippers out of his pocket. He moved through the dark hallways and rooms humming “Yeah, Yeah, Baby, Baby.” He hated The Grateful Fred but he couldn’t get their music out of his head.

  He didn’t find Fred right away. But he did find his music equipment. Fred had a large collection of electric guitars in his den. And Joe set about cutting the strings—he had the clippers to do the job. Just in case the clone idea doesn’t work, Joe said to himself. Besides, it was always a good idea to destroy your enemy’s guitars. It simply made sense. This wasn’t part of the Bad Guy’s Code, but it sure felt right to Joe.

  Once he’d finished, he looked around at the guitars with the broken strings and kissed the toenail clippers before returning them to his pocket. This was an ideal time to use his evil laugh, he thought. But of course he hadn’t perfected it yet. And he didn’t want to wake up Fred, wherever he was. He’d laugh later, he decided, when he finished the job.

  Where was Fred? That was the big question. Maybe the band was on tour, or maybe Fred was on vacation. Joe went from door to door in the darkened house—bathrooms, bedrooms, closets. But no Fred. Joe was beginning to get worried. With no Fred, there was no evil plan, and with no evil plan, there would be no revenge. And with no revenge we would have one sad bad guy on our hands, and we just can’t have that, can we?

  “No, we can’t,” Joe whispered.

  I wasn’t talking to you.

  “Oh.”

  Joe went through all the rooms on the second floor, then headed to the kitchen. All this bad-guy work was making him hungry. Unlike superheroes, who like to snack when they’re not working, bad guys like to snack while they’re working. It’s one of the major differences between good guys and bad guys. Also, bad guys smell worse. In Joe’s case, a lot worse.

  Fred was asleep on the living room couch, surrounded by root beer and pizza. It wasn’t part of the Rock and Roller’s Code to party all the time, but that was also very common.

  Joe forgot his hunger as soon as he saw Fred. He tiptoed over and snipped off a chunk of toenail. But as he turned to leave, Fred opened his eyes. “Hey, who goes there?”

  Joe dashed down the hall, climbed out the bathroom window, and dropped into the backyard. Suddenly lights came on all over the grounds.

  Joe looked for a place to hide. He jumped into the Jacuzzi just as Fred came running out the back door. Joe stayed low, out of sight.

  After a while Fred went back inside and turned off the lights.

  Joe still held the piece of toenail he needed to clone Fred. When the coast was clear, he climbed out of the warm water and headed for his lair.

  “Should have rented the one with the Jacuzzi,” he said to himself. It would be a great way to wind down after a long day of devious and sinister deeds.

  10

  MEANWHILE …

  While Joe the Bad Guy was getting ready to clone a Fred, Melvin and Candace were at Big Al’s Rent-a-Lair, trapped inside a lair with a Jacuzzi. Outside, the big Rottweiler crashed against the door, snapping his teeth and growling.

  Melvin had to find a way out. He knew it was up to him alone. Candace was too busy staring at the Jacuzzi and dreaming of getting her own lair to be of any help in the thinking department.

  “What if I don’t call it a lair?” she said. “What if I just call it a fort, or a clubhouse?”

  “We need to find a way out of here,” Melvin said as he watched Candace checking the water temperature.

  “Want to take a dip, Melvin?”

  Melvin looked out the window at the snarling dog. “No time for swimming, Candace. We have to get out of here before the sun comes up. If Big Al catches us, we’ll go to jail. Do you know what they do to superheroes who go to jail?”

  Candace shook her head.

  “They take their capes away.”

  Candace stopped playing with the water. She looked around. Then she spotted something on the ceiling and pointed. “What’s that?”

  “Holy escape route! It’s a hatch to let the steam out.”

  Holy escape route, indeed! It was a way out for Candace, but how about for Melvin, Mr. Crash-Splat-Thud-Kabonk? Candace could get off the ground in one try. Melvin could not, and he needed more running room to launch himself.

  Candace flew up to the ceiling and opened the hatch. “Come on, Melvin.”

  Melvin shook his head, knowing it was hopeless even to try. But wait a minute, he thought. He was a superhero. And he was as fast as a speeding bullet. He could outrun a dog.

  “Candace, can you distract the dog?”

  “I can imitate a hamburger like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Perfect,” Melvin said. “Go for it and I’ll meet you on the street.”

  Candace flew to the far side of the lot and did the best impression of a hamburger the world has ever known.

  The dog moved away from the door, and Melvin ran for it. It was no contest. He was as fast as a speeding bullet, all right. Maybe faster. Once outside Big Al’s, he launched himself.

  Crash!

  Splat!

  Thud!

  Kabonk!

  He was up and flying in five, then he saw Candace home safely. It wasn’t part of the Superhero’s Code to do this. Melvin just liked looking after his partner in uncrime. Tomorrow they’d do some math, then start going down their list of bad guys. The Grateful Fred had to be protected.

  “See you tomorrow, Candace,” Melvin said as he flew off.

  “Squeakity squeak?” said Hugo the rat when Melvin arrived back at the tree house. Hugo was either trying to explain the last episode of The Adventures of Thunderman or he wanted to play a game of Monopoly. Melvin wasn’t sure. But right now he had other things to think about. He pulled out his list of bad guys and read it again. Where to begin? he thought.

  He’d start at the top—who was Max the Wonder Thug anyway?

  11

  THREE FREDS ARE BETTER THAN ONE

  Back at his lair, Joe the Bad Guy decided to clone three Freds for starters. He could always add more later. He placed Fred’s toenail on the ground and zapped it with the Clone-o-Matic 6000. This was what he meant to do, at least. But his aim was off. Instead of zapping the toenail, he zapped a cockroach. Now there were two. He tried again—ZAAAAAAP! Another miss. Now he had two sets of dirty dishes. Again he tried, but he only succeeded in duplicating the cobwebs hanging off the couch.

  Concentrate, he told himself. His lair was getting worse and worse.

  Only he couldn’t concentrate. He was too excited about finally getting his revenge. His aim was all over the place. Here a ZAP, there a ZAP, everywhere a ZAP, ZAP. Two half-eaten pizzas. Two copies of Bad Guy’s Digest. Two piles of dirty underwear.

  Finally, he got it right. He zapped Fred’s toenail dead center—ZAAAAAAP! A cloud of dust erupted and spun around like a tornado. It rose to the height of a full-grown man. When everything settled, there stood a Fred, fully clothed, the spitting image of the original.

  “He’s the spitting image of the original,” Joe said.

  He made two more Freds and stood back to admire his work.

  “Master,” the Freds said, “your wish is our command.”

  Joe decided to send Fred One to rob a bank, Fred Two to steal a car, and Fred Three to cause general trouble. “And make sure people see you,” he told them. “If possible, get yourself on tape.”

  Joe didn’t want there to be any doubt that it w
as Fred of The Grateful Fred doing all these dastardly deeds … or sinister deeds, for that matter.

  The Freds turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute,” Joe said as an idea popped into his head. He’d send the Freds out in due time, but first things first. “Fred One, make me a tuna sandwich, extra pickle. Fred Two, grab the broom and sweep up this lair. And get those cockroaches, while you’re at it. Fred Three, massage my feet.” As long as his wish was their command, Joe was going to take advantage.

  He didn’t send off the Freds until he’d eaten three triple-decker sandwiches. And now his lair absolutely sparkled. His walls were still dented, of course, but they were the cleanest dents he’d ever seen.

  The Freds left. Joe’s plan was going perfectly. And his feet felt great! There was only one thing that could mess it up. And that was Melvin Beederman.

  But Joe had supplies on hand in case anything went wrong in the Melvin department. Fortunately, he knew about Melvin’s major weakness. Everyone did, since it had once been blabbed to the world on the Unofficial Melvin Beederman Web site. The Web site no longer existed, but the damage had been done. Everyone knew what made Melvin lose his strength, including Joe the Bad Guy.

  It was bologna, the gourmet lunch meat itself. Bologna was to Melvin what kryptonite was to Superman. And Joe had stocked up on it, just in case.

  If Melvin came near, Joe would be ready for him.

  “Melvin Beederman doesn’t have a chance,” Joe said to himself. “Neither does Fred.”

  12

  THAT’S USING YOUR FREDS

  The Freds went to work. Fred One robbed the First National Bank on Sunset, pausing and looking up at the cameras so there would be no doubt about who to arrest for the crime. Then he ran. For the plan to work, none of the Freds could be caught.

  Fred Two spent most of the day looking for just the right car to steal. He knew that the more expensive the car, the more trouble the real Fred would be in. You had to be choosy in this situation. And Fred Two was. He hot-wired a Ferrari and raced through the city, then headed back to Joe the Bad Guy’s lair.