“First, I would never wear a sweater to play disc golf. Second, Alfonso ‘The Wrist’ Chapman led the Pan-American League in scoring for seven seasons in a row,” said Dylan. “And his pre-owned automotive dealership has consistently been among the highest performing in the state so that’s nothing to be ashamed of either!”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I still have one friend who’s actually interested in helping me get to the bottom of this Snuzzle thing. So I’ll see you two later.”
“I can’t believe she put the decimal point in the wrong place,” said Martha, still staring at her transcript. “I wish I could give a math grade to Ms. Bartholomew. . . .”
After school, I took Stompy, Chompy, Hatshepsut, and Cartimandua out of the PETCATRAIL Pipes™ and put them back into the old PETCATRAZ Pro™. They seemed confused as the door clanked shut and I locked it with my official Hamster Monitor key.
“Sorry, little dudes,” I said. “It’s for your own safety.”
Hamstersaurus Rex was worried. But I could tell the little guy was dead set on getting to the bottom of the rogue Snuzzle mystery. The two of us met up with Serena at the Flipburger near her apartment. I ordered a Lil’ Cheez for myself, and six Double Flipsos with extra barbecue sauce and a small milk shake for Hammie Rex. Then we got down to business.
“No worries, Sam. I’m a professional,” said Serena. “I looked into it.”
“Really?” I said. “Thank you so much!”
“First things first, SmilesCorp isn’t gone,” said Serena, with a gleam in her eye.
“I knew it!” I said, pounding the booth table with my fist so hard it sent a few barbecue sauce packets flying.
“After SmilesCorp went bankrupt, it was purchased by a company that makes organic lip balm,” said Serena. “It is now wholly owned by Pappy’s Beeswax of Maine.”
She held up a small plastic tube. It had a picture of an old lobster fisherman on it, whose skin looked extremely moisturized.
“That . . . doesn’t seem very threatening,” I said.
“Nope,” said Serena. “Unless you’re a big fan of chapped lips.”
“I’m not,” I said. “So what about Fundai, the company that manufactures the Snuzzles? It’s got to be connected somehow, like, in a big shadowy web of corporate intrigue.”
“Nope. No connection to SmilesCorp whatsoever,” said Serena. “As far as I can tell, they’ve been around for seventy years in Japan. Makers of the original Astro-Robo toy line.”
I sighed. “Well then, it seems like we’ve just got to keep digging.”
Serena bit her lip. “About that,” she said. “You see, I’m not sure I can devote any more, ah, investigative resources to this story.”
“What?” I said.
“I mean, sure, if you find hard evidence of this evil Snuzzle, or better yet HD video, I’m all in,” said Serena. “But otherwise, I kind of need to focus on whatever my follow-up to the SmilesCorp blockbuster is going to be. Once you’ve gone viral, the pressure is unbelievable, Sam. You have no idea.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
“I’m trying to run a journalism outlet in the digital age,” said Serena with a shrug.
“Journalism outlet?” I said. “It’s just your personal blog and it only has one post up!”
“Don’t remind me!” said Serena. “Look, you know who seems like he’s got a lot of time on his hands? Beefer! Maybe Beefer could help you figure out this mystery?”
“You realize you just said ‘Beefer’ and ‘figure out’ in the same sentence, right?” I said.
She gave another shrug. I handed the rest of my Lil’ Cheez to Hammie Rex. We were going to have to do this by ourselves.
“Hooray. My biggest customer came back,” said Mr. Lomax, crossing his arms. “Did I say ‘customer’? I meant ‘vandal.’ FYI, you forgot to start any fires the last time, in case you wanted to add arson to your rap sheet.”
I sighed. “Not here for arson, sir,” I said. “I just want to ask you a few questions. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this whole misunderstanding.”
“What are you, some sort of boy detective?” said Mr. Lomax.
“I used to be,” I said.
“Well, I’ve got a question for you, Sherlock Jr.,” said Mr. Lomax. “How many weird little hamsters have you got hidden on you right now?”
“None,” I said. “I promise.” I unzipped my pack to show him that it was empty. I’d left Hamstersaurus Rex to keep watch on the sidewalk outside.
“Fine. Then I’m going to assume you brought the $624.25 you still owe me,” said Mr. Lomax. He held out his hand.
“Not yet,” I said. “I’m working on it.”
“Well, you better work quick,” said Mr. Lomax. “I don’t want to have to bring the police into this.”
“Can I just ask who put that display Snuzzle on the shelf?” I said.
“Pshaw. Display Snuzzle?” said Mr. Lomax. “That’s how I knew your story was bunk the first time. There wasn’t any ‘display’ Snuzzle.”
“What?” I said. “I’m telling you there was!”
Mr. Lomax frowned as he checked the old computer by the register. “Nope,” he said. “According to my inventory, my first shipment of Snuzzles came in today at three o’clock. I’ve got two hundred in the back waiting to go on sale tomorrow.”
I was starting to feel insane. “There was a Snuzzle here!” I said. “Can we look at the security footage again?”
So we did. As unclear as the surveillance video was, it definitely showed Hammie Rex smashing Gooboo the Snuzzle around the store. Mr. Lomax seemed confused now.
“That’s impossible,” said Mr. Lomax. “I didn’t shelve that item. If I had I would have charged you for breaking it.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that,” I said. “Does your store have any other employees?”
“Nope,” said Mr. Lomax. “I tried to hire a kid part-time once but he kept stealing the free mints.”
“If they’re free you can’t—” I stopped myself. It wasn’t worth it. “We need to figure out how that Snuzzle got on your shelf.”
Mr. Lomax cocked his head to look sideways at me. “Maybe you brought it here,” he said.
“I brought a toy that costs sixty-seven dollars into your store just so I could smash it?” I said.
“I don’t know how juvenile delinquents like you get their kicks,” said Mr. Lomax. “You lodged a Max Stomper: Arctic Detective action figure in the ceiling!” He pointed up. It was still there.
“Please,” I said. “Can you just go back a little further in the tape?”
Mr. Lomax sighed and rewound the footage. We watched the camera pointed at the back shelf—where Gooboo was sitting, presumably plotting my destruction in his little computer chip brain. The time-stamped hours counted down as the occasional browsing customer sped by backward through the frame. Suddenly, the Snuzzle disappeared.
“Stop the tape!” I cried.
Mr. Lomax did.
“Now play,” I said.
One second Gooboo’s box wasn’t sitting on the shelf; the next second it was. Huh?
“The time stamp is messed up,” I said. “Looks like several minutes of footage are missing.”
Mr. Lomax furrowed his brow. “Must be some kind of glitch,” he said. “My inclination is to blame you.”
“Mr. Lomax, whoever put that Snuzzle on the shelf is responsible for the damage to your store,” I said. “Not me or Hamstersaurus Rex.”
“How do I know that’s true?” said Mr. Lomax, who seemed genuinely vexed now. “Maybe you had an accomplice, part of a bigger hamster-themed crime ring.”
“Do you remember what was happening from 2:07 to 2:21 p.m.?” I said. “Did any customers come in?”
“Sure, I have an impeccably clear memory of that specific fourteen-minute span from two days ago,” said Mr. Lomax. “Just as I’m sure you know exactly what you were doing from 11:36 to 11:43 a.m. last Sunday!”
“I was working on
my screenplay, The Swords of Hamstervalia!” I said.
“Terrible title. Would not watch,” said Mr. Lomax. “Regardless, maybe the manufacturer accidentally sent me a Snuzzle early, and I put it on the shelf and forgot about it.” Even he didn’t seem convinced by the explanation. “Look, this doesn’t change a thing. You still disobeyed a store rule that is clearly posted on the door and you still owe me that money!”
But he was wrong. It did change something for me. I now knew that someone snuck into the toy store and somehow erased the security footage of themselves placing the killer Snuzzle on the shelf: oodles of creepy.
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Lomax,” I said.
“You sure you don’t want to buy some wax lips?” said Mr. Lomax as I rushed out the door. The good news was that I was getting closer to the truth. But there was still one more place I needed to go.
“C’mon, Hammie,” I said. “Time to try a long shot.” With a growl, the little guy somersaulted into my open backpack.
Not much later, Hamstersaurus Rex and I walked into the offices of Maple Bluffs Animal Control. I was taken aback by what I saw. The reception area was now packed with various tanks, cages, and terrariums of all shapes and sizes. Every one of them contained a strange hybrid animal that had escaped from SmilesCorp. The racket of their squawks, chirps, squeals, and grunts was overwhelming. Agent Gould sat there with a harried look on her face. The desk phone rang but she didn’t pick up. Instead, she muttered something under her breath and sent the call straight to voice mail.
“Hi,” I said as I approached. “I’m Sam Gibbs; we’ve met before. This is going to sound strange, but—”
“Let me guess,” said Gould. “Your whole sequin collection got stolen in broad daylight by some sort of invisible, cackling beast?”
“Uh, no,” I said. “That’s way, way off.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Gould, breathing a sigh of relief. But her calm didn’t last long. The phone immediately started ringing again. She rubbed her temples and sent this to voice mail, too.
Agent McKay stood by the coffeemaker, surrounded on all sides with cages full of scaly white mice. He looked even more frazzled than Gould. “So, are you here to report that weird hamster for being weird?”
Hamstersaurus Rex snorted and stuck out his tiny tongue.
“No,” I said. “In fact, you guys should probably give Hamstersaurus Rex a medal or something for everything he’s done for you.”
“I seem to recall we wrote him a giant novelty check once?” said Gould.
“He couldn’t cash it!” I said.
“Hey, here’s an idea,” said McKay, brightening. “Maybe as his reward, your hamster can take my job!” He started to unfasten his badge but Gould shot him a look that stopped him cold. McKay sighed.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “I thought you two loved working for Maple Bluffs Animal Control.”
“Look around, kid,” said Gould, indicating the wall-to-wall squawking mutants. “Does this appear to be a relaxing work environment to you?”
“Does seem a tad loud,” I yelled over the racket.
“It’s basically a mutant petting zoo in here!” cried McKay. “What are we supposed to do with them all?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just here to ask if you’ve heard any reports of a one-eyed robotic ‘animal’ on the loose: bat ears; antenna; extremely cute but in a slightly sickening way.”
“Can’t say as I have,” said Gould. The phone rang again. She ignored it. “The only thing we’re getting these days is complaints about the Chameleonkey.”
“The Chameleonkey?” I said.
“We nabbed that dachshund with six legs,” said McKay, pointing to a cage across the room that held a six-legged dog. “We cleared all the scaly mice out of Milos Schweyer’s toolshed. We somehow managed to build a case file on the chicken that looked exactly like a turtle and apprehend it.” He indicated a terrarium with a turtle in it. The turtle clucked. “All the weirdo critters that escaped from the SmilesCorp Genetic Research and Development Lab have now been caught. Except one.”
“Half chameleon, half spider monkey, all mischief,” said Gould. “Thanks to its natural camouflage, the Chameleonkey can effectively render itself invisible at will. And the fuzzy little fugitive has a penchant for larceny. Loves stealing the shiniest of shinies: hologram stickers, chocolate coins, bedazzled phone cases, you name it, buster.”
“The Chameleonkey keeps hitting the Maple Bluffs flea market to steal handfuls of worthless yet sparkly junk,” said McKay. “It’s making the two of us look like fools.”
In my experience, making Agents Gould and McKay look like fools wasn’t exactly the toughest thing in the world to accomplish. But I didn’t say so.
“Don’t get us wrong, kid,” said Gould. “We’re the best there is at what we do.”
“We’ve been on the cover of Animal Control Monthly twice,” said McKay, puffing. “And Gould made the style section for her fashion-forward sock choices.”
“Most animal control agents would never consider wearing paisley,” said Gould. “But the Chameleonkey, well . . . this might just be the case that breaks us.”
“Verminator Two, this is Verminator One,” said McKay, shaking his head. “Come in for a hug.” With a heavy mutual sigh, Gould and McKay gave each other a sad hug. The phone started ringing again.
Suddenly, an idea struck me. “Hey, Hamstersaurus Rex and I have been pretty good at tracking down these rogue SmilesCorp mutants in the past,” I said. “In fact, it’s kind of our specialty. Is there any sort of reward for catching the Chameleonkey?”
“You’d earn our undying respect,” said McKay, and he started to salute.
“Awesome,” I said, “but I need cash.”
“Well, we are authorized to offer a monetary reward for the capture of any rogue animal we deem to be ‘highly elusive,’” said Gould. “Just like the bounty we once mistakenly put on your little hamster buddy there. Boy, wasn’t that a hoot?” Gould chuckled.
“Better days,” said McKay. “Better days.”
Hamstersaurus Rex snarled.
“So how much are we talking?” I said.
“Three hundred dollars,” said Gould. “Payable in cash this time if it’s more convenient.”
“All right,” I said. “We’ll do it.”
Three hundred dollars would put me halfway to being square with Mr. Lomax. After you’d faced down a squirrel the size of a grizzly bear and a mole with telekinetic mind powers, how tough could capturing an invisible monkey be?
It wasn’t until I walked out the door, beaming, that I remembered I hadn’t learned anything about the evil Snuzzle. It was getting dark as Hamstersaurus Rex and I started to walk home. I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder every few blocks. Somewhere out there was a robotic killing machine that couldn’t say its r’s.
CHAPTER 5
THE NEXT MORNING, I went straight to the school library to put Hamstersaurus Rex into the PETCATRAZ Pro™ with the rest of his hamster family. Stompy, Chompy, and Hatshepsut were practically vibrating with excitement and Hammie was thrilled to see them, too. Even Cartimandua gave a little mid-nap smile.
“Good morning, little dudes, glad to see we all made it safely through the night without any troub—”
“WADICAL, BWO!”
I froze as those creepy, warbling words drifted into the library from the hallway. There was no mistaking the voice: it was definitely a Snuzzle. The thing had tracked me here after all!
“Mrs. Baxley!” I cried. “We’re under attack! Help me bar the door.” I started to roll a heavy book cart to block the library’s main entrance.
“Sam, I am in the process of reshelving those titles,” said Mrs. Baxley, stomping on the book cart’s brake lever. “Go build a barricade somewhere else.”
“Okay, but just promise me you’ll protect the baby hamsters while I investigate!” I said. “You’re a Hamster Monitor now!”
“Am n
ot,” said Mrs. Baxley, as she put a hardback copy of Day of the Cackle back onto the shelf.
There was no time to argue. I snatched Hammie Rex and we cautiously crept out into the hallway.
I saw a Snuzzle. Then another. And another. It looked like every kid at Horace Hotwater was cuddling one of the things as they blinked their oversized eyes and warbled gibberish like “I WUV YOU” and “MY NOSE IS FUZZY-WUZZY.”
Hamstersaurus Rex gave a low growl. He was right. It was time to act.
“Keeeeeagh!” I yelled as I slapped the Snuzzle out of Omar Powell’s hands, sending it clattering down the hallway. “Save yourself, Omar!”
“Sam, what are you doing?” cried Omar, horrified.
“That thing is going to turn on you any second,” I cried. “But I’m here to help!”
By this time, Omar’s Snuzzle had righted itself and started to toddle back toward him.
“Sic ’im, boy!” I yelled. With a snarl, Hammie Rex tackled Omar’s Snuzzle and pinned it to the ground.
“It’s not going to turn on me,” said Omar as he tried to wrestle the Snuzzle away from Hammie. “It just told me it ‘wuvs’ me!”
“What’s all the commotion?” said Caroline Moody. She approached cradling another cooing Snuzzle in her arms.
“Caroline, smash that Snuzzle before it bites your face off!” I said. “If you can’t do it, I will! Somebody get me a hammer!” Nobody did.
“MY TOES AWE VEWY TICKWISH,” said Caroline’s Snuzzle.
“Have you lost your mind?” said Caroline. “My Snuzzle is named Oobie and I gave it a French braid and now it’s my best friend!”
“I thought I was your best friend,” said Tina Gomez, frowning.
“We can talk later,” said Caroline.
“Give me that thing!” I cried. “I’m going to destroy it! You’ll thank me!” I lunged for her Snuzzle when something caught me by the collar in midair.
Hamstersaurus Rex vs. the Cutepocalypse Page 4
