“I was defeated with ease,” Walter offered.
Juan-Carlos just nodded.
“All right.” Stan stroked his chin. “You were at a disadvantage that time. You guys are practically celebrities, so they’d heard about you and what you could do. But you didn’t know anything about them. Now you do. So think about who they are, what they can do, and how you can stop them.”
The kids frowned. “I don’t see how knowing what they can do is going to help any,” Juan-Carlos complained. “Jockstrap is still way too strong for me!”
“And Bikini can disappear—I can’t knock her out if I can’t find her!” Tina agreed.
“Thermal was able to make me overheat from a distance,” Walter added. “No matter how high I float, he can still bring me down.”
“We’re letting them control the battle,” Darren said slowly, clearly thinking it through. “We need to catch them off guard. We’ve got to lure them out into the open, to some place we pick, so that we can be there waiting for them.”
Which got Juan-Carlos thinking . . .
CHAPTER SEVEN
Juan-Carlos was at home later that afternoon, watching TV by himself while his mom and Rivkah were still out and his dad was in his studio prepping for the next show.
“This just in!” Windy McGee announced, interrupting Puss & Toots, Juan-Carlos’s favorite cartoon, with a breaking news report. “We’ve had reports that an anonymous donor has taken pity on Buttsville in its time of need and is sending an emergency shipment of underwear to help us out. This shipment is set to arrive by train at eight tomorrow night, and officials promise that they will distribute the underwear on an as-needed basis as early as Saturday morning.”
This was all thanks to Juan-Carlos. He’d called this story in from a pay phone at the drive-in. His father often talked about how people calling in with tips made for a great show. Windy McGee was an anchorwoman on TV, but there were a lot of similarities between what she did and what Mr. Finkelstein did. They were both always on the lookout for a good story.
“Just in time, too,” the reporter continued. “Buttzville Hospital says it’s been overrun with cases of rug burn and similar abrasions, and every available ounce of burn cream, ointment, and topical painkiller has been used up. If we don’t get some underwear soon, people will be in too much pain to even move!”
That should do the trick, Juan-Carlos thought as he listened. There’s no way the Bottom Brigade will let the town get fresh underwear. They’ll have to show up to stop that train! And we’ll be waiting for them!
But his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the front door. Curious, Juan-Carlos limped over to answer it. It was Stan! And the rest of the Squad was right behind him!
“We’ve got another problem,” the janitor whispered as Juan-Carlos ushered them all inside and shut the door behind them. “The school’s not just closed, it’s been locked down completely. Even I can’t get inside. And if I can’t get in there—”
“We don’t have any burritos,” Juan-Carlos finished for him. “Oh. Wow.” Without those burritos, they were powerless! What were they going to do?
“There might be a way,” Darren offered. He looked at Juan-Carlos. “But it’s all on you. And your dad.”
Juan-Carlos gulped. Already he didn’t like the direction this plan was taking. “What do you need?” he asked slowly.
“Your dad’s got a lot of influence,” Stan answered. “People listen to him. Have him talk about how important it is that school be reopened. If they take the chains off and the guards away, I can get back in and get those burritos.”
“Ah. Okay.” That made sense. Deep down Juan-Carlos didn’t really feel like giving his father yet another reason to worship the Fart Squad, but he couldn’t let his jealousy get in the way of everyone’s well-being.
Especially once he reminded himself that the person he was jealous of was none other than his own darn self!
The others were anxiously waiting for Juan-Carlos to answer. This wasn’t just about him and his dad. It wasn’t even about the Fart Squad. This was about so much more than that.
This was about the people of Buttzville.
About people everywhere.
And that’s what the Fart Squad was all about.
Because, as their great scent-sei, Janitor Stan, had famously said:
“From great farts come mighty winds.”
“Yeah,” Juan-Carlos said finally, because he knew it was the only thing he could say. “Sure. I’ll do it.”
“Great!” Darren slapped him on the back. “We’ll get out of here—don’t want him getting suspicious.” They all turned to go.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I have the stash,” Stan promised just before he left.
“Okay. Thanks.” Juan-Carlos shut the door behind them, then leaned against it with a sigh. Great.
But that night, when it was time to talk to his dad, Juan-Carlos couldn’t get the words out. He scarfed down his dinner and headed straight to his bedroom.
“Have you talked to your dad yet?” Darren asked over the phone the next day.
“No, I haven’t had a chance,” Juan-Carlos lied. “He’s been super busy.” Which was a little true, but not really.
“Well, we’re running out of time,” Darren reminded him. “That train is supposed to get in tonight, remember?”
“I know. I’ll talk to him,” Juan-Carlos promised. But he wasn’t sure if that was true or not.
“Feeling any better?” Mr. Finkelstein asked Juan-Carlos that afternoon as they sat down to a late lunch of sandwiches and potato chips. Juan-Carlos’s mother had taken Rivkah shopping, so the Finkelstein men had to fend for themselves.
Juan-Carlos shrugged. “I guess.” He sighed.
“That’s okay. I guess we’re all a little out of sorts these days.” His dad winked at him. “And out of shorts, too!”
Juan-Carlos couldn’t help smiling a little at that one.
“Dad,” he said after a second, “do you think they’ll reopen the school soon?”
His father looked at him funny. “Why? Are you that eager to go back?”
“I like school,” Juan-Carlos answered, then quickly corrected himself. “Well, okay, not class itself, maybe, but my friends and stuff. And it’s important, right?”
“It is,” his father agreed, nodding. “And it’s ridiculous that they closed school at all. This whole thing with the underwear and the Fart Squad and everything else, it’s got everybody acting crazy.”
“Right?” Juan-Carlos asked. So far, everything was going exactly according to plan. “Because, if anyone can turn this thing around”—he hesitated, so wishing he could just reveal his masked alter ego’s identity—“it’s probably the Fart Squad!”
Dad nodded. “Of course! These haters, they’re just shooting themselves in the foot—or, in this case, the butt!—and making things worse for everyone!”
“Well then, Dad . . . I mean, I don’t know how much my opinion counts, but—”
In an instant, his dad’s expression went from excited to distressed. “Son!” He got up and came around the table, gently lifting Juan-Carlos’s chin so they could see eye to eye. “Don’t ever say that. Your opinion always counts with me, Juan-Carlos. Always.”
Juan-Carlos believed him. But he had to ask: “Even though I’m not a superhero?”
“Hey!” His dad threw his arms around Juan-Carlos and engulfed him in a big hug. “No trash-talking yourself here, okay? You may not be a superhero, but you’ll always be super to me.”
Juan-Carlos relaxed into the hug. Why had he been so stupid? Of course his dad loved him! So what if he thought the Fart Squad was awesome? They were awesome! But that was just professional admiration. This was real.
After a minute, they finally broke apart. “You were saying . . . ?” his dad said.
“Oh, yeah—I just think it might be time for you to hit the airwaves and tell people enough is enough. . . . And that, instead of fearing the Fart Squ
ad, they should let the Fart Squad do their thing, because . . .”
“Because they could be our last, best hope.” He might have gone a little overboard with that last one, but it seemed to do the trick.
“Great idea! Don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself! I’m on it!” his dad said, and he headed straight to his studio.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Listen up, people,” Mr. Finkelstein said over the radio a little while later, as Juan-Carlos listened in from upstairs. “Everybody’s sore right now—in more ways than one!—and we’re all looking for someone to blame. Maybe the Fart Squad had something to do with all this, and maybe they didn’t, but shutting down school isn’t the answer. Our children need to learn!
“Remember people,” Juan-Carlos’s dad added. “It’s still ‘innocent until proven guilty’ here in America, last time I checked. No sense raising a stink over nothing!” Juan-Carlos grinned as he clicked off the radio. What his dad said had been perfect! Now they just had to hope enough people listened and agreed with him.
“You did it!” Tina said that night as Juan-Carlos met up with the others by the school.
“My dad did,” Juan-Carlos answered proudly. “But yeah.”
Just as they’d hoped, Mr. Finkelstein’s listeners had swamped City Hall with phone calls until the mayor finally relented. The guards and chains went away, the school was opened soon after, and children were no longer restricted in their activities. Regular classes would start up again on Monday. The four of them had wasted no time telling their parents about a last-minute stargazing assignment they had to complete, and fleeing their homes before their parents could ask too many questions. Now they were gathered here, waiting for the next step in their plan.
“Here we go, kids,” Stan declared, emerging from the school. “Now that I can get into my closet again, it’s no problem to get my hands on these bad boys!” He carried a familiar Tupperware container in his hands, and the kids cheered. He’d brought out the burritos!
Twenty minutes later, gassed up and ready to go, the Squad said good-bye to Stan—who had an errand of his own to perform—and set out for the Buttzville train station. It was a beautiful old building right in the heart of town, just to one side of the center square, which made it easy to get from one place to anywhere else. Unfortunately, that also meant it was easy to see people coming or going. Like the cops who were lined up outside.
“Poop!” Tina muttered as they crouched behind some bushes next to a building across the street. “How’re we going to get in there without the cops seeing us? And possibly arresting us?”
Walter gulped. “I hope we can avoid that,” he said softly, looking a little green in the face. “Incarceration is not high on my list of evening activities, and could jeopardize some of my plans for the future.”
“Nobody’s arresting us,” Darren assured them. “We’re just four ordinary kids out for a late-night stroll around the train station. That’s all.”
“Yeah, until they check our bags and find our uniforms,” Juan-Carlos pointed out. “What then?”
“Oh. Right.” Darren looked at the train station, then at the cops surrounding it. He scanned the trees and bushes and then he looked up.
“I think I know a way to get us in without them stopping us,” he said finally. He grinned at the rest of them. “We’re just going to give them something they won’t expect.”
Twenty minutes later, Tina was doing her best not to shout or kick. Or punch—punching would have been a really bad idea right now—since she was hanging by her arms. At least a hundred feet above the ground.
“If you drop me,” she warned in a whisper, “I’m going to murder you.”
“Although that makes little sense, your concern is noted,” Walter replied just as quietly. “I will not drop you. You are perfectly safe.”
She clearly didn’t feel safe, though, as the four of them floated across the street. They’d climbed up to the top of the building facing the train station to avoid being seen, and then Walter had lifted off. Once he was airborne, he had grabbed Tina’s arms, and Juan-Carlos and Darren had each grabbed one of his legs. The cops would never notice because they weren’t likely to think of looking up.
At least, that’s what the kids were hoping.
But apparently Darren had been right, because they made it across to the train station without any problem. The building had a sharply sloped red-tile roof with windows jutting out at intervals, and it was easy enough for the four of them to float up to one of those windows and slip inside. Then they made their way down to the ground floor.
“You see?” Walter said to Tina. “I did not drop you once.”
“Well, let’s not make a habit of traveling this way,” she replied. Then she handed over the duffel bags she’d slung over her shoulders. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Darren grinned as he took his. “Okay, let’s do this!”
The four of them ducked into the bathrooms. A few minutes later, the Fart Squad was back and ready for action!
“You really think they’re going to go after the train?” Juan-Carlos asked Darren as they crept across the station toward the platforms. Some stations had their platforms outside and only the waiting rooms, restrooms, and ticket offices inside, but the Buttzville station was large enough and grand enough for the platforms themselves to be within the building.
“Absolutely,” Darren answered. “But they’ll wait until it’s pulled in and the underwear’s been taken off. Why unload it yourself when you can have somebody else do it for you?”
“There’re police everywhere, though,” Tina pointed out. “If Stan doesn’t come through, we won’t be able to risk it.” Stan had promised he would scatter the cops so that they wouldn’t get hurt.
“He’ll take care of it,” Darren assured her, even though he looked like he was worrying about the same thing.
But a minute or two before eight, all of the cops’ walkie-talkies started going nuts. “We’ve got a possible break-in at the mayor’s,” the kids heard from where they were hiding behind a couple of columns. “All units, respond ASAP.”
“Everybody, let’s go!” a police captain shouted. “Double-time!”
“But, sir,” one of the officers dared to ask as there was a mad dash for the doors, “what about the train? What about the underwear?” “We’ll get back as soon as we can,” his captain answered. “This is the mayor, man! Now get a move on!”
“What do you think Stan did?” Juan-Carlos wondered aloud as the four of them emerged from their hiding place a few minutes later. They had the train station all to themselves.
Tina shrugged. “Tossed a brick through the front window. Set off the mayor’s car alarm. Triggered the sprinklers on the front lawn. TPed his house. Left a stink bomb on the front porch.” She realized that her teammates were all staring at her, and shrugged again. “What? I may have given Stan a few ideas.”
“Whatever it was, it definitely worked,” Darren commented, spinning around in a circle, his arms stretched out wide to the sides. “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves!”
“Which just means there isn’t anybody here to watch you get beat down a second time,” someone called out from down toward the station’s far end. “Which is a real shame.”
Juan-Carlos looked up. It was them! The Bottom Brigade had taken the bait!
He grinned as he and his teammates clustered together and walked to meet their rivals. “Oh, it’s going to be a shame, all right,” he replied loud enough for them to hear. “But we aren’t going to be the ones ashamed.”
Beside him, the others nodded, even though it had been a lame comeback. Still, it got the point across. But inside, Juan-Carlos felt a twinge of worry. Could they really beat their rivals—or was the Fart Squad about to get spanked again?
CHAPTER NINE
“Okay, Squad, time to gas up!” Darren shouted.
“Yeah!” Tina agreed, smacking her fists together.
“We’ll get to the bot
tom of this!” Juan-Carlos joked, causing the others to groan. But at least he was feeling positive enough to make terrible jokes again!
“Oh, yes, the long-anticipated rematch,” Walter added. He chuckled ominously. “And this time the outcome will be decidedly different.” And with that, and a series of small but potent toots, Walter took to the air.
“Not so fast, big guy,” Thermal snapped, stepping forward and glaring up at Walter. But before he could do anything more than look, Darren was in the Brigade member’s face.
“So you want to turn up the heat?” Darren demanded. “Fine!” He spun about and let off a fiery fart that made Thermal yelp and jump to the side. “Let’s see if you can handle it—or if you burn!”
Jockstrap grinned and raised a meaty fist as he lumbered toward Juan-Carlos. “Remember me, shrimp?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Juan-Carlos replied. “But do you remember—her?” And he stepped to one side, revealing Tina, who had been standing quietly right behind him.
The sight of a tiny little girl, all big eyes and a pouty smile, standing right in his way stopped Jockstrap in his tracks. Then there was suddenly an overpoweringly foul odor, and the mightiest Bottom gasped, his eyes rolling up in his head, as he collapsed. He hit the ground like a bag of beans, and was out cold.
“No!” Bikini shrieked. “I’ll get you for that, you little—” But stopped when Juan-Carlos got between her and Tina.
“If you want her, you’re going to have to go through me,” he declared, trying to sound a lot braver than he felt.
“With pleasure,” Bikini snarled. She turned to the side, disappearing from view, and Juan-Carlos gulped and ran. He headed straight down the middle of the station, not bothering to duck or dodge. It would have looked, to anybody watching, like he was running from nothing at all . . .
Underpantsed! Page 3
