by Greg Trine
“What a scoop!” said Jasper “Scoop” Johnson, who witnessed the event from across the street. He knew a good story when he saw one.
Frankenstein’s monster?
In a cape?
With great boxing skills?
“Stop the press!” Jasper yelled.
He had always wanted to say that.
11
Triple Whammy
The police arrived to take Zoey and Claire off to jail, Jasper “Scoop” Johnson ran off to write his story, and Jo and Raymond were now cruising along on the Schmomobile, looking for more crime-tsunami participants.
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
Uh-oh, thought Jo Schmo. That’s what you call a triple whammy. It meant an evil bad guy—or the girl variety of a bad guy—was celebrating three evil deeds. Or maybe three evil bad guys were celebrating one evil deed.
“Or it might be three evil bad guys celebrating three evil deeds,” Raymond’s look said.
The point is that something big and evil was going on right under their noses. “Keep your ears perked, Raymond,” Jo said.
Raymond gave her a look that said, “I’m a dog. My ears are always perked.”
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
“It’s coming from the waterfront,” Jo said. “Something smells fishy.”
“Or course,” Raymond’s look said. “It’s the waterfront. It’s supposed to smell fishy.” And right then, the thought of fish made him drool even more than usual.
“No, I don’t mean that.” With her keen mind, Jo again began to put two and two together.
“Four?” Raymond’s look said.
Jo shook her head. “One of the evil laughs was muffled, like it was trapped inside something. Some kind of confined space at the waterfront.”
“A submarine?” Raymond’s look said.
Talk about putting two and two together. Jo Schmo wasn’t the only one with a keen mind.
“That’s it.” Jo gunned the Schmomobile. But by the time they reached the waterfront, the evil laughs had stopped, and there was no sign of a submarine.
Funny thing about submarines ... sometimes they’re underwater.
Jo and Raymond stopped the Schmomobile at the end of a pier and looked out over the bay. “See anything, Raymond?”
“Nope,” Raymond’s look said. He thought back to their last adventure, where he had to do an awful lot of dog-paddling. He sure hoped there wasn’t an evil laugher in a submarine out there.
“It’s late, Raymond,” Jo said. “Let’s go home.”
They climbed onto the Schmomobile and headed back to Crimshaw Avenue.
The next morning Jo was back to normal. No bolts in the neck, no scars, no more seventeen adorable freckles. She was one hundred percent Jo Schmo.
She went to the backyard and gave her grandpa a report of the night before—Zoey and Claire, renowned newspaperman Jasper “Scoop” Johnson, an evil laugher inside a submarine. It had been a very busy night.
“Submarine?” Grandpa Joe’s eyebrows shot straight up and stayed there. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Tell me about it,” Raymond’s look said. “I hate dog-paddling.”
“Better get to school,” Grandpa Joe said. “I’ll text you if anything happens.”
Jo was exhausted from all the crime fighting the night before. During class, as Mrs. Freep was explaining a math problem involving Kate and how to divide four doughnuts between seven friends, Jo began to nod off. Later, while Kim was giving her oral report on the Santa Barbara Mission, Jo fell fast asleep. She dreamed she was doing battle with a rat the size of a beagle, while everyone around her stood on top of desks and said things like “Eeek!” and “Yikes!” and “That’s one big rat!”
When Jo opened her eyes, everyone in the class was saying “Eeek!” and “Yikes!” and “That’s one big rat!”
And they were all pointing at Jo Schmo.
“Not again,” Jo said to herself. “Don’t tell me I shape-shifted in my sleep again.” She looked down at her hands. Sure enough, they were rat paws. She looked behind her. Yep—she had a tail.
Mrs. Freep was standing on her desk yelling, “Jo Schmo, help us!” But, of course, Jo Schmo was the reason they needed help.
There was nothing for Jo to do but get out of there, which is exactly what she did. She raced out of the classroom as fast as her little rat feet could carry her. Then she sprinted across the playground to the bike rack, where the Schmomobile and Raymond were waiting.
Raymond gave the rat a look that said, “Want to arm-wrestle?”
“It’s me, Raymond. It’s Jo.”
Raymond wasn’t convinced. She looked an awful lot like a beagle-size rat.
Jo said, “We should come up with a code phrase so that when I shape-shift you’ll know it’s me.”
“Code phrase?” Raymond’s look said. “Okay, how about ‘Raymond is the coolest dog ever.’”
“That’ll work.”
12
Ah-Choo!
The problem with being a beagle-size rat is that Jo was too short to drive the Schmomobile. Plus, she didn’t have hands, which would have made it very difficult, anyway. She and Raymond had to walk home. If she had to shape-shift in her sleep again, why couldn’t it be into something useful, like Frankenstein’s monster?
“Tell me about it,” Raymond’s look said.
They walked and walked. “You know what sounds good right now?” Jo asked. “A big hunk of cheese.” She stopped in front of Fast Freddie’s Deli, where there were many big hunks of cheese, and took a deep breath. And when she did, she sneezed, and when she sneezed she shape-shifted back into Frankenstein’s monster.
“Uh-oh,” Raymond’s look said. “The ugly stick is back.”
“Never mind that,” Jo said. “Let’s go get the Schmomobile.” She waggled her fingers. “I have hands, Raymond.”
On the way back to school to get the Schmomobile, Jo sneezed again and shape-shifted into a werewolf.
“Great,” Raymond’s look said. “A howl-at-the-moon buddy.” Then he gave Jo a look that said, “Code phrase, please.”
“Raymond is the coolest dog ever.”
A few minutes later, Jo sneezed again and shape-shifted into Mrs. Freep. She almost felt like giving herself homework or coming up with impossible word problems. Obviously, things were getting out of control. She needed to talk to her grandpa, and she needed to talk to him now.
Grandpa Joe was surprised to see a strange lady knocking on his door. He recognized the drooling Raymond, but not Mrs. Freep.
“It’s me, Grandpa. It’s Jo.”
“Shape-shifted in your sleep again?”
“No, I sneezed and shape-shifted.”
Grandpa nodded and went to the bookshelf for the Superhero Instruction Manual. He read the chapter on shape-shifting again. “Not much here, Jo. It just says it’s all about thinking shape-shifting thoughts. It doesn’t say anything about sneezing.”
Jo stopped thinking up impossible word problems and gave Grandpa Joe her full attention. “I can’t help what I think about when I sleep, Grandpa. And sometimes you just have to sneeze.”
“The good news is that you can still fight crime as an old lady, Jo. You can still stop trains. You can still stop speeding cars.” He shot her a look. “How’s your Knuckle Sandwich?”
“Not sure. Put your face over here, Gramps.”
Grandpa Joe leaned in.
Smack!
“Good as ever.”
“You can say that again,” Grandpa Joe said, rubbing his jaw.
The crime tsunami was still in full swing. This meant that Jo didn’t have to be woken up by a string tied around her toe. There were plenty of bad guys out there, even the girl variety. Jo decided to wait until late at night to go after them.
Meanwhile, she had dinner with her mom and grandpa. Mrs. Schmo was delighted to hav
e Mrs. Freep over for dinner. She had no idea where her daughter was, but she enjoyed having an adult conversation for a change.
“How’s Jo doing in school?” Mrs. Schmo asked.
“She’s the best student I’ve ever had.”
Later that night, Jo Schmo, who still looked like Mrs. Freep, and Raymond climbed onto the Schomomobile and sped toward the waterfront. Ever since she heard the triple-whammy evil laugh, one of them muffled as if it was coming from inside a submarine, Jo couldn’t get the thought out of her head.
But just before they reached the water, Jo sneezed again and shape-shifted back into a werewolf. She brought the Schmomobile to a stop, looked up at the moon, and howled.
Raymond gave her a look that said, “I love you!”
13
Curses!
CRIME TSUNAMI CRESTS IN THE CITY
By Jasper “Scoop”Johnson
A long-overdue crime tsunami has hit the city of San Francisco, which has officials wondering, Where is Jo Schmo when we need her? At a time when crime is peaking, the diminutive catcher of bad guys is nowhere to be seen.
“Jo Schmo always seems to show up just when we need her,” said police chief Wilson Dunbar. “But not this time.” Schmo, who in the past has brought down such arch criminals as Dr. Dastardly and his evil assistant, Pete, seems to have vanished into thin air. But not to worry, ladies and gentlemen. It turns out that Miss Schmo is not the only show in town. There’s a new crime fighter in these parts—and his name is Frankenstein’s monster. Actually, this reporter doesn’t know what his name is. But he’s stepping up where Jo Schmo stepped down...
The article went on and on about Frankenstein’s monster catching a couple of clothing store thieves/bank robbers/dreamers of vacations involving a beach.
“Curses!” yelled Numb Skull, throwing down the newspaper. Just what he needed, a monster crime fighter. Numb Skull had always hated monsters, especially the kind that went after bad guys. Weren’t monsters supposed to be the bad guys?
The test run of his evil plot had been a success. Now it was just a matter of sinking the cruise ship, swooping in with his submarine, and stealing the jewels. But Numb Skull was worried. Reading about Frankenstein’s monster sent a shiver down his spine.
Where was Jo Schmo when he needed her? he wondered. He’d much rather tangle with a diminutive fourth grade superhero than a monster with creepy scars and bolts in his neck.
As it turns out, Jo Schmo was not far away, only she didn’t look at all like Jo Schmo. She didn’t even look like Frankenstein’s monster. She was a werewolf and was currently down by the waterfront, howling at the moon. Raymond joined in. Their two-part dog harmony was ... above average.
“Okay, enough of that,” Jo said. “Let’s get to work.”
“What’s the plan?” Raymond’s look said.
“Keep your ears perked, Raymond, especially for muffled evil laughs.”
As you know, Raymond was a dog, and a dog’s ears are always perked. They walked along the waterfront in the abandoned warehouse district. There was not an evil laugh to be heard.
No evil laughs? Some crime tsunami.
And then they heard something. Not an evil laugh—pieces of conversation. Something about a cruise ship and gazillionaires, jewels and a submarine.
“No wonder the evil laugh was muffled,” Jo said. “You were right, Raymond. There is a submarine. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Raymond’s look said. They’d heard only pieces of conversation. They didn’t know where it was coming from.
They stopped and listened. Nothing. But right then, Jo felt a sneeze coming on.
Raymond gave her a desperate look that said, “No!” He really loved having a moon-howling buddy. And someone to pee on fire hydrants with, for that matter.
But there was no stopping the sneeze, and suddenly Jo Schmo was no longer a werewolf. She was—
14
Boxing Skills
How do you keep the reader in suspense for an entire chapter? You’ll have to wait until the next chapter to find out.
Numb Skull was so upset about Frankenstein’s monster, who was currently taking a bite out of crime, that he didn’t know what to do. Maybe go for a drive, he thought ... in his submarine. And so while Harry Knuckles was cracking his knuckles and dreaming about punching security guards, and while Dyno-Mike was putting the finishing touches on a bomb big enough to sink a cruise ship, Numb Skull went for a spin in his submarine.
He submerged and made a few laps around San Francisco Bay, and as he did, he asked himself, “Why does this submarine have screen doors?”
That’s what you call a design flaw.
He also thought of the jewel heist of the century. Or at least of the week. It wasn’t going to be easy with Frankenstein’s monster snooping around.
But Numb Skull was not the only one pondering his troubles that night beneath the surface of the bay.
Two hammerhead sharks named Phil and Harvey were swimming along, minding their own business, when they spotted something. “Would you look at that?” Phil said. “Just when you think you’re the king of the bay.”
“What is it?” Harvey said.
“Who cares? It’s bigger than us.”
“It looks like a gigantic metal hot dog.”
“Good point.” Phil loved hot dogs. Hot dogs were better than sea lions any day. “And there’s two of us and only one of him.”
Maybe they were the kings of the bay after all. “Let’s get him,” Harvey said.
“Yes, let’s,” Phil agreed. They didn’t have any ketchup or mustard, but no matter. Sometimes you just have to eat your hot dogs plain.
And so, with a swish of their fins, they took off. Actually, they swam, but you get the idea. The point is, they had always been kings, and they weren’t going to let a gigantic metal hot dog stand in their way.
Numb Skull sat in his submarine and said, “Hmm...” As you know, saying “Hmm” meant something was wrong. And two hammerhead sharks, baring their teeth and swimming right at him, seemed, well ... wrong. Not to mention scary.
Fortunately, the submarine was equipped with mechanical arms. He would use the arms to grab the jewels once Dyno-Mike sank the cruise ship full of gazillionaires. But they might come in handy to fight off a couple of hammerhead sharks.
Numb Skull grabbed the controls and got ready. “Mechanical Knuckle Sandwich coming right up,” he said.
Each arm had a mechanical hand on the end. Numb Skull balled them into fists and—
Left cross!
Uppercut!
Phil and Harvey didn’t know what hit them. But they sure felt it.
“I can’t believe it,” Phil said, rubbing his jaw with his fin. “A hot dog that knows how to box.”
“Tell me about it.”
But they weren’t giving up so easily. They circled and came back for round two.
Round two was more of the same.
Right hook!
Body punch!
There wasn’t a round three.
“I really didn’t want a hot dog for dinner, anyway,” said Phil.
“Me neither,” said Harvey. “Let’s go get some sea lion.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Phil.
Moments later, Jo Schmo, who had just shape- shifted into a-, heard a muffled “Mwah-ha-ha!” Someone inside a submarine was celebrating.
15
Goose Bumps
When Jo Schmo had sneezed she shape-shifted back into Mrs. Freep. Raymond gave her a look that said, “You again.”
They wandered out of the abandoned warehouse district to the first diner they came to, a place called Margie’s, and went inside. Actually, Jo went inside. Raymond stayed out. He might have been a superhero, but he was also a dog, and there were rules.
Jo walked up to a man who was typing on his laptop. Using her best teacher voice—she was, after all, Mrs. Freep—she said, “Young man, may I use your computer for a few seconds? It’s an emergency.”
&nb
sp; Jasper “Scoop” Johnson looked up at her. “Emergency?”
“Yes,” Jo Schmo/Mrs. Freep said. “It involves saving human lives.” It also involved cruise ships and jewels and muffled evil laughs, but she didn’t have time to explain.
Jasper broke out in goose bumps. Saving human lives sounded a lot like a story. And Jasper “Scoop” Johnson was all about the story.
He let the lady with the teacher voice use his laptop, and he looked over her shoulder as she typed “cruise ship jewels gazillionaires San Francisco” into Google.
“Thanks!” she said a moment later as she ran for the door.
Once outside, she hopped on the Schmomobile, and she and Raymond raced toward the waterfront.
Raymond gave her a look that said, “You found something?”
“There’s a cruise ship full of gazillionaires leaving tonight.”
“And where you find gazillionaires you find jewels,” Raymond’s look said.
“And where you find jewels you find bad guys trying to steal them.”
And where you find bad guys you find Jo Schmo and her Knuckle Sandwich.
But as they raced along, Jo wondered what all this had to do with a submarine. She looked down at Raymond and said, “A cruise ship is on top of the water and a submarine is under the water.”
