by Greg Trine
Table of Contents
Title Page
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Frontispiece
Slobber to the Rescue
Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull
The Tasmanian Chop
Pinkbeard
Dr. Dastardly’s Evil Plan
Poof!
Is This Seat Taken?
Revenge
Three Heads Are Better Than Two
Ask the Google
The Eavesdropper
The Bacon Dance
Raymond in Trouble
Kaboom!
Jasper “Scoop” Johnson
“Yoo-Hoo!”
“Arrrgh!”
Glub, Glub
Jo Gretzky
Sample Chapter from WYATT BURP RIDES AGAIN
Buy the Book
About the Author and Illustrator
Text copyright © 2013 by Greg Trine
Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Frank W. Dormer
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
www.hmhco.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Trine, Greg.
Pinkbeard’s revenge / Greg Trine ; art by Frank W. Dormer.
pages cm.—(The adventures of Jo Schmo ; [3])
Summary: Fourth-grade superhero Jo Schmo and her sidekick Raymond face Dr. Dastardly and Numbskull, who break out of jail and join forces with Pinkbeard’s band of time-traveling pirates in an evil revenge plot.
ISBN 978-0-547-80797-3
[1. Superheroes—Fiction. 2. Pirates—Fiction. 3. Time travel—Fiction. 4. Dogs—Fiction. 5. San Francisco (Calif.)—Fiction. 6. Humorous stories.] I. Dormer, Frank W., illustrator.
II. Title.
PZ7.T7356Pin 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2012046799
eISBN 978-0-547-80828-4
v1.1213
For Steve, the second-best fisherman I know–G.T.
To my hero, Christopher–F.D.
Slobber to the Rescue
Superhero Jo Schmo was speeding through the streets of San Francisco on her Schmomobile. Her dog, Raymond, sat in the sidecar, giving her a look that said, “Faster, Jo. Someone’s trying to blow up the bridge.”
The bridge in question was none other than the Golden Gate Bridge, and Raymond was right—someone was trying to blow it up. And this someone was Dyno-Mike’s younger brother, Dyno-Harvey. You might be thinking that Dyno-Harvey sounds ridiculous. You’re not alone. Dyno-Harvey would agree with you. But there was already a Dyno-Mike. What could he do?
Still, having a ridiculous name doesn’t mean you can’t be an effective bridge-blower-upper. Dyno-Harvey came from a long line of people who knew how to blow things up, and he had a truckload of dynamite. Any minute now he’d light the fuse and the bridge would be history.
But first things first. There were rules. Before you set off an explosion, you had to throw your head back and let out an evil laugh. Harvey also came from a long line of expert evil laughers. He stopped the truck in the middle of the bridge. Then he threw his head back and—
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
“Faster, Jo!” Raymond’s look said. “I just heard an evil laugh.”
Jo gunned the engine, and the Schmomobile picked up speed. Moments later she turned onto the bridge and saw Dyno-Harvey standing next to a truck full of dynamite with a match in his hand.
“Mwah-ha-ha!” Then he lit the dynamite.
“Faster!” Raymond’s look said.
It was a long fuse, long enough for Dyno-Harvey to get away from the explosion. But Jo knew she wouldn’t get there in time, not before the dynamite went off. There was only one thing to do. She grabbed Raymond by the collar and hurled him forward.
“Pork chops, Raymond. Pizza. Meatballs. Bacon.”
Raymond flew through the air with his cape flapping behind him. The cape made him drool like crazy, and hearing Jo calling out his favorite foods made it even worse.
Or better.
Raymond wasn’t flying because he knew how to fly. He was flying because Jo threw him. Hey, whatever works.
Jo Schmo kept yelling. “Pork chops, pizza, meatballs, bacon.”
Raymond drooled more than any dog ever drooled in the long history of drooling. It was pretty disgusting. Some of the drivers on the bridge tossed their cookies. One of them tossed his Fig Newtons.
The disgusting slobber couldn’t be helped. Raymond was flying and drooling with a purpose. He had to put out that fuse before it reached the truck and sent hundreds of people plunging into the bay.
“Pork chops, pizza, meatballs, bacon—mailman.” Jo added that last one for a reason. Raymond was a dog. Chasing the mailman was almost as much fun as eating pork chops. Just thinking about it made him drool even more.
And before you could say “The flying Raymond drooled all over the fuse and put it out,” the flying Raymond drooled all over the fuse and put it out.
Seconds later, Jo Schmo pulled to a stop and high-fived her dog. “Great work, Raymond. You’re the best drooling sidekick a superhero ever had.”
All around them, people got out of their cars and cheered.
Raymond wagged his tail. “This is the best day ever,” his look said.
Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull
Only it wasn’t the best day ever. It was a pretty rotten day. Jo and Raymond just didn’t know it yet. Danger was lurking all over the place. That’s the thing about danger: it lurks when you least expect it, like when you’re saving people on a bridge.
Not far from San Francisco there was a prison, and in this prison sat Dr. Dastardly, otherwise known as the Bad Doctor. Or at least the dastardly one. Dr. Dastardly hated prison life. You would think a bad guy would like to be with other bad guys. Not Dr. Dastardly. He kind of missed his mom.
“Curse you, Jo Schmo,” Dr. Dastardly said, waving a fist in the air.
Dr. Dastardly wasn’t the only one who hated Jo Schmo. The prison was full of bad guys who had been captured by Jo and Raymond. One of them was Numb Skull, and he was sitting right across the table from Dr. Dastardly.
“You hate Jo Schmo?” Numb Skull asked.
“I do.”
“And her little dog, too?”
“Absolutely. He drools way too much.”
“I know,” said Numb Skull. “More than any dog ever drooled.”
“In the long history of drooling,” added Dr. Dastardly.
“Exactly.”
And right then, Dr. Dastardly stopped thinking about how much he missed his mom. For the first time since he had been sent to prison, he smiled. And what made him smile? The thought of getting back at Jo Schmo. “Revenge,” Dr. Dastardly said out loud.
“Revenge?” Numb Skull leaned forward. “Against Jo Schmo?”
He nodded.
“And her little dog, too?”
“And her little dog, too.”
Numb Skull also had been missing his mom. But not anymore. He had a purpose now. He had a mission—to get back at Jo Schmo and her canine sidekick.
“I’m in,” Numb Skull said. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan is to break out of here and go after that little fourth grade superhero.”
“Details, Bad Doctor?” Numb Skull wasn’t the best planner in the world, mostly because his brain was a little . . . numb. Too many years spent in the boxing ring will do that to you. He’d leave the details of their escape to Dr. Dastardly.
Each day the two of them met in the prison cafeteria or out in the prison yard to disc
uss their escape plan. And their revenge-against-Jo-Schmo plan. But they had to be careful. The prison walls had ears.
So did the guards.
They also had eyes and noses, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
The plan involved exploding macaroni and a giant slingshot big enough to launch a couple of bad guys over the prison wall.
“You must be joking,” Numb Skull said when he heard it. “Exploding macaroni? That’s the plan?”
“Don’t forget the giant slingshot.”
Numb Skull hadn’t forgotten about the giant slingshot. He was just trying to ignore it. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“Trust me,” Dr. Dastardly said. “I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor with a dumb plan,” Numb Skull said under his breath.
“I heard that,” said the Bad Doctor.
The Tasmanian Chop
After saving the Golden Gate Bridge and all the people on it, some of whom were tossing their cookies from seeing Raymond drool like no dog ever drooled in the long history of drooling, Jo and her sidekick high-fived each other all the way home. Steering a speeding Schmomobile while high-fiving is not recommended, but if anyone could do it, Jo Schmo could.
And she did—quite effectively.
When she got home, she parked the Schmomobile and went into the backyard to find her grandpa. Grandpa Joe, that is. It can be a little complicated having two Joes in one household—Jo and Joe.
Jo found Joe in his backyard shack.
“We did it, Gramps,” Jo said, opening the door and going inside. “We saved the bridge.”
“Great work, Jo.”
“What’s next?” Jo asked.
Grandpa Joe was a retired sheriff and an expert what’s-nexter. He pointed to the police radio and said, “Not much going on, Jo. We wait.”
Jo was not an expert waiter.
“Got any new moves to show me?” she asked.
“Moves?” Grandpa Joe asked.
“Fighting moves,” Jo said. “Hand-to-hand combat stuff.”
Jo had already perfected the Russian Toe Hold, not to mention the Siberian Ear Tweak. She was also the master of the Knuckle Sandwich. But those were yesterday’s moves. Jo wanted something new.
“Have you ever heard of the Tasmanian Chop?” Grandpa Joe asked.
Jo shook her head. She’d heard of pork chops, but that wasn’t exactly a move. “How does the Tasmanian Chop work?”
“Put your face over here and I’ll show you.”
Jo moved closer—
CHOP!
“Ouch!” Jo said. It was the second-best move she had ever seen—or felt. Not as good as the Knuckle Sandwich, but close.
“Okay, my turn, Gramps,” Jo said. “Put your face over here.”
Gramps leaned closer—
CHOP!
“Ouch!”
All afternoon Jo and Joe worked on the Tasmanian Chop, while Raymond watched. Raymond wasn’t all that interested in the Tasmanian Chop. He preferred the pork variety. But what could he do? Sometimes you just had to watch boring combat moves.
And the reason for the boring combat moves was that Jo Schmo and her grandpa didn’t think much was going on in the crime world.
They were wrong. Plenty was going on. While they were smacking each other with the Tasmanian Chop, Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull were planning their prison break and plotting their revenge against Jo Schmo.
And her little dog, too.
Not only that, but time-traveling pirates were heading to San Francisco to rob and steal and do all sorts of other piratey things, like drink grog and chase women.
But more about that later.
Pinkbeard
On second thought, let’s talk about it now.
The reason the pirates were traveling through time was that they were greedy. They’d already robbed and stolen and done all sorts of other piratey things—like drink grog and chase women—in their own time. But they wanted more. Much more.
Maybe people had more money to rob in the future. And maybe the grog tasted better and the women were cuter.
This is what Pinkbeard, the leader of the pirates, thought, anyway.
You might be thinking that Pinkbeard is a pretty ridiculous name for a pirate. You’re not alone. Pinkbeard would agree with you. He used to call himself Blackbeard, but he’d drunk so much pink lemonade over the years that his beard had changed from black to pink. It happens. You can’t exactly call yourself Blackbeard if your beard is the color of bubblegum.
Still, he was the leader of a band of pirates, which isn’t too shabby for a guy with a pink beard. And these were not your average pirates. These guys were time travelers. Greedy time travelers. Grog-loving greedy time travelers. Tattooed grog-loving, greedy time travelers. Well, you get the idea. Pinkbeard was the leader of some . . . interesting fellows.
“Let’s head to the future,” Pinkbeard called out.
“How far?” asked Bart. Bart was second in command and in charge of moving the pirate ship through time.
“Far,” Pinkbeard grunted. “As far as possible.” He just hoped they had good lemonade in the future.
Bart turned the dial, which was right next to the ship’s wheel, all the way to 20—, which is code for sometime this century.
SPROINK!
You might be thinking that a time-traveling pirate ship would go WHOOSH! when it traveled through time. Not this pirate ship. Not one operated by a bunch of . . . interesting fellows.
Interesting fellows prefer more unique sound effects.
Anyway, Pinkbeard and his gang shot through time to the current century. Then they tied off to one of the piers and headed out to explore San Francisco.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Bart asked.
“The plan is to do piratey things,” Pinkbeard replied.
“Like rob and steal?” Bart asked.
“And drink grog and chase women.”
But where to begin? San Francisco was a big place. Pinkbeard and his gang walked along the wharf, looking for ideas.
And suddenly, there it was. A flyer posted on a wall read:
Wine Tasting and Fashion Show
open to the public
especially if you’re rich
“Ahoy!” said Pinkbeard. This was what you call a triple whammy. Everything they were after in one place. They could rob and steal . . . and drink grog and chase women.
“I love the future already,” said Bart.
Too bad it’s not Lemonade Tasting and Fashion Show, thought Pinkbeard.
Oh, well, at least they had rich people to rob and girls to chase. Two out of three isn’t bad.
Dr. Dastardly’s Evil Plan
Numb Skull still didn’t like Dr. Dastardly’s plan. Exploding macaroni? A giant slingshot? But he really did want to escape, because he really did miss his mom. More important, he wanted to get back at Jo Schmo and her slobbering sidekick for sending him to jail in the first place.
So he went along with the plan.
Since Numb Skull worked in the prison laundry, it was his job to steal the elastic waistbands from all the underwear. They would need lots of elastic to launch two bad guys over the prison wall.
Day after day he stole the elastic waistbands from the underwear, and soon the inmates began walking funny because their underwear was falling down inside their pants. If you ever see prison inmates walking funny because their underwear has fallen down inside their pants, you should point and laugh. They hate that.
Meanwhile, Dr. Dastardly, who worked in the prison kitchen, made progress on the exploding macaroni. Things were going so well that he almost let out an evil laugh. As you know, there are rules: Before you make a successful prison break, you have to throw your head back and let out an evil laugh. But if he did that, the guards would come running.
So no evil laugh—not yet.
Not until after the—
KABOOM!
“Mwah-ha-ha!”
It was the day of the prison break. A gigantic
pot of macaroni had just exploded. This was followed by Dr. Dastardly’s evil laugh. Macaroni flew in every direction—up, down, sideways, diagonally—you name it. The prison warden came running. So did the guards. And then—
KABOOM!
Another pot went off. This was Dr. Dastardly’s plan. The pots were set to explode at different times. Just when the guards thought they were getting things under control—KABOOM!—more flying macaroni.
Dr. Dastardly ran outside for part two of his evil plan. He found Numb Skull on the prison football field, tying the underwear elastic to the goalpost.
“Multiple explosions,” Numb Skull said. “Brilliant.”
“And you thought it was a dumb plan,” said Dr. Dastardly. “Let’s go.”
The ends of the enormously long band of elastic were now tied to the goalposts. They pulled it back, climbed in, and—
WHOOSH!
You might be thinking that the sound effect of a gigantic slingshot would be more like SPROINK!
I know . . . Go figure.
In any case, Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull flew over the prison wall to freedom.
As they ran away from the prison, Dr. Dastardly kept yelling, “Free at last! Free at last!” He’d heard that in a speech somewhere. “Free at last!”
“Now to get Jo Schmo,” Numb Skull said. “What’s the plan, Bad Doctor?”
Dr. Dastardly was too busy saying “Free at last!” to listen to what Numb Skull was saying.
“What’s the plan?” Numb Skull yelled.
“Free at la—” Dr. Dastardly stopped. He turned to Numb Skull. “What?”
“The plan? The get-back-at-Jo-Schmo plan?”
“And her little dog, too?”
“Of course her little dog, too,” said Numb Skull.
