by Greg Trine
Mitch looks spectacular in green.
David has exactly seventeen freckles, which Jo absolutely adores.
“That’s it,” said Dr. Dastardly. “We kidnap Kevin, Mitch, and David, and when Jo comes to the rescue, she’ll have no strength.”
“Revenge City,” said Numb Skull.
But Pinkbeard wasn’t so sure. “What does Jo Schmo love? Go after what she loves. That’s the pirates way.
Dr. Dastardly gave Pinkbeard a confused look. “Huh?”
“I thought the pirates’ way was to drink grog and chase women,” said Numb Skull.
“That, too.” Pinkbeard pointed to the computer screen. “What does Jo Schmo love?” he said again. “Ask the Google.”
Dr. Dastardly typed it in. What does Jo Schmo love?
The answer came back with one word. Raymond.
Pinkbeard smiled. “The lass has a lad?”
“Nope,” Numb Skull said. “Raymond’s her dog.”
The Eavesdropper
Former renowned newspaperman Jasper “Scoop” Johnson, who had given up journalism to write children’s fantasy books, was having a rough time of it. No one wanted his stories. Not even the one about the giant gorilla who ate Milwaukee.
His mailbox was filling up with rejection letters, and Jasper was surprised to admit that he missed the newspaper business. He missed chasing down a new story. After all, his middle name was Scoop. No one had a nose for a newspaper story like Jasper “Scoop” Johnson.
“If I can come up with the right story, I could get my old job back,” Jasper said to himself as he browsed the children’s book section of the library.
Yes, that was it, he decided. He just needed the right story.
And right there in the library, he found what he was looking for when he heard the word “Revenge.”
Hearing the word gave Jasper tingles. There was a story nearby. He could feel it. He perked up his ears and peered over the bookcase, where he saw three suspicious villain types.
Former renowned newspaperman Jasper “Scoop” Johnson was trained to know suspicious villain types when he saw them. And these three looked very suspicious . . . and very villainy. One of them had a pink beard and an eye patch. Another one had a flattened nose, like he had been in way too many fights.
Jasper moved closer and listened in.
The guy with the pink beard was saying something about kidnapping a dog. The guy with the flat nose mentioned three names—Kevin, Mitch, and David.
The third guy threw his head back and laughed. “Mwah-ha-ha!” Right out loud. Right there in the library.
The green-haired librarian put a finger to his lips. “Shhhhhh!”
But the villain couldn’t help himself. “Mwah-ha-ha!”
“An evil laugh,” Jasper said to himself. Where you find an evil laugh, you find a story.
Jasper “Scoop” Johnson was back in business.
A few moments later, when Dr. Dastardly, Numb Skull, and Pinkbeard left the library, they had no idea they were being followed.
“What’s the plan?” asked Numb Skull. He knew it had something to do with the three boys and Raymond, but he wanted more detail.
“We go after the dog first,” Dr. Dastardly said. “Then we’ll get the boys.”
The problem was, how did you catch a superhero dog? Didn’t they have super dog powers? They already knew that Raymond could drool more than any dog ever drooled in the long history of drooling. But did he bite harder than a normal dog? Could he run faster? Could he leap tall buildings in a single bound?
And more important, did he love what normal dogs loved?
“Like bacon,” Pinkbeard said.
“And pork chops,” Dr. Dastardly said.
“And pizza,” Numb Skull added.
Pinkbeard had never heard of pizza. “I say we start with bacon.”
“Bacon it is.” Dr. Dastardly led the way back to his old hideout in the abandoned warehouse district. He pulled out a needle and thread and began to work on a human-size bacon costume. Actually, it was a Pinkbeard-size bacon costume.
But looking like a giant piece of bacon wasn’t enough. To really get Raymond’s attention, you had to smell like bacon. You might be thinking that smearing bacon all over yourself is pretty gross. You’re not alone. Dr. Dastardly, Numb Skull, and Pinkbeard thought so too. This did not stop the trio from breaking into a butcher shop late at night and grabbing all the bacon they could get their hands on. Then they smeared it all over Pinkbeard, who looked—and now smelled—exactly like a giant piece of bacon.
“I have to admit, you do smell delicious,” Numb Skull said.
Pinkbeard had been called a lot of things over the course of his career—like marauder or pirate or someone-who-needs-a-bath. But this was the first time anyone had ever called him delicious. It had a certain ring to it.
The Bacon Dance
Jo Schmo was completely exhausted when she got home from the movie theater, where she had spent two full hours trying to watch a movie with one eye and look for people who might sit on her with the other. Try it sometime. It isn’t easy.
She had no idea what the movie had been about . . . something about a romance, she thought, involving a handsome actor and glamorous actress.
Maybe it was best to use her invisibility powers to catch bad guys. This was what she thought as she flopped onto her bed. But the bad guys would have to wait. Jo Schmo couldn’t keep her eyes open.
Before she drifted off, she tied a string around her big toe. The string led out the window and down to Grandpa Joe’s shack. If anything happened in the middle of the night, Grandpa Joe would tug on the string and wake her up.
So Jo was sound asleep when a van pulled up in front of her house. Dr. Dastardly’s van, that is. The one that had the sign painted on the side: DR. DASTARDLY, MAD SCIENTIST, FREE ESTIMATES.
And out of this van popped two evil bad guys and one gigantic piece of bacon.
“What do I do?” asked Pinkbeard.
“Go in the backyard and act delicious,” said Dr. Dastardly.
How exactly does one behave in a delicious manner? Pinkbeard wasn’t sure. He went into the backyard, looked up at Jo’s bedroom window, and did the Bacon Dance. This was a dance he made up on the spot . . . kind of like a hula dance with pork odor thrown in.
No dog could resist.
At least this was what Pinkbeard hoped.
Jo Schmo was snoring away, but not Raymond. He was wide awake, staring at the ceiling and counting sheep.
“Four hundred twenty-five,” his look said. “Four hundred twenty-six . . .”
He stopped. Sheep-counting wasn’t helping. Every time he pictured a sheep in his head, he wanted to chase it, and the thought of the chase was keeping him awake. Finally, he got to his feet and went to the window and looked out—
Raymond’s mouth flopped open. He no longer wanted to chase sheep. “Why chase sheep when there’s a giant piece of bacon dancing in the moonlight in the backyard?” his look said.
This had to be some kind of dream. He rubbed his eyes with his paws and looked again. Nope, there was definitely an enormous piece of bacon dancing in the moonlight.
Raymond had never seen such a thing. He’d seen a giant sausage dancing in the moonlight, and a couple of times he’d seen dancing pork chops. But this dancing bacon was a first.
He ran outside to investigate. Boy, did that dancing bacon smell good. He moved closer for a better whiff . . . and possibly a nibble.
He never made it. Two figures jumped out of the bushes and grabbed him. One of them put a cloth to Raymond’s nose. Raymond took one sniff, and everything went black.
“Chloroform,” Dr. Dastardly said. “Works every time.”
Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull carried Raymond around to the front of the house and threw him into the van.
In a tree across the street sat former renowned newspaperman Jasper “Scoop” Johnson. You might think it would be difficult to jot down story notes while sitting on a
tree branch. Well, if anyone could do it, Jasper “Scoop” Johnson could.
After the van pulled away, Jasper jumped to the ground. Then he climbed into his car and followed. There was more to this story than dognapping. He could feel it.
Raymond in Trouble
“Time for part two of our evil plan,” Dr. Dastardly said as they raced through the city streets. He threw his head back. “Mwah-ha-ha!” The evil plan was working, and what better way to celebrate than with an evil laugh?
Pinkbeard climbed out of his bacon costume and said nothing.
“Don’t pirates have evil laughs?” Dr. Dastardly asked. “I mean, what do you do when your evil plan is working? You have to celebrate somehow.”
“True,” said Pinkbeard.
“So what do you do?”
“I say, ‘Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!’”
Dr. Dastardly nodded. “It’s always about the grog with you pirates.”
“Exactly,” Pinkbeard said. “It’s all about pink lemonade.”
The trio drove across town to the abandoned warehouse district and dumped the unconscious Raymond into a huge room with concrete walls and an iron door. Even a superhero dog couldn’t escape.
Yes, their evil plan was working.
“Mwah-ha-ha!” said Dr. Dastardly.
“Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!” Pinkbeard added.
Then they began work on part two of the plan: kidnapping the three boys from Jo Schmo’s class, Kevin, Mitch, and David. Dr. Dastardly was pretty sure it would be easier to capture three fourth grade boys than it was to capture a superhero dog. At least no one would have to dress up like breakfast meat.
Too bad, Pinkbeard thought. He really liked doing the Bacon Dance.
When Raymond woke up, he found himself in a large room with concrete walls and an iron door. “Where am I?” his look said. The last thing he could remember was a gigantic piece of bacon dancing in the moonlight.
There was no sign of the bacon now. In fact, Raymond was completely alone. He went to the door and wiggled the knob. Locked.
Locked doors didn’t worry Raymond. He was a superhero, or at least a superhero’s sidekick. He had superpowers, didn’t he? After all, he could drool more than any dog ever drooled in the long history of drooling. And that was a kind of superpower, wasn’t it?
But did he have the strength to break through concrete walls and knock down iron doors? There was one way to find out.
Raymond threw himself against the iron door.
CRASH!
Not even a dent.
He ran full speed into the concrete wall.
SMACK!
Not even a scratch.
Nothing but a throbbing dog headache.
Raymond sat down, holding his head in his paws. “Not even a super dog could break through these walls,” his look said.
He flopped to the ground . . . trapped. No way out. And right there, lying on the cold concrete floor, he vowed never again to mess with dancing bacon.
After a while, he rolled onto his back and looked up at the high ceiling. Moonlight was streaming in. The walls were twenty feet high, but there was a window up there.
“If only . . .” Raymond’s look said.
If only he could jump that high. Or even better, if only he could fly.
But wait . . . couldn’t Jo Schmo fly? And wasn’t he the sidekick? Raymond got to his feet and paced back and forth. Flying was all about thinking the right kind of lofty thoughts—that’s what the Superhero Instruction Manual had said.
It was worth a try. “Lofty thoughts,” Raymond’s look said.
Truth, he thought, and leaped into the air.
CRASH! He hit the floor hard.
He tried again. Justice.
SMACK!
The American way.
PLOP!
He tried it with a running start. All dogs are created equal, which is the loftiest thought he could come up with.
He jumped forward.
Then backward.
With his eyes closed.
On one leg.
On three legs.
But it was no use. No matter how hard he tried, Raymond couldn’t get off the ground.
Kaboom!
You might be asking yourself, “What happened to the band of interesting fellows, otherwise known as Pinkbeard’s band of pirates?” As you know, they were arrested after Jo Schmo stopped them from stealing from rich people and chasing fashion models. Not to mention drinking grog that didn’t belong to them.
Drinking someone else’s grog without permission is pretty sinister, if you think about it. And these guys were pirates. They drank straight from the bottle, and they didn’t wipe it off. Eew!
So they were thrown in jail, and after a few days of waving angry fists in the air while saying things like, “Curse you, Jo Schmo, and your little dog, too!” the band of pirates got down to the business of making their escape.
They had heard that a mad scientist and an ex-boxer had just escaped from prison, using exploding macaroni and a giant slingshot.
“If only we knew how to blow up macaroni,” said Bart, who was now the leader.
But try as he might, he couldn’t find a way to make macaroni explode.
So he made chocolate pudding explode instead.
KABOOM!
Imagine brown goo flying in every direction. It’s kind of . . . disgusting.
The guards thought so too. So did the other inmates. And while the guards and the other inmates were being disgusted and wiping brown goo out of their eyes, Bart and the rest of the pirates disguised themselves as guards and walked right out the front door of the jail.
“Free at last!” said Bart with a smile. Then he turned to his men. “Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!”
They would be happy to drink up, if they could find some grog.
“Back to the ship,” Bart suggested. Pirate ships were loaded with grog.
Pinkbeard had no idea that his fellow pirates had escaped from jail and were now back on the ship, drinking grog. He was too busy working on part two of their evil plan: kidnapping the three boys, Kevin, Mitch, and David.
They went after Kevin first, snatching him right from his bed.
“He does have a great head of hair,” Numb Skull observed.
They tied him up and threw him into the van. Then they drove over to Mitch’s house and yanked him right out of his bedroom window. Mitch was wearing his green pajamas, and everyone agreed that he did look rather spectacular.
David was the last boy to be kidnapped. It was too dark to see his freckles, but they were as adorable as usual. Trust me.
“Revenge time,” Dr. Dastardly said as he hit the gas and they sped back to the abandoned warehouse district. The Bad Doctor couldn’t help smiling. It was, after all, the perfect crime. They had what Jo Schmo loved and they had her weakness. “When she shows up to rescue the dog, she’ll no longer be Jo Schmo, Superhero. She’ll be just plain Jo Schmo.”
“Revenge time,” Numb Skull said.
“Revenge time,” Pinkbeard agreed. “Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!”
They’d drink up later. Revenge time came first.
Jasper “Scoop” Johnson
Jasper “Scoop” Johnson was sitting on another tree branch, jotting down story notes—all about a trio of bad guys who had kidnapped three boys and a dog. But the more he wrote, the more he realized he couldn’t just tell the story. He had to do something about it.
He had to tell Jo Schmo.
Plus, his rear end was getting a little sore from writing a story while sitting on a tree branch. He needed a break. So he jumped out of the tree, got in his car, and raced across town to Jo Schmo’s house.
In the backyard he came across the string that led from Jo’s bedroom window to her grandfather’s shack. He grabbed the string and tugged, tugged, tugged. When nothing happened, he did it again. Tug, tug, tug.
Jo Schmo was fast asleep, dreaming of grog-drinking, fashion-model-chasing pirates. Not to
mention the sort of pirate who robbed rich people. She was also dreaming of a fat lady sitting on her.
Talk about a nightmare.
While the fat lady was trying to sit on Jo, the pirates were tugging on her toe. Tug, tug, tug. They were not only pirates—they were also experts in the Russian Toe Hold. Tug, tug, tug.
Jo sat up in bed, opened her eyes, and saw the string tied to her big toe tug-tug-tugging. It wasn’t the Russian Toe Hold after all.
Tug, tug, tug
“Wake up, Raymond,” she said, jumping to her feet. “Grandpa Joe needs us.”
Raymond, who always slept at the foot of her bed, was not there.
“Raymond?” Jo said again.
Grandpa Joe was supposed to be listening to his police radio, waiting for news of any crimes being committed so he could alert his granddaughter about them. But he had drifted off to sleep. Before doing so, he had tied the string around his big toe.
Now he was snoring away, dreaming of doing battle with bad guys of every shape and size. Grandpa Joe was a retired sheriff, and this is what sheriffs dream about: fighting crime, doing battle with bank robbers, drug dealers, gang members, and—
Experts in the Russian Toe Hold?
Tug, tug, tug. Tug, tug, tug.
He opened his eyes and saw that it was the string attached to his toe doing the tugging. He untied it and ran outside.
Jo Schmo was already there.
“What is it, Jo?” he asked.
“What is it, Gramps?” Jo said.
And that’s when they noticed that they were not alone. Jasper “Scoop” Johnson was standing there, still holding the string.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Grandpa Joe asked.
“Your dog has been kidnapped,” Jasper said.
