Hamster Gangster

by Angela Robb

  ‘Good answer, mate!’ says the tall rat. ‘A pet ’amster – who’d ’ave thought it?’ He and several others are slapping me on the back. ‘You, my friend, are just one crazy stunt away from bein’ the next Big Cheese!’

  I look at Nev; to my surprise, he’s giving me two thumbs up. As I think about all of this, a spark of excitement fizzes in my belly. I realise now that what I’m feeling is not a change in me, but a return to how I used to feel: the same energy, the same buzz, the same certainty that I’ve got what it takes. After all, didn’t I come here to lead, to climb my way to the very top? Isn’t this the moment I’ve been waiting for?

  Yes, it is. And do you know what? All of a sudden I am Rocco the Re-energised, ready to lead this gang to victory against cats, chefs, or anyone else who gives us trouble.

  ‘Okay then!’ I shout. ‘Just give me one day to spy on them! They must have some weakness – the cats and the crazy killer chef – and I swear I’ll find it!’

  I think Vinny was poised to spring on me just then, but he’s been swept aside by a tidal wave of rats all rushing to surround me. Nev’s family are hugging me, except Tina, who’s punching the air – and I feel exactly like I did that sunny afternoon when I left Gary’s house for good. I feel like I’m on the brink of something spectacular.

  30

  No Light Bulb

  I’m spying alone, of course – this is the beginning of my ultimate test, and if I’m to prove that I really should be the next Big Cheese, I have to do this on my own. Tina wasn’t too happy about being left out, but I told her that she’ll soon have her moment to shine, before all of this is over.

  I’m creeping past Chef Claude’s back door, because those cats are bound to be around here somewhere. My heart is drumming in my ears, making it pretty hard to hear anything else … but I’m sure I can make out voices nearby.

  Yes, I can. Cat voices.

  I run to the corner of the building, keeping close in against the wall. Slowly, I poke my head into the lane next to the restaurant.

  And there they are, skulking among the rubbish. I hold my nerve, keep watching. The tabby is pacing up and down, the fur on his back standing on end.

  ‘The mole must’ve been faking it,’ he hisses angrily. ‘There’s no way he could have sobered up in the time we were gone. He was sober all along.’

  The others nod and mutter their agreement. At least, I think that’s what they’re doing, although I’m not really looking at them any more. My eyes are gathering up every important detail about the scene – such as the little fish-shaped skeletons strewn everywhere. There are so many of those, I’d say the cats must be living here.

  Suddenly I sense something: two glimmering green lights, shining through the shadows in the lane …

  Eyes!

  Looking this way!

  I duck back around the corner, out of sight. The cats are still talking, so I risk a quick glance. I can see that the eyes belong to the big ginger cat, now chomping on a fish head. Clearly, he didn’t spot me.

  Okay. I’ve got enough information. I turn and scurry back the way I came. I know what you’re thinking: I should have hung around longer, to hear what the cats might be plotting. But it was just too risky. Besides, I don’t really care what the cats are plotting, because I’m plotting too. And now I know where they live.

  What I need is somewhere quiet to think about my next move. Somewhere far away from Chef Claude’s. I think I know just the place.

  Perfecto’s Pizzeria is redecorating, and half the old fixtures and fittings are piled by its wheelie bins. I dash straight over there, have a quick sniff around. Bingo: a round lampshade, made of thick plastic like fake glass. It’s the perfect hiding place. I nestle inside, and get down to thinking …

  Okay, so to be honest you’re distracting me a tiny bit, because I know exactly what you’re going to say: that I like being in this lampshade because it reminds me of my old hamster ball back at Gary’s. Well, all right then – maybe I’m drawn to something familiar, something that reminds me of the plastic sphere that once protected me from many perils, and allowed me to escape them for all time. This does not mean that I secretly long to return to my life as a pet. I don’t know how you could suggest such a thing …

  All right, calm down, Rocco. Keep thinking. All I have to do is figure out what happens next: how to set the ball in motion, throw myself and the gang into battle. Then the usual chaos and magic and triumph will follow.

  All right, so the figuring out part is starting to feel a little too much like making a plan – never my strong point – and is certainly taking longer than expected. To be fair, I’m being horribly put off by some very noisy dogs, who’re playing with a squeaky toy while their owners have a picnic on the grass behind the new flats …

  If I can just focus … and if they can all stop barking and yelping for one—

  Shhhh. Wait a minute. I can hear something else, like fast little footsteps. Someone’s coming.

  31

  Bottled Up

  Now before I tell you this, you must promise that you won’t panic. It’s going to sound really bad – that’s true – but by now really bad has become a speciality of mine. I can deal with it. I’m fantastic, remember? Everyone’s saying it now. One last, brilliant victory and I’ll be the new Big Cheese, so I know I can handle this …

  Oh, all right. Here’s what it is.

  It was a couple of rats who were coming … coming to tell me they’ve found Dwayne.

  They heard his snoring, echoing inside that empty beer keg. So they pulled him out, and carried him down the bank, and stuck his head in the river to wake him up. He picked up right where he had left off, and finished the sentence he was trying to get his tongue around when he passed out …

  The one that ended with ‘Nev’.

  So now the rats have Dwayne and Nev locked up in a brandy bottle, and they’re very keen that I should come and decide what’s to be done about all this.

  Right now, I’m staring after the eager pair of fellows who found him, those bearers of bad news, as they hurry away, racing back towards the sewer.

  There’s nothing else for it, so I tear after them all the way back to the gang’s lair, and down, down into its darkest depths. We come upon a crowd of rats, jostling and jabbering and blocking our path. One of the rats who brought me here whistles, and the crowd parts to let me through. I scurry to the front as quick as I can …

  … and feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. Nev’s hands are pressed against the side of the brandy bottle. He’s staring out at me in desperation. I’m mouthing the words, ‘DON’T WORRY,’ but for some reason he only seems to look more worried. Dwayne is sitting next to him, looking utterly miserable.

  I turn to face the rats. I sit up on my back legs to make myself look tall, or make myself feel tall … They’re pressing forward and sneering, showing lots of crooked teeth.

  ‘All right then,’ I say. ‘So it turns out the cats didn’t rid us of disloyal Dwayne! And so he escaped, aided by this untrustworthy Nev— I mean, untrustworthy mouse. Do we, um … do we know anything else?’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Vinny, ‘we know the mouse is so desperate for mercy that he confessed straight away. Spilled his guts, so he did. Told us how he helped the mole escape the park and stashed him in the beer barrel for safe-keeping.’

  I am suddenly aware of the other mice, standing to the left of the bottle. Nev’s family are plainly terrified – except for Tina, who is bubbling with fury and miming something I can’t quite understand. She is making chopping motions with one hand and slicing motions with the other. I believe she’s showing me the violent action she thinks we should take. I shake my head at her to make her stop.

  ‘Told us right away,’ Vinny says again. ‘ “It was me, you got me. No one else knew a thing.” We didn’t even have to threaten him – he just cracked! What a coward.�
��

  ‘Actually, I think that was rather brave.’ Where did that come from?! Get a grip, Rocco! ‘Not that that excuses this treachery, or … makes it any less … um … severely punishable …’

  I hear the sound of Nev’s head thudding against the glass as he slumps in despair.

  ‘So what do we do now, Rocco?’ someone asks. ‘Do we beat them up? Chop them up?’

  The rats cheer.

  ‘Throw them to the alley cats?’

  A bigger cheer.

  ‘Chuck the bottle out to sea?’

  A wild cheer.

  ‘No!’ They all stare at me in surprise. ‘None of those! I mean … all those things are – far too soft!’ There are murmurs of approval. ‘But we don’t have time right now to be nearly as nasty as we should be! There are cats to be getting rid of, not to mention the demon chef! First we have to crush them, before they think up some other, even fouler trick than dodgy meatballs! Then we can deal with, you know … this …’

  I wave vaguely in the direction of the brandy bottle. From the nodding of heads, it seems that this is a popular idea. I risk a wink at Nev’s family, but they don’t look any less anxious. Tina is miming again so I quickly look away, and as I do so I meet Nev’s gaze. Both he and Dwayne are lying low inside the bottle – but suddenly I can see hope in Nev’s eyes … relief, I think, that I’ve at least bought us some time.

  ‘So what do we do, Rocco?’

  ‘How do we crush them cats?’

  ‘Let’s have it, Rocco,’ sneers Vinny. ‘Share your little flash of inspiration.’

  I squeeze my eyes tight shut. Everything I’ve seen and heard lately is streaming through my mind like a crazy film show …

  … with a constant flashing image of Nev and Dwayne, trapped in a brandy bottle …

  THINK, Rocco. Come on …

  Divert rats. Attack cats. Rescue Nev and Dwayne … the unstoppably honest Dwayne …

  ‘Rocco does tend to win …’

  Yes I do. I do.

  ‘… ’cause he has a dog … a dog …’

  Noisy dogs playing, me in my lampshade, couldn’t think straight …

  I wish I was back there, in my lampshade … shade, shield, hamster ball, wonderful sphere of protection from peril … from Gary’s dog, Gary’s cat …

  Cats. Alley cats! Focus, Rocco.

  Fish bones. Lane. Fish bones.

  Yes, but how to set the ball in motion …?

  How to set the—

  My eyes are wide open.

  ‘I’VE GOT IT!’

  Everyone jumps, me included – I almost forgot they’re all standing there.

  ‘I know exactly what we have to do,’ I tell them. ‘Those cats are gonna be completely bowled over!’

  32

  Dog Gone

  Behind the Jolly Yachtsman: me, Tina, and two rats who’ve helped push the Secret Weapon over here from Perfecto’s Pizzeria.

  The Secret Weapon. That’s what I’m now calling the round plastic lampshade.

  I step inside the shade. It’s made to look like frosted glass, so all I can see through it is a blur of light and colour. I’ll need someone to act as my eyes outside – and that’s where my specially chosen, special agent Tina comes in. Of course, I have to pretend that I’m forcing her to help out; after all, the rats think I’m planning to kill her big brother. So I’d better sound suitably mean.

  ‘Right you,’ I tell her, ‘listen up! Give me a yell if I’m building too much speed.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  ‘All right then.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Good luck, boss!’ shout the two rats.

  Boss. With that amazing syllable still ringing in my ears, I reach high up the inside of the lampshade, lean my full weight against it … and start to roll. Tina’s toenails tap on the cobbles as she runs alongside. ‘Great start, Rocco! All clear to the end of the lane!’

  I’m picking up speed. The shade is a lot heavier than my hamster ball.

  ‘End of the lane comin’ up!’ shouts Tina. ‘Go left, left!’

  I lean left – the shade responds nicely. I feel totally in control. ‘You okay to pick up the pace a bit, Tina?’

  ‘Absolutely! I’ve got tons in the tank!’

  ‘Then let’s see what this thing can do!’

  We’re running now as fast as we can. Me driving, Tina giving directions.

  Along the empty road to the old warehouse. Left.

  Down past the brewery, weaving our way through a maze of wooden crates. Right.

  Following the water’s edge, all the way to the little footbridge … up, up, and over the bridge.

  All the while avoiding the streets, busy with humans.

  But Tina’s transport references are becoming harder to follow.

  ‘Bank to the nearside!’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Left! Go left!’

  I swerve to the left.

  ‘Salty’s Seafood Bistro, twelve o’clock! Hard to starboard!’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Reverse thrust! RUDDER, ROCCO, RUDDER!’

  I take a guess, make another sharp turn to the left.

  ‘Noooo!’ cries Tina.

  Too late. I’m—

  OH! AH! WHOA! BOUNCING!—DOWN!—STEPS!!

  Uuuugghhh. I feel sick, and I’d swear there was a nasty cracking sound just then as the ball, I mean shade, I mean Secret Weapon landed at the bottom of those evil stone steps. Tina grabbed on just as the shade began to tumble, and is now hanging from the opening at the top. ‘Genius, Rocco! Your route was quicker, and so much more fun!’

  Sure enough, the sound of barking tells me that Tina and I have ended up on the very same patch of grass that we set out for. Somewhere up ahead, as their owners enjoy a picnic under the skinny trees behind the flats, half a dozen dogs are still in a frenzy over a squeaky toy.

  As always, I have masterminded a happy accident.

  ‘Okay!’ I cry. ‘You ready for this?’

  ‘No kiddin’!’

  We’re off again, heading straight for the dogs. I’m a little worried by the deep crack running halfway around the shade, but I’m sure it’ll be just fine.

  ‘Veer left!’ says Tina. ‘Let’s get the German shepherd’s attention!’

  I like her thinking. I veer to the left.

  ‘All right! He’s lookin’ at us. He’s dropped the toy!’

  ‘Good stuff. What’s he doing now? Should I keep getting closer?’

  ‘No. Stop a minute.’

  I stop. I wait a minute. Tina’s gone quiet. I risk a whisper: ‘Is he coming?’

  ‘Ssshhh! Yes! They’re all coming!’

  By staring as hard as I can through the frosted plastic, I can make out the dogs’ blurry, looming figures.

  ‘Don’t move!’ whispers Tina. ‘I’m gonna climb on to the shih-tzu. I’ll give you a shout once I’m on board.’

  Suddenly it’s gone dark. Like my shade is in the shade … or shadow. I can hear a lot of sniffing. Without moving a muscle – save for the ones attached to my eyeballs – I glance to the left. Through the hole in the base of the shade, I can see a big, black, wet nose with flaring nostrils. It’s the German shepherd. As the nose presses through the hole and takes a particularly deep snuffle, it is pushed aside by a different nose. They are jostling for position – the German shepherd, the Labrador, the two spaniels.

  I look to the right, through the hole at what used to be the top of the lampshade. I can see a whippet a short way across the grass, staring right in at me. She’s crouched low, waggling her hindquarters as if poised to pounce.

  Where are you Tina?! Where’s the shih-tzu?!

  Something grey, white and hairy trots into view and, thankfully, comes to a halt between me and the wh
ippet. It’s the shih-tzu, looking confused. And there’s the reason why: Tina is dangling from his silky locks. Now she’s scrambling up, towards his shoulder …

  She’s done it! I can see her, right behind his ears, clinging on to the little red ribbon in his hair. And from the way he’s hurrying over here with a surprised look on his face, I’d say she’s steering him, too. Yes! I can see her little hands pushing his ponytail forward like a joystick.

  The shih-tzu’s big fluffy paw stops right in front of the hole in the lampshade. Now he’s ducked down to stare through it, and his eyes are round with shock and bewilderment.

  ‘RUN, ROCCO!’ yells Tina. ‘GO STRAIGHT AHEAD!!’

  I hurl my weight against the shade. I’m struggling to build up speed, because everyone keeps pawing at me … I can feel the dogs’ hot breath as they sniff harder than ever.

  Someone knocks me – I’m spinning off course! I run hard, sliding on the slippery plastic – and, phew, I think I’ve recovered.

  ‘SPOT ON, ROCCO!’ shouts Tina. ‘JUST KEEP GOING!’

  The dogs might have been wary at first, but now they’re enjoying themselves, yapping and springing around the lampshade. Once, twice, three times, some hairy snout or another slams into me – but I keep going, barging on through, refusing to lose my way! I am Rocco the Steadfast!

  ‘HOW ARE WE DOING?!’ I yell.

  ‘GREAT! WE’RE NEARLY OFF THE GRASS! THEN IT’S ALL DOWNHILL!’

  I make a final push, and suddenly the shade is rumbling fast along the footpath. Now I’m in complete control …

  Well, almost. We’re picking up speed here – Tina was right about going downhill.

  Still getting faster.

  And faster … oh, help, too much speed!

  The dogs are barking like crazy; if Tina’s shouting instructions I’ll never hear. I’m tearing along this path like a rocket, but they’re right behind me …

  Impossibly, the shade is still building speed. I can’t— run fast enough, my— feet can’t get a grip … I’m going to—