Round One:
“Who’s havin’ a go at me?” Grudge asked the crowd.
And the crowd replied, “The Incredible Impostor!”
Grudge had changed his image. Now he wore a new black wrestling suit with Grudge printed in gold on the front and back. He had been working out lately, drinking less. He had filed his teeth down and they were razor-sharp. His neck was as thick as a truck tire, legs like a tiny rhino. He looked like he was made of a harder material.
He circled around Uncle Brucker, hunched down low and ready to spring. Uncle Brucker just stood there with his arms folded at his chest. For a second Grudge hesitated—this could be a trick—then he turned around and knocked Uncle Brucker down with a double back kick.
Uncle Brucker got up and brushed himself off. There was something important he had to remember, of the highest priority. It was coming back to him now, words written on a box.
“Give me m-more!” he said.
And Grudge gave him more. He came at him with a right leg head kick, and then another back kick, and with each kick another piece of Uncle Brucker’s memory came loose.
Round Two:
A few more flips. Another kick. Two more. The wrestling ring sailed over his head and my Uncle landed on his back. His memory loosened up—but only for a few seconds—then it jammed again.
One more kick, Uncle Brucker thought, looking up at banner and the spinning night sky. One more kick should do it. Then I’ll get my memory back. Then I’ll fight back and win.
Round Three:
“Hit me harder!” he told Grudge.
Uncle Brucker was losing the match, but he was winning his memory back.
“That ain’t hard enough!” he told Grudge.
Grudge leaned back against the ropes and studied his opponent. The crowd knew what was coming next.
Running head kick!
As Uncle Brucker sailed backwards through the air, thoughts spun around inside his head, all broken up, daring him to put them together.
The Factory. The rat cakes. The Professor. An address. A package. 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Now the White House spun by. The President stood at the front door! What’s that in his hand? A Rat Cake!
Uncle Brucker hit the ground, bounced once, twice. Grudge walked over to him as he lay face-up on the mat. And as Grudge walked toward him he looked up and read the banner for the first time, and he knew who he was and he made the connection.
He was the Rat Killer and the Professor had shipped Rat Cakes to the White House!
And now it all came back to my Uncle. He knew exactly who he was and he knew where he had to go and he knew what he must do.
He was Uncle Brucker the Rat Killer, and he was tired and he was losing and the rats were eyeing me and becoming suspicious and I realized my name tag was missing.
There was only one thing I could think of that might save my Uncle, only one thing left to say. I had held it in reserve. Now it was time to bring it out.
“Look out!” I yelled to the crowd. I yelled like never before. “Look out! Up there, in the sky! The Asteroid is cummin’!”