CHAPTER 22

fter his mother drove him home from school the next afternoon, Jacob Two-Two hurried over to Mr. Dinglebat’s house and informed him that he had, as requested by Mr. Dinglebat, recruited several reliable watchers, namely the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole, as well as Mickey, Chris, and Robby, all of whom would be ready to report for duty when called.

“Bravo,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “Well done. And now, while we are waiting, let us look at the evidence we have gathered so far.”

First of all, Mr. Dinglebat removed the tape recorder, the size of a small bar of soap, from the hollow heel in his shoe, and played back the interview wherein they had been offered a bribe by the dreaded Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. Then he led Jacob Two-Two into another room, where enormous enlargements of the photographs Jacob had taken of Mr. I.M. Greedyguts’ desk hung from a clothesline. “Take a gander at this, amigo,” said Mr. Dinglebat.

It was an enlargement of a cheque for $1,500 made out to Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse! “Don’t you think that’s a bit much for one week’s nourishment,” asked Mr. Dinglebat, “considering the kind of slop you kids have been eating?”

“I don’t understand,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I don’t understand.”

“Let me explain, then. It is my suspicion that once a week Perfectly Loathsome Leo meets with Greedyguts and returns five hundred dollars of that money in cash to your crooked headmaster.”

“But why would he do that?”

“It’s what’s called a bribe, mon vieux. It’s the price Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse has to pay for having been awarded the Privilege House food contract in the first place. However, my suspicions are one thing. We require proof. Lots of proof. For starters, we have to catch those two villains in the act. We have to see the money change hands. And then, in good time, we will make them tremble and shake. Meanwhile, feast your eyes on this.”

Another enlargement showed that the cheque for $1,500 was clipped to a piece of stationery on which Mr. I.M. Greedyguts had scrawled, MEET YOU AT THE USUAL PLACE, AT THE USUAL TIME, FOR THE USUAL REASONS.

“But where is the usual place?” asked Jacob Two-Two twice.

“I’m glad you asked me that question,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “Look at this.” The next enlargement revealed Mr. I.M. Greedyguts’ open diary with the notation: MCDONALD’S, CORNER OF ATWATER, 6.30 P.M., WEDNESDAY. MEET WITH PLLL. “Which stands for?”

“Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse,” said Jacob Two-Two.

At that very moment the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole arrived.

“Hiya, Noah. Hiya, Emma,” said Jacob Two-Two.

“Those are not our names today,” said Noah.

“Sorry. Forgot,” said Jacob, even as they were joined by Chris, Mickey, and Robby, all of whom had already received permission to play at Jacob Two-Two’s house after school.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “before we proceed with our mission, and let me warn you in advance that it is a dangerous one, you must phone Jacob Two-Two’s mother to say I’m treating all of you to dinner at McDonald’s tonight.”

Jacob Two-Two did as he was asked, adding that they wouldn’t be home late.

“Now, Jacob,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “explain to your watchers what the procedure is for spies if any of them falls into enemy hands.”

“You were never here,” said Jacob Two-Two, “and Mr. Dinglebat doesn’t know you.”

Then Mr. Dinglebat led the watchers into the room where he stored his many disguises, pulled out a long clothing rack, and quickly outfitted all of them with fedoras, dark glasses, trenchcoats, and cellular phones.

“Your assignment, Shapiro and O’Toole, will be Mr. I.M. Greedyguts,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “You can pick him up as he leaves Privilege House and, whatever you do, don’t lose him.” Then he turned to Chris, Mickey, and Robby. “And your man will be Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, who can now be found at the Guaranteed Stale Bread Company, on Grub Street, settling his bill for last week’s shipment of rock-hard rolls. Stick to him like glue.”

The watchers left to take up their posts and then Jacob Two-two and Mr. Dinglebat hurried over to McDonald’s and sat down to wait. In order not to call attention to themselves at their command table, they were, of course, disguised. Mr. Dinglebat wore a top hat, a swallow-tailed jacket, a purple velvet cape, and carried his gold-tipped sword cane, just in case. Jacob Two-Two, sporting a safari hat, shoulder-length black dreadlocks, and a Van Dyke beard, wore a heavily studded bomber jacket, black leather trousers, and cowboy boots.

The intrepid Shapiro was the first one to phone in a report from the field: “Mr. I.M. Greedyguts has just waddled round the corner of Greene Avenue, chewing on a salami.”

“Roger,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Roger.” And then he heard the wail of a police car, coming closer and closer.

“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “They are probably headed somewhere else.”

But just then the police car pulled up outside, brakes squealing, and out piled Law, Order, and the Officer-in-Charge. Jacob Two-Two froze.

“Act natural, amigo,” said Mr. Dinglebat, and he dug out the cigarette lighter that could squirt hot pepper, and set it down within easy reach.

Jacob Two-Two gulped twice as Law, Order, and the Officer-in-Charge sauntered right past their table to the counter.

“We’ll have,” said Law.

“– three Big Macs,” said Order.

“– with fries,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

Happily, once they had been served, Law, Order, and the Officer-in-Charge got right back into their car and drove off, and Jacob Two-Two began to breathe easier.

Then Mickey, Chris, and Robby were heard from: “Perfectly Loathsome Leo seems to be heading your way. Wait. He has just stopped at the corner.” There was a pause. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“He’s not coming,” said Jacob Two-Two. “He’s not coming.”

“Sh,” said Mr. Dinglebat.

Mickey continued: “There is an old man seated on the pavement, wearing a sign saying HELP A POOR BLIND MAN, and there is an upsidedown hat held between his knees, filled with coins. Perfectly Loathsome Leo stopped in front of him — looked right — looked left — and then stooped and dug some coins out of the blind man’s hat. He is now heading your way fast.”

Finally an excited O’Toole reported: “I.M. Greedyguts has just stepped out of Ben and Jerry’s, licking a triple-scoop cherry ice cream. The suspect is now approaching the target area. Be careful, Jacob.”

Within minutes, Mr. I.M. Greedyguts and Perfectly Loathsome Leo were standing at the counter in McDonald’s, placing their orders, unaware that they were being observed, overheard, and recorded by Jacob Two-Two and Mr. Dinglebat.

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts ordered three Big Macs, two buckets of fries, and a large Coke.

“Is that all you’re going to have?” asked a disgusted Perfectly Loathsome Leo.

“I’m taking Miss Sour Pickle out for dinner tonight and I don’t want to spoil my appetite. What about you, Perfectly Loathsome?”

“Am I paying?”

“Certainly.”

“In that case, I’m not hungry.”

They sat down at a table, and no sooner did Mr. I.M. Greedyguts finish his snack, than he held out his hand and Perfectly Loathsome Leo passed him a fat envelope.

“The bribe money, no doubt,” whispered Mr. Dinglebat, “the five hundred dollars,” and click, click, click went Jacob Two-Two’s hidden camera.

Then Perfectly Loathsome Leo moved over to the counter where the little plastic packets of ketchup and mustard were available. He scooped up several handfuls and left.

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts started for the door – hesitated – and turned back.

“Yikes,” said a terrified Jacob Two-Two. “He’s heading our way. What should I say? What should I say?”

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts stopped immediately before their table. “I beg your pardon,” he said to Jacob Two-Two, “but would you happen to be related to the World’s Best Midget Photographer?”

“My friend here doesn’t understand English,” said Mr. Dinglebat.

“It’s just that he looks so familiar,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “Is it possible that I have met the kid at the White House, where I am frequently invited?”

“He’s no kid,” said Mr. Dinglebat, pretending to be insulted. “My companion here is seventy-two years old.”

“Holy smokes,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts.

“Let me introduce you to Jacoby Zweizwei, the World’s Most-Celebrated Shrinking Man. I brought him out of the jungles of Borneo when he was a strapping teenager, six-foot-six in his bare feet. But the poor fellow was bitten by the notorious zitsy-zitsy fly, and he has been shrinking ever since. Why, when little Zweizwei reaches the age of ninety-two, he will be so petit, I will be able to carry him around in my breast pocket.”

“Oh, the poor fellow,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, leaning over for a closer look at Jacob Two-Two.

“Don’t do that!” shouted Mr. Dinglebat.

“Why not?” asked Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, jumping back.

“Fortunately, I’m immune. But if he bites your finger, you, yourself, will start shrinking. It’s contagious, you see.”

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts fled, which made Jacob Two-Two laugh. But then he saw that Mr. Dinglebat didn’t look pleased.

“I’m afraid we’ve been outsmarted,” said Mr. Dinglebat.

“How come?” asked Jacob Two-Two. “How come?”

“We never really got to see money change hands. I was hoping Greedyguts would take it out of the envelope and count it, but he didn’t, darn it!”

“What do we do now?” asked Jacob Two-Two.

“Why, if at first you don’t succeed, you try, try, and try again. I will put on my thinking cap and come up with something. Count on it, Jacob.”

“I do,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I do.”