CHAPTER 23
he following Tuesday, which was OFFICIAL SUPER-DOOPER TREASURE HUNT NIGHT, Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse and his miserly mum were hard at work as usual in the furnace room, rummaging through their tenants’ garbage bags.
“Zowie,” called out Perfectly Loathsome Leo, “I just found a used toothbrush.”
“And I’ve got some cabbage leaves that will do very nicely for tomorrow’s soup,” said his mother.
“Look at this,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo, “some sheets of stationery that have been written on only on one side.”
“Seven.”
“It warms my heart to see you so happy again, my dumpling, but tell me why you didn’t play poker as usual last Friday night?”
“Jacob Two-Two’s mother put her foot down. I am no longer welcome there. But do you think I care? No. Why, I hear they’re working Jacob Two-Two, that little stinker, so hard after school, that he now has dark circles under his eyes. Har, har, har.”
The bell rang.
“You get it,” said his mother.
“What if it’s the health-department inspector?”
“Wait a minute,” she said, leaping out of her rocking chair, “while I empty all the mousetraps.”
The bell rang again.
“What about the cockroaches, Mummy?”
“Why, we’ll tell them we keep them as house pets. Now answer the door, sweetums,” she said, even as she arranged her hair.
Perfectly Loathsome Leo did as he was asked, and he was so nervous he failed to notice the police car parked across the street, three officers keeping watch in the dark.
Perfectly Loathsome Leo and his miserly mum had two visitors. A bent-over old man trailing a long white beard and holding the hand of a fat, freckled little boy with curly red hair, possibly a wig, and red button nose that just might have been false. “Let me introduce myself,” wheezed the old man. “You are looking at a world traveler. In my time, I have kept a dog in the town of Moose Jaw, in Canada, and eaten mooseburgers on the Isle of Dogs, in England. In days gone by, I survived on sardines in the city of Kiev, in the Ukraine, and went on to feast on chicken Kiev on the island of Sardinia. To make a long story short, I am a gourmet, an internationally known food expert, and this is my grandson, Jacov Shtyim-Shtyim.”
“And we hear,” said the freckle-faced little boy, “that you and your mother prepare absolutely delicious meals.”
“So we do,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo’s miserly mum.
“We are looking for somebody who can cater a dinner for one hundred distinguished guests,” said the old man.
“Price is no object,” said the boy, just as he had been told to say.
“In that case,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo, beginning to pant with excitement, “you have certainly come to the right place.”
“But there’s nowhere to sit down,” said the old man, heaving a great sigh.
“Leo,” said his miserly mum, “take our guests into the parlor and, um, switch on the lights and turn on the heat,” she added, handing him the key.
“Do you realize what you are saying, Mumsy?” asked Perfectly Loathsome Leo, because the parlor was seldom used.
“This is a special occasion,” she said.
The parlor was a sight to behold. There was a bushel basket filled with little plastic packets of mustard, another overflowing with ketchup packets, and a third spilling over with plastic knives and forks. Sardine tins served as ashtrays. A plastic Javex bottle had been made into a lampstand, with no lampshade covering the light bulb. The ancient sofa was bleeding stuffing, and springs popped through the seat of the only armchair. A rickety table, standing on a tar-paper rug, was strewn with broken cups and saucers, some of them already mended with glue. Over the mantelpiece there hung a photograph of a witch wearing a tall, cone-shaped black hat, a black cape, and riding a broomstick. Underneath, there was a lighted candle.
“Who’s that?” asked the boy. “Who’s that?”
“Why, this parlor is also our very own museum,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo’s miserly mum. “And what you are looking at is a memorial to the Bad Witch of the North, who was unjustly murdered by Dorothy, who struck her down with a flying house in The Wizard of Oz, then went on to rob the dead woman of her ruby slippers.”
“Gosh,” said Jacob Two-Two, tightening his grip on the old man’s hand.
“And have you seen this, child?”
It was a riding whip mounted on the wall.
“That is the real whip that was used to beat lazy Black Beauty, when he was employed as a cart horse.”
An apple was mounted on a pedestal.
“That is an exact replica of the apple that Snow White, that tiresome child, foolishly took a bite out of. I wish she had eaten all of it, don’t you?”
A shotgun was mounted on a wall.
“That’s the actual gun that a hunter aimed at Bambi.”
“Unfortunately, he missed,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo.
“But we are being such inconsiderate hosts,” said his miserly mum. “Can we get you something?”
“A glass of water, perhaps?” suggested Perfectly Loathsome Leo.
“Or possibly the two of you might like to share a peanut,” said his miserly mum.
“No, thanks,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “But do you think you will be able to cater our dinner party?”
“Certainly!”
“Excellent! Formidable! Bravissimo!” said Mr. Dinglebat. “But now I must take my grandson home, and put him to bed. I will leave you this deposit of five hundred dollars as a measure of our good will, and I will be back next week to discuss the menu and costs.”
And then Mr. Dinglebat began to count out the money, very slowly, handing an eager Perfectly Loathsome Leo, first of all, a twenty-dollar bill.
Click, click, click went Jacob Two-Two’s hidden camera.
“What was that noise?” demanded Perfectly Loathsome Leo’s miserly mum.
Jacob Two-Two retreated a step.
“The clicking sound?” asked Mr. Dinglebat.
“Yes.”
“My false teeth,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “Sorry about that.” And then he handed Perfectly Loathsome Leo a fifty-dollar bill, holding it up to the bare light bulb.
And Jacob Two-Two’s hidden camera went click, click, click again.
“I must see my dentist first thing tomorrow,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “But now we must go. Au revoir. Hasta luego, amigos.”
Counting their deposit money as soon as their visitors left, Perfectly Loathsome Leo and his miserly mum were too excited to notice that the bills had been marked with secret signs. Flinging the money in the air, they danced round and round their parlor, chanting, “Let’s raise the rents tomorrow. Let’s raise the rents tomorrow.”
Then the phone rang.
“Is this,” asked the Officer-in-Charge, “number 732–1485?”
“Yes, that’s our phone number,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo.
“That’s all,” said Law.
“– to know,” said the Officer-in-Charge, hanging up.
Outside, a solemn Mr. Dinglebat turned to Jacob Two-Two. “The trap has been baited, Two-Two, and now all we can do is hope for the best.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jacob Two-Two.
“I made secret marks on each of those dollar bills and then photographed them. If that is the five hundred dollars that the Perfectly Loathsome One uses to bribe Mr. I.M. Greedyguts tomorrow evening, we will have the evidence we need. Proof positive that they are both crooks.”
“But what you said last time,” said Jacob Two-Two, “was that all the proof we needed was to see the money change hands. Any money change hands.”
“Quite right,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “but this time, my dear boy, it just happens to be my money and I do want it back.”
“So that’s why you made secret marks on the bills?”
“Yes.”
“But what if he doesn’t use the money you gave him to pay the bribe?”
“Why, in that case, Jacob, I will be five hundred dollars out of pocket.”
“Oh dear,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Oh dear.”
“Oh dear, indeed.”