CHAPTER 24

he following evening was a Wednesday, when Mr. I.M. Greedyguts and Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse had their weekly meeting at McDonald’s. The Perfectly Loathsome One handed over a thick white envelope.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to count the money right here this time,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, narrowing his eyes. “Last week you were short forty dollars.”

But as he started to count the money, a flashbulb popped and popped again. Both men froze. Then, Mr. I.M. Greedyguts smiled happily as he saw two men approach their table, both of them wearing fedoras, T-shirts, jeans, scuffed tennis shoes, and reeking of beer and tobacco. “Ah, there you are again at last,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “Perfectly Loathsome, I’d like you to meet a reporter from Ginsburg’s, Canada’s National Magazine, and Mr. Deux-Deux, two-time winner of the World’s Best Midget Photographer Award. They’re going to name me Outstanding School Headmaster of the Year.” Mr. I.M. Greedyguts fished a notepad out of his pocket. “I’ve been making notes for you, gentlemen, about how I triumphed over a very difficult childhood.”

“Why don’t we adjourn to your office,” said Mr. Dinglebat.

“May I come, too?” asked Perfectly Loathsome Leo.

“Yes, please,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Yes, please.”

“Just let me finish these last three burgers first,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “Waste not, want not,” and he shoveled them into his gaping mouth, one, two, three.

No sooner were they all assembled in Mr. I.M. Greedyguts’ office than Mr. Dinglebat proclaimed, pointing at Jacob Two-Two, “Voilà Mr. Jacques Deux-Deux, also known as Jacoby Zweizwei and Jacov Shtyim-Shtyim, but actually,” he said, ripping off Jacob Two-Two’s disguise, “none other than –”

“Jacob Two-Two,” exclaimed a horrified Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, his chins wobbling.

“The card cheat,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo, “who was also responsible for the near-fatal heart attack of the good Miss Sour Pickle.”

“And I,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “am none other than X. Barnaby Dinglebat, renowned master spy, also celebrated as Mr. Clairvoyant.” Then, leaning closer to Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, he added in a low, menacing voice, “The Clairvoyant can catch comets and throw lightning bolts.”

“He can tell you how many miles per hour angels fly on stormy nights,” said Jacob Two-Two twice.

“And can offer you,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “Canadian military secrets at fire-sale prices.”

“Cheaters never prosper,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo, rushing for the office door.

But, lo and behold, his escape was blocked by the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole, revealed in Day-Glo blue jeans and flying golden capes, the spine-chilling emblem of CHILD POWER emblazoned on their T-shirts.

“Oh, my God,” squealed Perfectly Loathsome Leo, “it’s The Infamous Two! I’ve read about them.”

“I am O’Toole,” announced Noah.

“And I am Shapiro,” proclaimed Emma, rippling her muscles.

“They’re not – they can’t be – the infamous two from CHILD POWER?” squealed Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, digging into his desk drawer for a foot-long Toblerone bar.

Then the office door was flung open and in barged Law, Order, and the Officer-in-Charge, thrusting an irate Miss Sour Pickle before them.

“You, Mr. Louse,” said Law.

“– my heart’s delight,” said Order.

“– my sunshine,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

“– phoned the police station,” said Law, “disturbing our beauty rest.”

“And sent us out on a wild-goose chase to Miss Sour Pickle’s apartment,” said Order.

“And that is a criminal offense,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

“Oh, you horrible man,” said Miss Sour Pickle. “There I was in my nightie …”

“You dare to repeat that charge in public,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo, “and I’ll sue you for trillions and ka-zillions.”

“Unfortunately for you, my sweetums,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “my friends in the police station keep a record of all incoming calls, including the phone numbers.”

Perfectly Loathsome Leo began to moan.

“Had you been lucky enough to be trained in spy-craft like me,” said Jacob Two-Two, “you would have made that call from a pay phone.”

“But that would have cost me twenty-five cents,” wailed Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse.

“You saved yourself a quarter,” said Law.

“And now you face,” said Order.

“– a minimum of ten years in prison,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

“Wait,” said Miss Sour Pickle, “I will drop all charges if this hoodlum is willing to pay for my round-the-world cruise, enabling me to while away the long hours dancing the twist, the Highland fling, the hora, the bal masqué, the square dance, the hula-hula, the Charleston, the bossa nova, and the fandango.”

“Would you settle for an all-day canoe trip on the St. Lawrence instead?” asked Perfectly Loathsome Leo. “I’ll paddle and provide homemade sandwiches.”

“A round-the-world cruise,” said Miss Sour Pickle, “first class, on the fabled ship the QE II, or you rot in prison for ten years.”

“Oooh,” moaned Perfectly Loathsome Leo. “Oooh.”

“And let me say,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “there are other charges you must deal with. Your foul kitchen is infested with mice.”

“And cockroaches,” said Jacob Two-Two. “And cockroaches.”

“Those are household pets,” protested Perfectly Loathsome Leo. “My mummy and I respect every living thing. So there.”

“We could inform the health department,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “and have your school-meals racket closed down just like that. And, of course, you would also have to pay a big fine.”

“Maybe as much as five thousand dollars,” said Jacob Two-Two.

Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse’s eyes just about popped out of his head. “I’m a poor man,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks, “hardworking, and devoted to my aged mummy. And,” he added, “once I’ve paid for Miss Sour Pickle’s cruise, I’ll be broke.”

“Yippee!” exclaimed Miss Sour Pickle.

“In that case,” asked Law.

“– are the charges,” asked Order.

“– dropped?” asked the Officer-in-Charge.

“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Sour Pickle.

“In that case,” said the Officer-in-Charge, “we are no longer needed here.”

And, without further ado, the three officers left.

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts cleared his throat. “Mice! Cockroaches! I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you, Mr. Dinglebat, and you, too, my dear Jacob Two-Two, not to mention CHILD POWER, for revealing what a scoundrel I’ve been dealing with. Perfectly Loathsome Leo, you’re fired! Now I assume that takes care of everything, guys, doesn’t it?” he pleaded, reaching for another Toblerone bar.

“Not so fast, Greedyguts,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “I think you ought to listen to this. Play the tape, Jacob.”

It was the secretly recorded tape of their first interview with Mr. I.M. Greedyguts.

– If you selected me, I’d be willing to show my appreciation.

– Are you suggesting a bribe?

– Certainly not.

– How much money were you thinking of?

– Ah, you guys will be reasonable, won’t you? I’m not a rich man.

“And that money we photographed you counting in McDonald’s,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “your weekly five-hundred-dollar bribe on the slop Perfectly Loathsome Leo provides your school with, why, that money was marked.”

“Hand it over,” said Jacob Two-Two, “and we’ll show you something.”

“The day has not yet dawned,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, “when I take orders from a little squirt.”

“Hand it over,” said the intrepid Shapiro.

“Right now,” said the fearless O’Toole.

“Yes, sir.”

Examining the portrait of Queen Elizabeth on the Canadian twenty-dollar bill, with the help of a magnifying glass lent to him by Mr. Dinglebat, Mr. I.M. Greedyguts noticed, for the first time, that Her Majesty’s pearl necklace was missing three pearls. Then, peering at a fifty-dollar bill, which featured a portrait of Mackenzie King, he observed that Canada’s late, great prime minister was staring at a crystal ball that had been drawn on the banknote. “Holy smokes, I’ve been framed!” cried Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, his multiple bellies heaving.

“Now, should we phone the Daily Doze?” asked Mr. Dinglebat.

“Or bring back the police?” asked Jacob Two-Two.

“Jacob,” asked a sobbing Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, “how would you like to skip a grade, and take home a report card every month with as many gold stars as your sweet little heart desires?”

“Hmmn,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Hmmn.”

“I’m also willing to do your homework for you.”

“I think you had better call back the police right now, Mr. Dinglebat,” said Jacob Two-Two.

“Couldn’t we talk this over?” asked Mr. I.M. Greedyguts.

“Oh, yes, please,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, falling to his knees.

“Tell them what they have to do, Jacob,” said Mr. Dinglebat.

Jacob Two-Two reached into his pocket for the list.