Zengo climbed out of the squad car, tucked a polo shirt into his khaki shorts, and tied a pastel-green sweater around his neck.
“I look ridiculous,” he said.
The detectives had just pulled up to the docks as the sun rose above the horizon. Pandini had put a construction crew on overnight duty to patch up the docks and get them ready for the expo. Zengo had to hand it to the tycoon-turned-politician: he sure knew how to get things done on a schedule. Food trucks and merchandise tables were already in place, ready for the tens of thousands of Kalamazooians who would be arriving. In fact, nautical buffs were already swarming the shores, setting up chairs to snag the best views of the ships that would soon be pulling into the bay.
“Nobody said undercover work was easy,” said Cooper. She took a blond wig out of a duffle bag and bobby pinned it to her head. She also wore a pleated skirt and a sweater with an anchor woven into the front.
“True,” Zengo said. “At least I don’t look as bad as O’Malley.”
“Watch yer bill, kid!” O’Malley wore a button-down shirt tucked into white pants. He placed a captain’s hat atop his head. “’Tis a wonderful day to raise the sails. Cheerio! Pip-pip!”
“Hey, how long before O’Malley spills mustard on those white pants?” Zengo chuckled.
“I’d put my money on relish first,” said Cooper, laughing.
O’Malley straightened his jacket. “All right, you hyenas, we’re going to split up. Cooper, you take the northern piers. Zengo, you take the south side. I’ll stay here, where the main road exits into the dock area.”
“You mean where all the food vendors will be?” asked Zengo.
“Don’t doubt my tactics, son. I need to make sure none of the food is tainted. Especially the funnel cakes.” O’Malley lifted his binoculars to his eyes and scanned the water. “Looks like Diaz and Lucinni are in position.”
Zengo gazed out to the horizon and spotted the dynamic duo puttering along in a tiny motorboat. It was so small, the two of them barely fit in it.
The detectives donned their sunglasses and made their way to their posts. It wasn’t long before the crowds began to swell. All was quiet across the water, barely a ripple in sight.
One thing was for sure: Pandini wasn’t going to let anybody forget who was putting on this show. Banners hung on every light post, proclaiming, “Kalamazoo City’s Inaugural Sailboat Expo, brought to you by Mayor Frank Pandini Jr.” Still, after the press conference yesterday, it wasn’t Pandini’s black-and-white hide but rather the platypuses’ tails that would be mounted on the wall. With a shudder, Zengo remembered Plazinski’s last words from the day before.
Zengo climbed up on a pier post and tried to make himself comfortable. He tapped his earpiece to make sure that it was secure. “All clear from the south. No sign of the narwhal. Pandini’s podium is set up right near me, over.”
“Roger that. All clear by the access road—yes, that’s right, two dogs with the works . . .”
Zengo shook his head. When O’Malley was ordering, it was never too early for the works.
Over the next hour, the crowd swelled until every pier was filled. The sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in sight, and it was a beautiful day to be down by the water. Even Zengo was excited to see the boats.
And soon there they were, just visible on the horizon. Dozens of yachts, each more majestic than the last. The crowd roared with approval. Their cheers grew even louder when Pandini stepped up to the podium.
“Zengo, do you copy?” It was Diaz’s voice in his ear. He looked out onto the water but didn’t see their boat.
“Roger that, what’s your twenty?” Zengo asked. A pile of seaweed hit the back of his head, followed by loud guffaws.
“Right behind you, rookie. We’ve been out there on the water for hours. We need to use the bathroom. Watch the cruiser for us?” He gestured to the dinky motorboat bobbing next to the dock behind them.
Zengo rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Make it quick, the show is about to start.”
Lucinni saluted Zengo while Diaz tied up the boat. “Thanks, kid!” they said, and took off for the portable toilets.
Zengo turned his attention back to the bay. As the sailboats paraded in formation toward the docks, a small ramshackle vessel weaved erratically in and around the ships. Zengo lifted his sunglasses and put his binoculars up to his eyes. It was a few teenagers in a motorboat. This was not the time to be out for a joyride. The wind was beginning to pick up, making their presence there among the huge boats even riskier. And, he noticed, not one of them was wearing a life jacket.
“Cooper, are you seeing this?” Zengo asked.
“Yup,” she replied. “Diaz and Lucinni, are you on this? Bring these jokers in to shore, will ya?”
“They’re not out there,” said Zengo. “They’re in the darn bathroom.”
“What?” Cooper exclaimed.
Zengo watched tensely as the teens’ boat bobbed higher and higher in the wake of the larger crafts and caught a rolling wave broadside. The boat was very near to capsizing, and if it did, the kids could get pulled under the hull of the nearby yacht. So far, the people on the docks hadn’t spotted them, but they would soon. Zengo had to act quickly.
The small motorboat left behind by the chuckleheaded detectives bobbed in the choppy water behind him. Before he could think twice, he took a deep breath and stepped off the dock and into the boat, his legs shaking. “It’s a standard-issue PPS watercraft,” he told himself. “You’re perfectly safe as long as you stay in the boat.”
He yanked at the motor pull, and it coughed to life. The bow of the boat lurched forward, sending Zengo toppling head over tail into the back of the craft.
“I can do this. I can do this,” said Zengo. It was almost impossible to ignore the fact that he was surrounded by water on all sides.
He glanced up at the teens. Their boat was tossed by the wake, and half of them spilled out into the waves; the other half would soon join them. The crowd finally noticed and began to shout and point. The kids were struggling to keep their heads above the surface. Zengo turned the motor to its highest throttle, hoping he would get to them in time.
The small boat sped along, and that’s when Zengo saw it.
An enormous shadowy mass passed beneath his boat.
Zengo looked ahead to the struggling kids. “Help us!” they called. Zengo had to get to them quickly. He pushed the engine as hard as he could, but it was no use—the speeding shadow bolted forward and a tusk appeared above the surface. Zengo could barely look as the narwhal lowered his head at the kids and the boat beside them.
Screams came from the shore as everyone on the docks saw the tusk. The sailboats turned hard out into open water to avoid the charging narwhal, and they crashed into one another as they tried to navigate away from the docks.
The narwhal had now fully emerged from the water, revealing his face for the entire city to see. There was no mistaking: it was Benny the Tusk.
Zengo pulled out his boomerang.
“Platypus Police Squad! Freeze!”
Whether the narwhal heard or not, he kept rocketing straight toward the sinking teens. To those on the shore, it must have looked as though Benny was about to spear them. But as a huge ship passed between the docks and the drowning kids, Zengo saw the narwhal lift the teens from the sea and place them gently on some nearby rocks.
Zengo’s bill hung open as the large sea beast turned to face him. Was he friend or foe? Zengo couldn’t take any chances.
“Stop swimming and put your fins up!” shouted Zengo. His boomerang was locked on the narwhal’s brow. He had a clear shot. That’s when Benny gave out a guttural, poetic sound. The narwhal bowed his head and then slowly sank beneath the water’s surface. Zengo looked around for a shadow beneath the surface, but he saw nothing. Benny was gone.
Zengo’s reverie was shattered by the deafening sound of wood splintering and screams of terror coming from the docks. Zengo turned to see one of the giant yachts crash into the central pier. Out in the bay, mangled sailboats floated listlessly in the surf. Far off on the horizon, a puff of water was blown into the air.
He restarted the motor and steered his boat over to the stranded teens. As he pulled them aboard, he couldn’t help but wonder: who was Benny the Tusk, really? And what was he doing here?
