THIRTEEN FREDS, THIRTEEN PAIRS OF UNDERWEAR
The TV was on when Melvin arrived back at his tree house. The Adventures of Thunderman was long over, and Hugo the rat was now watching the local news.
Melvin could hardly believe his eyeballs. There on the TV screen he saw Fred of The Grateful Fred, handcuffed and yelling to the reporters, “You can’t do this to me! I’m innocent. Melvin Beederman, help me!”
A moment later Melvin’s phone rang. It was Fred. They’d given him one phone call and this was it.
Melvin listened to Fred and watched the TV at the same time. In his ear he heard that Fred was innocent, but what he saw with his own eyes was a whole other story. The bank robbery was caught on tape. So was the car theft. The reporter said that even the fingerprints matched. It was an open-and-shut case. Fred was going to prison for a long time.
But in his ear Fred was pleading his case. “I can’t explain what you’re seeing on the TV,” Fred said, “but that is not me. Something funky is going on. Melvin, I need your help.”
It was hard to say no to his favorite rock and roller. Just talking to Fred made “Yeah, Yeah, Baby” pop into Melvin’s head.
“Can you help me, Melvin?” Fred asked. “Will you?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, yes, I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Melvin hung up. There were still a few more names on the list to go through. He and Candace would get cracking first thing after math.
* * *
The next day, they raced through Candace’s math homework. Melvin was in a hurry to clear Fred’s good name. Candace was not so sure.
“It looked an awful lot like him on TV, Melvin. Fingerprints and everything.”
“Call it a hunch,” Melvin said. “Something funky is going on.”
“A hunch? Is that anything like noggin power?”
“Kind of.” Melvin took out his list and looked at it. “Goofball McClusky. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
They went to the address on the receipt. It was an enormous double-decker lair. Candace couldn’t help herself. She started drooling. Melvin knocked on the door.
Goofball McClusky opened it. Behind him, they saw steam rising.
“Look,” Candace whispered, “a double-decker lair with a Jacuzzi! All I have is a lousy bedroom.”
“Shhh,” Melvin said and turned to Goofball. “Mr. McClusky, where were you on the night of The Grateful Fred concert?”
“I was working, of course. Robbed a few jewelry stores on Rodeo Drive.”
“Oh, you were just robbing jewelry stores.”
“Yes, it was a good night. I’m thinking of upgrading to a triple-decker lair.”
“Triple decker!” Candace said with wide eyes.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. McClusky,” Melvin said. He turned to leave, pulling Candace with him.
“Did you hear that, Melvin? A triple-decker lair!”
“Focus, Candace,” Melvin told her. “We have work to do.” He pulled out his list of names and looked at it. “Only one more left, Joe the Bad Guy. Let’s hope this last one is our man.”
They went to Joe the Bad Guy’s lair and knocked on the door. Joe answered.
“Hello, I’m Melvin—”
“Melvin Beederman. Come in, come in,” Joe said with a smirk. “Can I offer you a root beer?”
Melvin’s ears perked. Root beer was his favorite. Candace’s too. “I’d love a root beer.”
“Help yourselves,” Joe said.
Melvin and Candace went to the fridge, opened the door, and—BOLOGNA! It was their only weakness. And the whole fridge was packed with it.
The partners in uncrime fell to their knees.
“Can’t … move … get … me … out … of … here.”
Joe laughed. “I was hoping you’d show up, Melvin Beederman.”
Melvin looked at Candace. “I can’t believe I fell for it,” he gasped. “The old bologna-in-the-refrigerator trick.”
Joe the Bad Guy grabbed some rope and tied their hands behind their backs. Then he bound their feet, his smirk getting bigger by the second. Melvin and Candace knew it would do no good to resist, not with the bologna right there in front of them.
“Looks like Fred will be in jail for many years to come, thanks to the Clone-o-Matic 6000,” Joe said with a kind of mean laugh (he still hadn’t read the book on evil ones). “Well, I’m off to dispose of the extra Freds.”
He went to a door in the back of the lair and opened it. “Guys,” he called, “let’s go. And turn off the TV.” He turned to Melvin and Candace. “They love watching The Adventures of Thunderman.”
Joe stepped back and suddenly the room was filled with Freds, each one the spitting image of the original. Thirteen Freds, thirteen pairs of underwear. Poor Melvin!
“Roll call,” Joe said. “Fred?”
“Here.”
“Fred?”
“Here.”
He went through all thirteen of them. To Melvin and Candace he said, “Once these Freds are history there will be no evidence. The real Fred will be blamed. And I will be long gone.”
The Freds went outside and loaded themselves into a van.
Joe stayed inside and struck a match. “Looks like I won’t be needing this lair anymore.” He tossed the burning match into a wastebasket and kicked it over, spreading flames across the floor. “Adios, amigos,” he said, then he ran for the van and took off.
Candace turned to Melvin as the flames spread to the furniture and drapes. “What do we do now?”
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m not the narrator.”