Jacob Two-Two-'S First Spy Case, Page 3

  “If you don’t care for your school lunches why don’t you do something about it?”

  “Me?” Jacob Two-Two asked, startled. “But I’m so little.”

  “We will only help you once you’ve learned to help yourself,” said the fearless O’Toole.

  “You’re no longer a baby,” said the intrepid Shapiro.

  There was only one thing for it now, thought Jacob Two-Two. He would have to take his problem to his new friend, Mr. Dinglebat. But as he approached the house next door, he noticed a huge yellow balloon tied to the trunk of the maple tree on the front lawn. That meant Mr. Dinglebat was away on a secret and undoubtedly dangerous mission, and there was no saying when he would return. Whatever am I going to do? thought Jacob Two-Two, trudging home for dinner. Whatever am I going to do?

  CHAPTER 9

  he next morning at Privilege House, Miss Sour Pickle caught Jacob Two-Two daydreaming during geography class. Sneaking up behind him, she demanded, “Jacob Two-Two, I want you to tell me the names of the capital cities of Fiji, Taiwan, and Liberia before I count to five. Onetwothreefourfive.”

  “Don’t know,” said Jacob Two-Two twice.

  “In that case, you will stay in for an hour after school today,” she said, smiling sweetly.

  Hiding behind a locker about an hour later, Mr. I.M. Greedyguts saw Mickey Horowitz reach into his jacket pocket to unwrap a bagel smothered in cream cheese. Mickey was just about to bite into it when the headmaster pounced. “Mustn’t spoil your appetite for lunch,” he said, snatching it away and popping it into his own mouth.

  At lunch, Mr. I.M. Greedyguts rose from his multi-pillowed throne at the head table, burped loudly, wiped his three wobbly chins on his sleeve, and called out, “What do we say before we start pigging it, boys?”

  “THREE CHEERS FOR MR. I.M. GREEDYGUTS, FROM WHOM ALL GOOD THINGS FLOW!” they chorused back.

  For lunch the boys were served soup made from hot water poured over a carrot, followed by rubbery chicken legs with boiled potatoes that were raw in the middle and, for dessert, gluey rice pudding; and Jacob Two-Two was served two portions of each, which just about made him sick to his stomach.

  “Poor Jacob,” said Miss Lapointe.

  Meanwhile, Mr. I.M. Greedyguts devoured a whole roast turkey with chestnut stuffing, washed down with a bottle of champagne, and followed by an entire cheesecake. Staggering to his feet, yawning, he said, “I am not to be disturbed for the next hour,” and then he waddled out of the dining hall.

  At three o’clock Mr I.M. Greedyguts came upon Chris Lucas reaching into his locker for a can of Coca-Cola. “I’ll take that,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, gulping it down.

  When Jacob Two-Two got home that day, his stomach still aching, he was told that a letter had arrived for him. The envelope was empty, just as he expected. But, with Marfa’s help, he heated a kettle and steamed the stamp off the envelope. Then he was able to read the secret message underneath. “Back Friday. X. Barnaby Dinglebat, Master Spy.”

  CHAPTER 10

  hen Jacob Two-Two’s mother pulled into their driveway on Friday afternoon, after driving him home from school, Jacob was delighted to notice not six, but five pineapples set out on Mr. Dinglebat’s front doorstep. “I’m going to visit Mr. Dinglebat now, Mummy,” he said.

  “Are you sure he won’t mind your dropping in just like that?”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure.”

  Poor Mr. Dinglebat was in a state. He had, he told Jacob Two-Two, recently invested a good deal of money in buying Canadian military secrets, and now he was stuck with them. “No customers,” he said.

  Mr. Dinglebat showed Jacob Two-Two the ad he had placed in The Certified Snooper’s Monthly Journal:

  ONCE IN A LIFETIME OFFER

  BUY ONE CANADIAN MILITARY SECRET

  GET ONE FREE!!!

  Write to X. Barnaby Dinglebat

  Master Spy

  But there were no offers. “Not even a nibble,” said Mr. Dinglebat. “But, fortunately, my dear boy, I have another source of funds. Wait for me here.”

  Mr. Dinglebat retreated into his dressing room and, when he emerged again, he was wearing an Afro wig, an earring, mirrored sunglasses, a sheepskin vest, numerous gold chains, purple trousers, and yellow platform shoes. “In this outfit,” he said, “nobody will give me a second look downtown, and that’s where we’re headed. I can now safely join the passing parade, where I will appear to be merely another misunderstood, unappreciated teenager, who is getting no satisfaction, to quote the teenagers’ great poet, Mr. Mick Jagger.”

  They walked as far as the Royal Bank of Canada building on Sherbrooke Street. “Is there anybody following us?” whispered Mr. Dinglebat.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure, Jacob?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are there no unmarked police patrol cars or low-flying army helicopters in sight?”

  “No.”

  “Come with me, then, dear boy. Quickly!”

  They entered the bank’s lobby.

  “You see this thing there?” said Mr. Dinglebat. “That’s my personal, top-secret, state-of-the-art, money-making machine. Watch this.”

  Mr. Dinglebat turned around three times, clapped his hands twice, stood on his head, kicking his heels, then righted himself and inserted a plastic card into the machine, punched out some numbers, and recited:

  “Abracadabra,

  kalamazoo,

  let’s have some cash,

  to treat Jacob Two-Two.”

  Next he told Jacob Two-Two to close his eyes and count to ten backwards, and, when Jacob opened his eyes again, Mr. Dinglebat was holding a handful of money. “Holy mackerel,” said Mr. Dinglebat, “c’est vraiment incroyable! It’s wunderbar! Magnifico! We now possess sufficient loot to hire a charabanc to transport us to Schwartz’s delicatessen on the roaring Main, and get us some piping-hot, luscious smoked-meat sandwiches on rye, with golden French fries and sour pickles on the side. But first, amigo,” he said, pointing to the phone, “you must phone your mater to request permission to accompany me on this expedition.”

  Jacob Two-Two’s mother said it was okay, so he and Mr. Dinglebat took a taxi to Schwartz’s and walked backwards together through the front door, just in case they were being followed by enemy agents, who would then think they were leaving, rather than entering.

  Only after they had eaten their fill did Mr. Dinglebat notice that Jacob Two-Two seemed sad. “You appear triste, compañero mio,” he said. “Down in the mouth. Out of sorts. What ails you, dear boy?”

  “Tonight’s the night of my father’s weekly poker game.”

  “Surely you wouldn’t deny your esteemed papa an evening’s amusement?”

  “It’s not that,” said Jacob Two-Two. “It means Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse will be coming to our house.”

  “I take it you are not favorably disposed to this gentleman?”

  Jacob Two-Two explained that Perfectly Loathsome Leo was always playing nasty tricks on him and, furthermore, he had recently been hired by Privilege House’s new headmaster, the dreaded Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, to provide their school lunches. And those lunches were either tasteless, horrible, or disgusting, depending on the day of the week. “Robby, Chris, Mickey, and I told our parents about it,” said Jacob Two-Two, “but they either laughed, or said we were lucky to be at such an expensive school, or said we were exaggerating. But we aren’t. Honestly.”

  “I see.”

  “If only a man like you, a real master spy, could help us to do something about it, Mr. Dinglebat, why I would mow your lawn every week and run errands for you.”

  “If we are going to mount an operation to do something about your school meals, it will require some thought. Some advance planning.”

  “Then you will help us, Mr. Dinglebat!”

  “I’ll think about it. But, meanwhile, mon vieux, I hope you realize that it is not for nothing that your friend is internationally renowned, feared by villains in Europe, Asia, America
North and South, and the East Near and Far. Let me tell you how I once escaped the death of a thousand cuts that was to be administered by the Sultan of Morocco’s personal guard. There I was, tied hand and foot, watching the swordsmen sharpen their weapons, when the sultan asked, ‘Any last words, Dinglebat?’ ‘Sultan,’ I said, ‘if I were to put in your hands a trick that would enable you to win sacks of gold, as well as amaze your friends, if you have any, would you spare my life?’ ‘Yes,’ he said. So I taught him how to play the Clairvoyant’s Gamble, and here I am to tell the tale.”

  “What’s a clair-voy-ant?” asked Jacob Two-Two twice.

  “It’s somebody who can see things concealed from the sight of ordinary mortals, and it’s by playing the Clairvoyant’s Gamble, Jacob, that you will make Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse look foolish tonight.”

  “How?” asked Jacob Two-Two, eager for revenge, no matter what the risk. “How?”

  Lowering his voice to a whisper, Mr. Dinglebat explained.

  “But what if it doesn’t work?” asked Jacob Two-Two.

  “It’s fail-safe, 100-per-cent guaranteed, my dear boy.”

  “I could get nervous and mix things up.”

  “But it is also a gamble.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Good. Because no secret agent worthy of his name ever went into action without being frightened. Now we will practice the procedures together all the way home. Okay?”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  “And then, Jacob, do as I instruct you, and we shall prevail tonight. Promise?”

  “Promise,” said Jacob Two-Two, gulping twice. He was worried, very worried, because he was still a little boy who never got anything right. Ask Noah. Ask Emma.

  Ask anybody.

  CHAPTER 11

  ll the poker players had arrived by the time Jacob Two-Two got home, but they hadn’t started their game yet. “Hiya there, Jacob,” sang out Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse. “I was just telling the gang that you enjoy my school meals so much you insist on double portions every day.” And then he laughed heartily at his own joke.

  Jacob Two-Two retreated to the kitchen, where he was soon joined by Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, delighted to catch him alone. “I brought you a present,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo. “Put out your hand and close your eyes.”

  An apprehensive Jacob Two-Two did as he was asked, and then Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse popped a wet slippery peach pit out of his mouth and dumped it into Jacob Two-Two’s hand. “Tricked you again, didn’t I? Now be a good kid and drop that in the garbage.”

  Jacob Two-Two got rid of the disgusting peach pit, washed his hands, and then entered the living room. His heart thumping, he said, “Now I’d like to show you a trick, Mr. Louse.”

  “Ho ho ho. That’s rich,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, winking at the other card players. “What kind of trick, kid?”

  “A card trick,” said Jacob Two-Two. “A card trick.”

  “Wowee!”

  As everybody, including Daniel, Noah, Emma, and Marfa, watched, Jacob Two-Two lifted the deck of cards off the poker table.

  “I want you to pick a card,” said Jacob Two-Two, as the others gathered round, “any card. Show it to me, and then I will phone my friend the Clair-voy-ant, and he will tell you which card you picked.” And to himself, Jacob Two-Two added, please, please, let this work.

  “Oh, yeah? Great,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse. “How much money have you got on you?”

  “Don’t tell him, Jake,” said Noah.

  “A dollar eighty-five,” said Jacob Two-Two.

  “Okay. I’ll bet you a dollar you can’t do that.”

  “Don’t do it, Jake,” said Marfa.

  “Leave my kid brother alone,” said Emma.

  “Do I need the kid’s dollar?” asked Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse. “No.” Then, turning to the other poker players, he said, “I’m just trying to make things interesting.” Next, Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse picked a card and showed it to Jacob Two-Two. It was the seven of hearts.

  Jacob Two-Two, his heart pounding even harder, went to the phone and dialed the number he had memorized. “Hello,” he said, his voice trembling just a little, “can you tell me if Mr. Clair-voy-ant is there, please?”

  There was a pause.

  “Is that you, sir?”

  There was another pause.

  “Somebody would like to speak to you,” said Jacob Two-Two twice.

  “This is going to be good,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse. Wiggling his eyebrows at the others, he scooped up the receiver, all smiles, and barked, “Okay, Mr. Clairvoyant, what’s the card I’m holding?” And he held the receiver away from his ear so that the others could listen in.

  Eerie, outer-space music could be heard over the phone.

  “This is the Clairvoyant,” said a man in a low, menacing voice. “Only the Clairvoyant knows where the dinosaurs have gone; why the earth continues to go round the sun, which must be boring, considering how many trips it has already made; and how many glasses of water there are in the Atlantic Ocean. The Clairvoyant can interpret the past and predict the future. I also sell Canadian military secrets at bargain prices. Your card, amigo, is the seven of hearts.”

  “Atta boy, Jake,” said one of the poker players, slapping him on the back.

  “Way to go, kid,” said another player.

  As everybody roared with laughter, Perfectly Loathsome Leo, his cheeks burning red, slammed down the phone and turned on Jacob Two-Two. “Okay, you were lucky once,” he snarled. “But I’ll bet you can’t do it again.”

  “Shouldn’t you pay up first?” asked Jacob Two-Two’s father.

  Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse dug into his pocket for his thick wallet and dropped three dollars on the table. “We’re going for double or nothing. If you can do it again, Jacob, four dollars will be yours,” he said, “but, if not, all the money is mine.”

  “You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to,” said Jacob Two-Two’s father.

  “I want to. I want to.”

  Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse picked another card, the jack of clubs, and showed it to Jacob Two-Two. Then he watched closely, as Jacob dialed the number again.

  “Sorry,” said Jacob Two-Two, “but may I speak with Mr. Clair-voy-ant again?”

  There was a pause.

  “Hello. Is that you, sir?”

  Another pause.

  “Somebody wants to talk to you.”

  Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse took the receiver and clamped it to his ear.

  “Hey, no cheating,” said one of the poker players.

  “Yeah, hold that phone away from your ear,” said another player, “so that we can hear what the Clairvoyant has to say.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  The eerie music began to play again, and then the low, menacing voice was heard: “The Clairvoyant knows if there is life on other planets; why wolves howl at the full moon; and how many miles per hour angels can fly on stormy nights. Beware of the Clairvoyant who can catch comets and throw lightning bolts. Your card, hombre, is the jack of clubs.”

  Everybody began to cheer.

  “All right, then,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, slamming down the receiver and forcing himself to smile.

  “Hey, Leo, go look in the mirror.”

  “Yeah, take a look at your face.”

  “I’ve never seen a tomato that red.”

  “The money is yours, Jacob,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, glaring at him, “for being such a clever little fellow.”

  Then Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse sat down to the poker table and quickly lost the first hand. The other players were hard put to control their glee.

  “Poor Leo.”

  “Made to look like a monkey by an eight-year-old.”

  A rattled Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse lost money on the next hand as well.

  “Hey, Leo, what’s the matter with you tonight?” said a player, gathering up all the
money in the pot.

  “Maybe you ought to consult the Clairvoyant before we play the next hand.”

  “Very funny. Ho ho ho,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse, and, to himself, he added, You made me look like a fool, Jacob-Two-Two. And I’ll get you for this, oh yes I will.

  That night Jacob Two-Two skipped off to bed happily, unaware that he had made an enemy, and that there was real trouble in store for him. I did it, he thought. I got something right. I got something right even though I’m still little and have to say everything twice, because nobody hears what I say the first time.

  (If you want to know how Jacob Two-Two did that trick, and how you, too, can amaze your friends by playing the Clairvoyant’s Gamble, turn to page 161, but not yet, please.)

  CHAPTER 12

  ’m going to fix that brat, that lousy little cheater, that eight-year-old swindler!” bellowed Perfectly Loathsome Leo Louse when he got home after the poker game. “If it’s the last thing I do!”

  He was speaking to his eighty-five-year-old mother, with whom he lived in the basement of an apartment building they owned in the old neighborhood. The sign outside read:

  ABSOLUTELY NO CHILDREN ALLOWED HERE. NO PETS, EITHER.

  RENTS PAID IN ADVANCE CASH ONLY.

  Old Mrs. Louse was seated in her rocking chair in the furnace room, the only well-heated room in the entire building. “How much money did you win tonight, my sweetie-poo?” she demanded eagerly.

  “I lost ninety-seven of our hard-earned dollars,” said Perfectly Loathsome Leo, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he explained how Jacob Two-Two, that boy criminal, that unspeakable stinker, had so upset him with his trickery, that he had been unable to concentrate on his cards.

  “Why, that’s terrible,” said Mrs. Louse, even as her fifty-two-year-old son climbed onto her lap, sniffling and sucking his thumb. “My poor uggams,” she said, stroking his shiny bald head.

  It was just about impossible to move within the crowded furnace room. There was a mound of their tenants’ green garbage bags, which they hadn’t had time to go through yet, searching for treasures. All the magazines they found, for instance, were stacked in a special pile until they were at least a month old, by which time they became acceptable to doctors and dentists, who bought them for a few pennies each to be placed in their waiting rooms. There were also ceiling-high stacks of old newspapers waiting to be sold, and empty Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and beer bottles lined up here, there, and everywhere.