Jacob Two-Two-'s First Spy Case (10 page)

obble, gobble, gobble. An enraged Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, breathing fire, zipped through breakfast in his office at a record pace: a stack of lamb chops, six scrambled eggs, hash browns, and croissants were washed down with a family-sized bottle of Coca-Cola, and were followed by two chocolate éclairs topped with three scoops of strawberry ice cream. “I'm so upset this morning,” he said, glaring at Jacob Two-Two's parents, “that I've lost my appetite.”

“I can see that,” said Jacob Two-Two's father.

“You don't understand,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts.
“I woke up with my stomach rumbling, because I had to go without a decent dinner last night.”

“Why, Monty,” said an aggrieved Miss Sour Pickle, “how could you?”

“Sorry. Forgot. Don't know what I was saying. But now I'm bound to suffer from indigestion for the rest of the day.”

“No wonder,” said Jacob Two-Two's mother.

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts belched twice, farted once, and then pointed a finger thick as a sausage at Jacob Two-Two. “All because this hoodlum,” he said, “this criminal born and bred, sneaked out of his bed after midnight last night, phoned the police, and was responsible for a
SWAT
team hitting Miss Sour Pickle's apartment.”

Miss Sour Pickle wiped tears from her eyes. “There I was in my nightie,” she said, “when they broke down my door.”

“This poor, dedicated woman,” said the dreaded Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “This dear soul could have died of a heart attack, and that stinker, your son, would have been guilty of cold-blooded, premeditated, first-, second-, third-, or fourth-degree murder. How about that?”

“I didn't do it,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I didn't do it.”

“Liar, liar, liar!” shouted Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, banging his fist against his desk.

“Now hold on a minute,” said Jacob Two-Two's father.

“If Jacob Two-Two says he didn't do it,” said his mother, “he didn't do it.”

“You would say that, being his mother,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts.

“Our children were brought up to tell the truth, no matter what,” said Jacob Two-Two's mother.

“Fiddlesticks,” said Miss Sour Pickle. “Stuff and nonsense. I expect you to pay for my new door, and the treatment prescribed by my doctor to deal with my state of shock.”

“And what did your doctor prescribe?” asked Jacob Two-Two's father.

“A round-the-world cruise,” said Miss Sour Pickle, “where I could kick up my heels on long nights, dancing the boog-a-loo, the boogie-woogie, the conga, and the tango, and, of course,” she said, smoothing her tartanplaid skirt, “improve my knowledge of geography.”

“But I didn't
do it!
” said Jacob Two-Two. “It was somebody
pretending
to be me.”

“Blah blah blah,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts. “You
will stay in after school for the next two months to wash blackboards, clean toilets, sweep the schoolyard, and perform other necessary chores.”

“But what if he's innocent?” asked Jacob Two-Two's mother.

“Furthermore,” said Mr. I.M. Greedyguts, looking directly at Jacob Two-Two's father, “I expect you to punish him in a proper manner at home. If you don't own a strap, I can lend you mine. Wham, wham, wham!”

“Look here,” said Jacob Two-Two's father, “We don't need your advice about how to bring up our children.” Then, turning to Jacob, he said, “Jake, would you leave the room, please. I would like to have a word with your esteemed headmaster.”

Jacob did as he was asked.

“A round-the-world cruise,” sang out Miss Sour Pickle, “where I could dance the cha-cha-cha, the jig, the fox-trot, the can-can, the polka, the lindy-hop, and rock 'n' roll by the light of the silvery moon with the man of my dreams.”

Mr. I.M. Greedyguts blushed.

“Look here, Miss Sour Pickle,” said Jacob Two-Two's father, “if you are intent on a round-the-world
cruise, you had better start saving your pennies, because I wouldn't even consider paying your taxi fare to the ship. As for you, Greedyguts, let me tell you Jacob may be many things, but stupid isn't one of them. Has it ever occurred to you that if he were to make such a phone call he is far too bright to have given the police his name?”

“All the evidence points to your son as the guilty party.”

“Okay,” said Jacob Two-Two's father, “let's say, for the sake of argument, that Jacob did make that phone call, not that I'm admitting it for a minute … but weren't you ever a mischievous little boy?”

“Why, when I was a shining morning face, I never played with anything but educational toys. I didn't read comic books, or even waste time watching hockey games on television.”

“Which have become increasingly violent,” said Miss Sour Pickle in a disapproving voice, “setting a bad example.”

“The report I brought home from school every month had a gold star pasted to it. I was a Queen's Scout. I won the Junior Red Cross Hygiene Badge. I never ate with my elbows on the table, or peed on the
toilet seat,
or stuck out my tongue at the school headmaster behind his back
.”

“I caught your son at it,” said Miss Sour Pickle to Jacob Two-Two's father.

“And, as an adult, I'm proud to say, I have never indulged in bad language, tobacco, or hard liquor. I don't even jaywalk. I floss my teeth every morning without fail. And now, if you don't mind, I am a very busy headmaster. Case dismissed.”

“Before I'm through with you, Greedyguts, you're the one who may be dismissed.”

“Oh, yeah. What for?”

“For not being qualified to have children entrusted to your care.”

“Ha ha ha. Ho ho ho. You just happen to be looking at a man who will shortly be featured on the cover of
Ginsburg's
, Canada's National Magazine, named Outstanding School Headmaster of the Year. And now, will you please leave my office at once?”

“I will,” said Jacob Two-Two's father. “But you'll be hearing from me.”

CHAPTER 19

hat afternoon, Jacob was picked up from school by a neighbor, as previously arranged by his parents, who were watching Noah in a basketball game at his school. There, waiting in front of Jacob Two-Two's house, reading comic books, were three policemen.

“I'm Law,” said one.

“I'm Order,” said another.

“And I,” said the third, his chest thrust forward, “am the Officer-in-Charge.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And you, you little squirt,” said Law.

“– must be the notorious Jacob Two-Two,” said Order.

“Confess.”

“Admit it.”

“Don't you dare deny it,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

“But I didn't. I didn't,” said Jacob Two-Two.

“You are charged,” said Law.

“– with interrupting our beauty rest last night,” said Order.

“And making a phone call,” said the Officer-in-Charge, “that required us to go out on a wild-goose chase, breaking into Miss Sour Pickle's apartment. That is a criminal offense.”

“I didn't make that phone call!” said Jacob Two-Two twice.

“A likely,” said Law.

“– story,” said Order.

“And in due course,” said the Officer-in-Charge, “you may be obliged …”

“– to appear in juvenile court,” said Law.

“– before Mr. Justice Rough,” said Order.

“– who believes that all children,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

“– are guilty,” said Law.

“– unless proven,” said Order.

“– innocent,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

“When my father comes home,” said a frightened Jacob Two-Two, “I'm going to tell him everything you said.”

A sudden change came over Law, Order, and the Officer-in-Charge.

“Why, you pint-sized criminal,” said Law, turning pale, “are you …”

“– threatening us?” asked Order, retreating a step.

“He sure is,” said the Officer-in-charge, “and that's not very nice.”

“It's horrid.”

“Shame on you.”

“Bully.”

Emboldened, Jacob Two-Two pointed at the first car to turn the corner. “There comes my bad-tempered, mean, two-fisted father right now,” he said.

“It's every man for himself,” said the Officer-in-Charge.

And Law, Order, and the Officer-in-Charge raced for their car, stumbling, leading with the elbows,
shoving, and pinching, each one trying to get into the driver's seat.

“It's my turn to drive,” said Law, kicking Order in the shin.

“No, it's mine,” said Order, pulling Law's cap down over his eyes.

“Forget it,” said the Officer-in-Charge, bopping both of them over the head with his nightstick. “I will be driving.”

And Law, Order, and the Officer-in-Charge stumbled into their car and were about to drive off, when Jacob Two-Two rapped on the window.

“What is it now?” asked the Officer-in-Charge, lowering his window.

“According to every police
TV
show I've ever seen,” said Jacob Two-Two, “if an emergency call is made to the station, a record is made of the phone number the call came from.”

“Are you trying to teach us,” asked Law.

“– our own business?” said Order.

“Smarty-pants,” said the Officer-in-Charge, and then the car roared off, brakes squealing.

But they had only gone a couple of blocks when the Officer-in-Charge said, “Maybe we should look into it.”

“Tomorrow,” said Law, yawning.

“Or the day after,” said Order, beginning to snore in the back seat.

A brooding Jacob Two-Two was still outside, raking autumn leaves, the first to fall, when he looked up and saw a parachute descending onto the next-door lawn. His heart leaped. It was Mr. Dinglebat, wearing a general's uniform. As soon as he had landed safely, Jacob Two-Two helped him gather in his chute. “Boy, am I ever glad to see you, Mr. Dinglebat!”