Benjamin Franklinstein Meets the Fright Brothers (7 page)

The brothers were standing on the doorstep. He tried to slam the door ...

. . . but somehow the brothers were already inside!

“Where is it?”
the older brother growled.

“Wh-what?” Scott stammered.

“Where . . . is . . . it?”
he repeated. The two men advanced toward the boys.

“I don't know what you mean.” Victor's voice trembled. “Where's
what
?”

“The noise!”
demanded the younger brother.
“What made the noise? It hurt! It hurt so much! We must . . .”

“
. . .
DESTROY IT!”
the older brother finished, creeping closer.

Their ashen faces were now only inches away, their breath cold and musty. Victor squeezed his eyes shut. Scott guarded his neck with his hands.

The door at the top of the stairs swung open.

“Is everything all right?” Franklin boomed. He glared down at the brothers. “Gentlemen, it is time for you to take your leave.”

The air crackled with static. Victor felt an electric shock run up his spine.

The two men reeled back, and Franklin's knees buckled. He stumbled down the stairs, clutching the banister for support. Scott rushed up to help.

The brothers staggered backward out the door and down the porch. Victor slammed the door shut and locked it. Through the window, he watched the two men teetering blindly down the street.

“Ben, are you okay?” said Victor.

Franklin shivered and slumped back against the stairs.

“What just happened?” asked Franklin.

“I'm not sure,” said Victor, “but I have a bad feeling about those two.”

“What two?” asked Franklin.

“The brothers from the bike shop,” said Scott. “Don't you remember anything?”

“I remember some muffins. They were delicious.”

“Let's get you back to your place,” said Victor.

The two boys steadied the old man as he hobbled into his apartment and settled onto the couch. They explained to him everything that had just happened.

“That was too close,” said Victor. “If you hadn't come along when you did—”

“Yeah, what was that all about?” said Scott. “As soon as Ben showed up, it felt just like when I touch the electric fence at the zoo. I forget, does electricity repel vampires?”

“They're
not
vampires,” said Victor. “But I have to admit, there is something very strange about them.”

Franklin held his hands in front of him, wiggling his fingers as if to make sure they still worked. “Why do you suppose they came here? What were they looking for?”

“Some kind of sound,” said Victor. “They wanted to destroy it. But we didn't make any sound.”

“I did, remember?”

Victor and Franklin turned to Scott.

“I mean, I was just thinking,” said Scott, “when my grandfather's radio made that noise, Ben tried to destroy it. Maybe
they
heard it too.”

Victor shook his head. “I don't think so. When the radio fell into the harmonic fluid, it must have been changed somehow. Ben is affected by the radio because of his unique biology. He's powered by harmonic fluid.”

“Unless,” said Franklin, “my biology is not so unique.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps the brothers are also powered by harmonic fluid. That might explain the strange reaction in the stairway.”

Scott scratched his head. “But I thought only people in the Modern Order of Prometheus had that stuff inside them.”

“So did I,” said Franklin. “I think it's our turn to pay the brothers a visit.”

The next morning,
Victor, Scott, and Franklin set off for the bike shop. Scott pedaled ahead as Franklin struggled to remain upright on his bike. The oversized training wheels Victor had installed on both front and back axles were the only things keeping him anywhere close to vertical. Was it possible he was actually getting
worse
with practice?

Yet Franklin refused to give up—he was determined to conquer what he called “the devil's contraption.” Victor brought up the rear, walking and pushing his own mangled bike.

“It is unfortunate that you crashed your bicycle in your rush to reach the electrophone,” Franklin said, “but you must admit, it provides a perfect excuse for visiting the repair shop.”

At the corner, Victor called for Scott to wait while he checked his map. The bike shop was close, and he wanted to get his bearings before they arrived.

“Look, there's my dad,” said Scott. He waved his arms. “Dad! Over here!”

Victor groaned. Across the street, an enormous foam bicycle seat was handing out pamphlets to passersby. The seat had arms, legs, and Skip Weaver's face smack-dab in the middle, where a giant biker's butt would sit.
This
was WURP's chief meteorologist?

“Hey, buddy!” said the seat. “How's it going?”

“We don't have time for this,” Victor whispered to Ben. “We're on a mission.”

“Mister Weaver!” Franklin called. “Good morning to you!”

Franklin and Scott wheeled their bikes across the street. Reluctantly, Victor followed.

“Dad, you remember my friends Victor and Mr. Frank—er, Mr.
Benjamin
? Mr. Frank Benjamin?”

“Sure do,” said Skip, handing each of them a pamphlet. “How are you fellas doing today? Interested in a free tune-up for those bikes? Special deal, one day only.”

“As a matter of fact, we are,” said Victor. “Are you working for the Right Cycle Company?”

“Just some temporary promo work to help the guys get the business off the ground. Standard celebrity stuff.”

Victor couldn't help thinking that dressed as a giant seat, Skip Weaver didn't look much like a celebrity.

“Also, the station's making me pay them back for the camera I broke a few days ago.”

“I remember—when you made the sun chase the clouds away!” Franklin chuckled. “That was most entertaining.”

“Then it was all worth it!”

“Tell me, Mr. Weaver,” asked Franklin. “Are cameras expensive?”

Skip Weaver's smile disappeared. “You have no idea.” He slumped down onto a step, but his foam rubber suit bounced him back up.

“Stupid costume!” Skip complained. “I can't even sit down.”

There was an awkward silence. Finally, Victor said, “Well, we really should be going now.”

“Of course,” Skip said. “Enjoy your day, boys. Nice seeing you again, Mr. Benjamin.”

Around the corner, Victor paused.

“The bike shop is on the next block. It's unlikely the brothers remember any more about their visit to our house than you do, Ben. Just the same, we'd better play it safe. Scott, do you have the disguises?”

“Right here.” He pulled two wigs from a brown paper bag and held them up for inspection. “Do you want long hair or curly?”

“I'll take curly.” Victor carefully pulled the wig over his own hair. “Technically, it's the most dissimilar to my own hair. Plus, since I'm wearing my old glasses, it will—hey, what's so funny?”

“Nothing, my boy,” said Franklin, struggling to maintain his composure. “You look fine, just like . . . like . . .”

“Like an old lady!” finished Scott. At that, both he and Franklin burst into howls of laughter.

“Very funny,” said Victor dryly. “All right, Scott. Let's see what
you
look like.”

Scott pulled his wig over his head, and Franklin stopped laughing almost immediately.

“Oh, my. Scott, that does make you look distinguished. Bravo.”

“Whatever,” grumbled Victor. “Ben, remember to keep your distance from the brothers.”

“I'll wait for you across the street,” Franklin said. “Be careful, boys.”

It was easy to spot the Right Cycle Company. Dozens of customers with bikes snaked out the door and down the block. Victor and Scott joined the back of the line.

“I don't get it,” said Scott. “How are they going to make any money fixing all these bikes for free? It'll take them forever.”

“I was wondering the same thing,” said Victor. “It doesn't add up.”

The line moved much more quickly than they expected, and before long, they were inside. Aside from all the people, the store was strangely empty. There were no helmets, bike pumps, or even bicycles for sale. Only a long counter at the back, behind which the brothers rapidly checked in customers.

Something was wrong. The brothers weren't just fast, they were
too
fast, moving with the precision of robots. The younger brother handled the paperwork, filling out forms with his left hand while simultaneously sorting and filing with his right. Meanwhile, the older brother collected the bikes and wheeled them through a door to a room in the back. Victor did a quick estimate. In just one morning, they would easily take in hundreds, maybe a thousand bikes. But why?

Victor adjusted his wig and tried to look manly. At home, the disguises had seemed like a good idea. But now, so close to the brothers, it all just felt foolish. These men were dangerous.

“Next!”

The sound of the younger brother's voice snapped Victor back to reality. He stepped forward and handed over his bike.

“Name?”

Victor froze. Why hadn't he thought to prepare a fake name? Of course they would ask. “John,” he sputtered. “John, uh . . . uh . . .”

“Johnson!” added Scott.

“Telephone number?”

Automatically, Victor rattled off the digits of his cell phone number. By the time he realized his mistake, the brother had moved on to the next customer.

Outside, the boys paused to discuss what had just happened.

“Why'd you give them your real phone number?” asked Scott. “Do you want them to call us?”

Victor winced. “Of course not. I just ... I panicked.”

“That's okay. I don't think they recognized us.”