Molly Moon & the Monster Music (15 page)

“Where are Gerry and Petula?” Rocky asked, knowing full well that they were safe in the van with Sobo and the sumo master.

“Who knows?!” Molly answered. “Who cares?!” she added, cracking open a can of mineral water.

Rocky observed her coolly. “I know someone who knows,” he said. “That person thinks there's something weird going on with you, Molly.” He stepped up closer behind her.

When Molly turned around Rocky was right behind her. He grabbed the collar on her dress and pulled her toward him. She was taken completely by surprise.

“Guess what, Molly, I am not under your power. What is more, I believe you are under the influence of someone or something else. Don't try to hypnotize me with your eyes. I'm too alert. You won't be able to.”

Molly looked stunned. She dropped her can of water and clamped her hands over her ears. “You've come to hypnotize me, haven't you? With your voice. But I won't let you. Anyway you were never very good at it.”

Rocky pulled one of Molly's hands from her ear. “I've come to help you get yourself out of whatever trap you're in. It's obvious to anyone who knows you that there's something weird going on . . . unless they're hypnotized by this music you play.”

He let her hand go. Molly reached into the pocket where she kept her harmonica. Just a few notes were all that was needed. She'd once liked Rocky, she thought, but now she loathed him, for his interference, for his desire to spoil her future.

Before she could bring the instrument to her lips, Rocky gripped her wrist. He shook it till the harmonica clattered to the floor.

“Something's helping you play these instruments,” Rocky growled. “It's not a person, as a person couldn't give you all this musical knowledge. It's something powerful. Sobo told me about a weird coin you carry in your pocket.”

“GET O—” Molly started to cry out.

Rocky pushed her backward, at the same time as he reached for her jacket pocket.

Molly struggled and twisted and then she began laughing. “This is going to be funny. You're going to get such a surprise!”

Rocky ignored her. His hand delved into the first pocket—empty—and then into the one where the coin was. As soon as he touched it, he yelled and retracted his hand. In pain and shock, he let go of Molly.

Mr. Proila sat in his apartment, watching all of this on his special screen. He'd heard from Miss Sny that Molly was returning to Tokyo, and so he had set up three concealed cameras in the boy band's apartment. Now he watched Molly leap away from the boy who had been her friend and retrieve her harmonica. He saw the boy snapping earphones over his ears and then diving for Molly again. It was clear to Proila that the boy was in a weak position, for if Molly dislodged his earphones he would be vulnerable to her powerful music. When she dived for his head, he only just managed to dodge her. And then he fled.

Rocky ran as fast as he could out of the apartment, into the elevator, and out onto the street.

There was the wrestling school van, with the
sumo wrestler on the side. The back door opened and Gerry and Petula peered out.

“Not good?”

“No!”

Rocky jumped in, banged on the front wall of the van, and with a screech they were off.

Up in the apartment, Molly was furious. “Let him see how far he gets! He's nothing. He's pathetic!”

Mr. Proila strode in. “Molly!” he gushed. “I turned your music up loud and felt its power! You're incredible—you're a superstar.”

Molly ignored Mr. Proila. She was too angry to listen to him.

“Oh, oh! It was superb,” Mr. Proila enthused. “I've never experienced anything like it. In fact”—his face crumpled with emotion—“in fact, Molly, no art has ever moved me as much. Your music is phenomenal—I
felt
it.” He pressed his hand to his heart.

“Not now!” Molly snapped. “Damn!” she spat. She slumped onto the sofa. Then she eyed Mr. Proila suspiciously. “You felt my music?”

“Yes! Yes. I turned it on loud. I felt its rhythm through the speakers. Its vibrations through the floor, through my feet. You are . . .” Mr. Proila acted as
adoringly as he could. “You are a genius. An—an angel!” He looked at Molly's cross face. “But you seem upset. Can I help?” he asked innocently.

Molly sighed. “I wish you hadn't done that,” she said disappointedly. “I liked you so much more when you weren't besotted. Now you'll be just like all the rest. But,” she said slowly, considering him, “you
can
do something for me. There was a boy here just now. I need to track him down. And then, maybe, I'll need to get rid of him. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Mr. Proila said agreeably. “I'll see to it. I'll call security.”

“And by the way, Proila,” Molly added, not losing an opportunity to get what was hers, “I want all the money that I've made so far put in my own bank account today.”

“It's there!” Mr. Proila exclaimed. He paused. “And actually, I wonder whether I might suggest something for you? I would like to plan a tea ceremony for you, Molly. Not an ordinary tea—a Japanese ceremonial tea. Since experiencing your music,” Mr. Proila went on, acting as though he was being as thoughtful as he possibly could, “I've realized we must mark this stage of your brilliant career. I know how fine things appeal to you—things of qual
ity and high artistic achievement—and I think a Japanese tea ceremony would satisfy your taste. Only those of the highest sensibilities can appreciate its subtlety and sophistication.”

Molly nodded. “Yes, anything of great beauty helps me,” she agreed.

“Oh, I am so glad,” Mr. Proila said, smiling.

“Remember, I am always at your service.” He bowed and walked backward out of the apartment and into the elevator. “And I will find that boy for you. Do you have a preference for how you'd like him disposed of?”

“I'll choose the method when you've caught him,” Molly declared. “And I'll have that Japanese tea this afternoon.” She muttered to herself, “I'll probably be so highly irritated by then that I'll need some high culture to soothe me.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Proila, popping out of the elevator and bowing again.

“And, Mr. Proila, you look like some sort of bobbing car ornament when you do that. Cut it out. It doesn't suit you.”

Mr. Proila backed into the elevator and straightened up. The elevator door shut.

Inside it a look of sly malevolence darkened Mr.
Proila's face. He jabbed at the elevator button. “Gotcha!”

S
obo's old friend, the elderly sumo master, changed gear. Intent on the road and glancing re
peatedly in his mirror to check they weren't being tailed, he drove as fast as he could.

“OK, it's OK,” Sobo assured Rocky, reaching into the back of the van and patting his arm with her papery-skinned hand.

Rocky nodded at her. He was still shaken from his encounter with Molly. She had been like a possessed person or a monster.

“What 'appened?” Gerry asked.

The van drove through nighttime Tokyo to an old-fashioned district. It pulled up in front of a bamboo-roofed wooden building. A sign written in Japanese and English said:
RYOGOKU SUMO STABLES
.

Gerry and Rocky jumped down from the van and helped the old lady into her wheelchair. With Petula trotting alongside, they pushed her up a vine-canopied path to a door. As soon as they were inside the school's simple whitewashed hall, they took off their shoes.

They made their way up a wide passage with big doors set at intervals up one side. Noises—slaps and grunts, the sound of shuffling and thudding—came from the rooms beyond. Through the glass panels in the doors the friends could see sumo students training.

Gerry stopped to peer into one room. Overweight Japanese boys wearing nothing but white loincloths sat along the edges, watching other boys who stood inside a square that was drawn on the floor. The boys in the square were standing with their legs apart, bent forward, facing each other as if about to fight. A man in a blue kimono, who was obviously their teacher, pointed a stick at them and shouted, “
Ooi!
”

The boys slapped their knees and dived at each other. For a moment they struggled, grabbing at each other's loincloths as they each attempted to knock the other over. Then one pushed his opponent out of the ring. The match was over. Gerry saw Toka in the classroom and signed to him that they would meet him back at his bedroom.

Toka's teacher, the sensei, had agreed to allow Toka to share his room with Gerry, Rocky, and Petula. There was just enough space for three single beds. These were now rolled up. The paper shutters on the windows let in light from the street.

Rocky and Gerry were sitting cross-legged on the bamboo matting with Petula curled up beside them when Toka came in.

“So you didn't get coin,” he guessed.

“No, I couldn't,” Rocky said. “I tried to, but touching it hurt like hell. And Molly was horrific.”

“What shall we do?” Toka asked, sitting down. “We've tried your parents and Forest . . .”

“She's so cunning,” Rocky ruminated.

“So how long was the CD she sent them?” Gerry asked.

“Long enough to hypnotize them,” Toka answered.

“Do you really think they won't come out here, Rocky?”

“Not after she told them not to. Gerry, even if we beg Primo and Lucy to help us, they won't listen. She's brainwashed them. She brainwashes everyone. Her music is addictive. People listen to it once and get hooked and then they listen to it more. And each time they fall deeper and deeper under her musical spell.

Even the police are her fans. It's really creepy.”

“Scary,” Gerry said, biting his lip.

“You got to look on bright side,” Toka pointed out. “We lucky. No Molly Moon music here. So we grow strong. We prepare. We will fight. We will win fight. We get coin.” He paused. “Sobo says the coin
has evil
kami
in it—evil spirit. Sobo thinks we must destroy coin. But that difficult. Molly keep coin so close to her, and she surely keep bodyguards always with her, now you shock her.”

“Maybe another opportunity will crop up,” Rocky said. “There's got to be a way to get the coin. The trouble is, it's not exactly Molly we're dealing with here. It's a monster. The worst part is that Molly, our friend Molly, is locked up inside the monster. We have to help her.”

“Poor Molly.” Gerry gasped. “You're right, Rocky. We've got to help her escape.”

M
olly looked at her watch. She was looking forward to the special tea ceremony. It was almost teatime now, and as she'd predicted, she was starting to find her surroundings tiresome and the people around her infuriating.

She had spent the last few hours looking at possible apartments to buy. None of them seemed good enough. She had ordered a new car and had some bluefin tuna sushi for lunch, and then she had opened boxes and boxes of new clothes and shoes. Now she was in a baggy green velvet jumpsuit with skeleton buttons and green satin sneakers. Around her neck she wore a gold chain with a green glass eyeball hanging from it.

“IS THE CAR READY?” she yelled to Miss Sny.

“Er, yes . . .” Miss Sny said, scurrying into the room. “It's outside.”

“Good.”

The car drove swiftly through the city. Finally it pulled up in front of a very plain, modern-looking building.

“What's this?” Molly demanded. “Doesn't seem anything special. Thought we were coming to an amazing teahouse.”

“Ah, yes, it looks ordinary on the outside,” Miss Sny agreed. “But don't be fooled! The teahouse and its wonderful gardens are inside the walls. W-w-would you like me to accompany you?”

“Certainly not. I want this experience to be as good as possible.”

Molly stepped out onto the sidewalk, and without so much as a backward glance dismissed the driver by tapping on the top of the car.

One of Mr. Proila's men opened the door to the private space beyond. Molly had never seen him before and she was again impressed at the number of bodyguards Mr. Proila employed. The man bowed as he let her pass.

The sound of water was the first thing that Molly noticed when she stepped in. She found herself in a beautiful garden with ponds and waterfalls. There were pretty mossy areas and bamboo copses and a few small trees, each in the early stage of budding.
In the middle of the ponds were strange upright stones. A white gravel path with gates led to a tiny wooden building with a winged roof on the other side of the garden.

“That is teahouse,” Mr. Proila's man informed Molly. “And that”—he pointed to a more substantial, old-fashioned building made of stone—“that is
ryokan
. You go to
ryokan
, change for ceremony. Mr. Proila wait in teahouse.”

Molly nodded and set off toward it. On either side of the garden were tall, windowless office buildings. This gave the impression that the garden was cradled and safe.

“Now, this is interesting,” Molly said to the coin. “I was so irritated by everyone just now. But this place has made me feel better. It's charming.”

As Molly admired the ornate gables over the teahouse's windows, she imagined that this place was already hers. Mr. Proila was now a dumb, totally dedicated fan. She knew he would give it to her.

At the entrance of the
ryokan
a skinny man in a black kimono bowed low. With outstretched hands and flat palms, he presented Molly with a pair of strange glove-like socks with buttons. “These
tabi
,” he said. He passed her some wooden-soled flip-flops. Molly smiled. She sat down
and changed out of her green satin sneakers.

A small woman in a yellow kimono appeared to Molly's left. Also bowing, she held out a green kimono for Molly.