Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission (3 page)

O
N THE TOP FLOOR
of the downtown federal building Special Treasury Agent Fondoo's eyes were glued to the computer monitor in his office. He was studying an overhead view of the south side of Flint and a close-up of three houses covered in snow.

Fondoo called out, “Agent Malaney, get in here, the flying camera is working again!”

His new assistant opened the door and set her cup of coffee on Fondoo's desk. She couldn't believe she had to start work at four-thirty every morning, but that's how early Fondoo was here. He was sitting in his chair holding something that looked like a controller for a video game.

“Watch,” Fondoo gleefully said as he wiggled the joystick, “the professor and that evil little troublemaker are having another race! My money's on the prof again! You're
gonna love seeing how crushed that Carter kid is when she beats him!”

Agent Malaney couldn't believe how much joy her boss was getting out of watching a tiny senior citizen and a little boy shoveling snow.

“It's great! You'll actually see his shoulders sag and his confidence disappear when she finishes before he does! And if I can get this camera to zoom in, we might even see a tear or two!”

Agent Malaney's eyes may have been on the screen, but her mind was wandering back to her last assignment in Florida. She wondered what had gone so wrong that she was now spending a winter in, of all places, Flint-freezin'-Michigan.

The official story was that she was Agent Fondoo's new assistant; the truth was that she'd really been sent to keep an eye on him. Madam Director, who was both the head of the Treasury Department and their boss in Washington, was very worried about his behavior.

Malaney and Fondoo both gasped.

The little boy was shoveling fast and furious, and as he strained at the snow, the professor calmly circled behind him, revved up her shovel a couple of times, then smacked him in the back of his head!

The microphone on the flying spy camera picked up a loud DONG!

Malaney yelled, “Why, that's assault and battery!”

Fondoo said, “Yes! And isn't it delightful? With a swing
like that I think she needs to be tested for steroids!” He laughed until tears began forming in his eyes.

Agent Malaney said, “Shouldn't we get out there and arrest her?”

Fondoo looked shocked. “Are you kidding? If we're really lucky, she'll whack him a couple more times. She's quite spry and feisty, you know.”

Agent Malaney had been hearing for years about the strange things that went on in Flint, but she had absolutely no idea how really strange it got some of the time.

Fondoo pointed at the monitor, leapt from his chair and screamed, “No! What on earth is she doing?”

On the screen the professor walked over to Steven's porch and picked up the coat he'd thrown off. Then she made a pillow out of a pile of snow and gently put his head on top of it, gave him a kiss on the forehead and tucked his coat around him like it was a blanket.

“No! He's down! Hit him again! Finish him off!”

But it looked like the only things the woman was going to finish off with the shovel were her neighbors' yards.

Malaney watched the woman shoveling the snow and thought, “My goodness, she reminds me of that song where John Henry lays down railroad ties!”

Fondoo was crushed. He grabbed his coat and went to the door.

“I'm going to Halo Burger for a couple of chicken burgs deluxe, heavy mayonnaise and olives. If you need me, good luck, my cell phone will be turned off.”

The door shut behind him and Agent Malaney quickly picked up the controller he'd dropped.

“I can't believe Fondoo would leave that youngster out there like that! I've got to check to see if he's okay.”

She landed the flying spy cam and had it waddle over to Steven. It took her a second to learn how to control the camera, but she finally zoomed in close to the snoring future detective. She even had the camera's beak nudge him a couple of times to see if he was all right.

He seemed to be fine, just soundly asleep.

She tried to make the camera walk backward but hit a wrong button, and a gusher of snow poured out of the flying spy cam's beak.

“Oops!”

She gave the controller a good look and noticed the button on the back that read “Come Home.”

She pressed the button, and the camera began to run, then took off into the air.

Two and a half minutes later it landed on Agent Fondoo's windowsill.

She shook her head. “What kind of sick mind would develop a camera and snowmaking machine that is shaped like a Canada goose?”

She knew, though.

She'd been briefed as to what had happened here in Flint with the quadrillion-dollar bill. All the Treasury agents knew how one mysterious Othello Chickee had given the little Carter boy a most unusual piece of money.
This had caused a panic in the Treasury Department because the bill was top-secret and very valuable. Madam Director posted a reward for the bill's return, and Fondoo found out this kid had it. He ordered a bunch of agents to get it back, and they ended up chasing the boy and a giant dog, Zoopy, until they fell over the Kearsley Dam. The Treasury Department never got the bill back, though, and Fondoo was in a lot of hot water for losing it and for endangering the boy's and dog's lives.

Everyone knew how badly Agent Fondoo wanted to get even with the little boy for getting him in so much trouble, and Malaney was supposed to protect the kid. But that wasn't the only reason she'd been sent to Flint. While she was going to have to give Madam Director a report on Fondoo, she was also supposed to try to find out if the Flint Future Detectives were still investigating what they called “Mr. Chickee's funny money.” They'd solved only a part of the mystery, and if they discovered the rest of the secret, Madam Director had said, “heads and reprimands will roll.”

Agent Malaney opened the window and the goose/spy camera hopped onto Fondoo's desk.

She thought it was wrong how Agent Fondoo was so hung up on this Carter kid and getting revenge, but she had to admit Fondoo's invention of this camera was brilliant.

It looked and flew and waddled and acted exactly like a large Canada goose, except that its eyes were the lenses of a camera. And except that when it was cold, it made a mechanical whirring sound as it walked.

Fondoo had also miniaturized a snowmaking machine and put it in the body of the goose. When Malaney first came to Flint, he had told her that the goose had been spying on a juvenile delinquent gang that called itself the Flint Future Detectives, and that they still hadn't caught on that the goose was fake.

But when winter came and it would snow, he couldn't have the goose leaving footprints near the Carter house, so he'd just have the goose shoot a couple of feet of snow in the area to hide the tracks.

That was the original plan, but once Fondoo found out that the Carter father made his son shovel all the snow, Fondoo started burying the kid's house even if the goose hadn't left any tracks.

Agent Malaney picked up the goose and put it in the closet where Fondoo kept it during the day.

She took out her notebook and wrote, “Strange things happening in Flint. I'm not really sure if Flint Future Detectives is a dangerous gang or just a club. Just because someone gives a bunch of kids a name or a label doesn't mean that's what they are. I don't think Fondoo can be trusted.”

Man, if she only knew how true that last part she'd written was!

The Earth Trembles: The Battle for the Presidency of the Flint Future Detectives!

B
ANG
!”

The next morning Steven pounded a sawed-in-half table leg on the top of his desk.

He looked around at the two other people and the giant dog in his bedroom and said, “I call this meeting of the Flint Future Detectives to order. Mr. Secretary, please take attendance.”

Russell Woods stood up and cleared his throat. Taking attendance was his favorite job in the club. He looked at the piece of paper in his hand and said, “Is the honorable president, CEO, founder and number one detective of the club here today?”

Steven stood. “Present, Mr. Secretary.” He sat back down.

Russell said, “Thank you,” and drew a picture of a small box with a bow on it next to Steven's name.

He and Steven had talked about this quite a few times, but Steven hadn't been able to change Russell's mind. Russell was a really big kid for his age, but since he was only seven years old, Steven let a lot of things slide with him. To Russ it made a lot more sense to draw and color a picture of a present next to the person's name rather than to write “Present” or put a check mark there. Steven said the meetings would go a lot quicker if Russell did the drawing and coloring later, but Russell didn't seem to have too many other duties as secretary, so he really worked hard at the ones he did have.

He noticed that something was bothering Steven today. Most times when Russell was coloring the present Steven would sigh or shake his head, but today he didn't seem to mind as Russ fumbled through the box of colored pencils to find the perfect one.

Russell said, “Is the honorable dog handler, friend of the founder, secretary, number two detective and club bodyguard here today?”

He put the paper down and walked over to Steven's window. He turned around, looked back to where he'd just been standing and said, “All five of us are present, Mr. Secretary.”

Russell walked back to the desk, picked up his list and, answering for each one of his five jobs, said, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

This was one thing that Steven
had
been able to change Russell's mind about. Since Russell was the honorable dog
handler, friend of the founder, secretary, number two detective and club bodyguard, he felt that each and every one of these jobs was very important and should get a chance to answer by itself. So he used to walk to five different places in the room and say “Present” five different times. Then he'd draw and color five different pictures of a present next to his name.

Steven told Russell he was going to have to cut him down to only one job because all the meetings were taking too doggone long. When Russell had to choose between fewer jobs and more coloring, the jobs won.

Russell started coloring the one box next to his name and shot a quick glance at Steven. It was usually around this time that Steven would turn into a bundle of twitches and nerves, but he didn't seem to care how long Russell was taking.

Finally Russell stood up again and said, “Is the chief protecting animal, the heart and soul of the FFD, the big kahuna and official getaway animal here?”

Russell put the paper down, stood up and walked over to the foot of Steven's bed. Zoopy, the gigantic dog that Russell's family had given to Steven, had flopped himself there and was right in the middle of one of his blue bunny dreams. Russell knew it was a blue bunny dream and not one of the pesky purple squirrel ones because there wasn't near enough drool coming out of the giant dog's mouth. For some reason nothing got Zoopy gushing like chasing one of those purple squirrels.

Russell grabbed Zoopy's upper and lower jaws, then made his voice go real deep. While moving the dog's mouth open and closed, Russell said, “Present, Mr. Secretary. Ah-oof! Ah-oof! Ah-oof! Ah-oof!” which was one bark for each of Zoopy's four jobs.

Russell's hands were soaked with Zoopy's slob, so he wiped them on his pants, walked back to the desk and started drawing the presents next to Zoopy's name. He sneaked another peek at Steven.

Again nothing.

Usually Steven would be close to losing his mind by this time.

Russell was starting to worry. Steven's ears weren't even wiggling; most Saturdays by this time his ears flapped so much that at least one piece of paper was blown off the desk onto the floor.

“Man,” Russell thought, “I bet I could make Zoopy read one of those thousand-page Hairy Plodder books out loud and Bucko's ears wouldn't even budge. Something really is bothering him. Everything isn't irie at all, mon.”

Russell said, “All present, Mr. President.”

Steven said, “What? Huh? Oh! Fine, Mr. Secretary.”

Richelle Cyrus-Herndon couldn't believe how disorganized this meeting of the Flint Future Detectives was, but after a look at the condition of Steven's room she thought to herself, “On second thought, it's no surprise at all.”

Steven was so busy pretending he was ignoring Richelle that he hadn't noticed that Russell was becoming a better detective. Something
was
bothering Steven.

Steven had spent the last forty-eight hours … well … maybe it was the last forty-eight minutes … okay, okay … the last forty-eight
seconds
before the meeting trying to figure out what to do next. He'd been so desperate he'd even gone and pulled Great-great-grampa Carter's cranky old dictionary off the shelf and asked it for advice.

He'd given his best sigh before he said to the book, “So, it's like this, Richelle Cyrus-Herndon is going to want to join the Flint Future Detectives Club, and you know she's the smartest kid at Clark Elementary, so I kinda figure she's gonna want to be president. But everyone knows being smartest doesn't mean you automatically get to be president, so it doesn't seem fair that she should be able to come in here and just take over my job without at least—”