Villain's Lair (7 page)

So, without Sticky to guide him, Dave decided: he would free the Brothers.

But first, he thought, he should take a step of caution. He needed something to conceal him— to make him not so easily recognized or identified.
But what disguise does a thirteen-year-old boy keep in his backpack? Sticky hadn't slipped one in alongside the matches or the grapes, which just goes to show you how shortsighted a klepto-maniacal lizard can be.

But what
was
in the backpack was his favorite ball cap. A dark red one with a diamondback snake design.

He pulled it on, keeping the bill down as low as possible to cover his face. It wasn't much of a disguise, but at least it was something.

When the Bandito Brothers saw Dave round the corner again, they practically rubbed their hands in glee. In a moment, they would be free! In a moment, they would race across the pit, overpower the madman, and discover what riches he had stored in that dragon's den.

It would indeed be a glorious day in their lives.

“Hurry, friend!” Angelo whispered. “There is no time to lose!”

“Me first!” Tito cried. “Me first!”

“Hush, Tito!” Pablo commanded, then turned to Dave. “Cool hat, dude. Now get busy!”

“How?” Dave asked, for there were big buttons, switches, and levers beside each crane.

“The levers!” Angelo said. “Pull the levers!”

So Dave did.

Thump
went Tito as the bottom opened up.

Thump
went Pablo.

And, finally,
thump
went Angelo.

“Thank you, friend, thank you!” Angelo said. And then, with a wicked, backstabbing, double-crossing look on his scary, scarry face, he pushed a button on the wall.

A trapdoor beneath Dave's feet fell open.

Whoosh
, Dave slid down a slippery metal tube and landed in the sandpit.

And before he could even stand, the flicking tongue of the Komodo dragon was coming his way.

“Nice dragon. Good dragon,” Dave said as the wagging head and flicking tongue came closer.

Now, it wasn't that the dragon was consciously bad or mean. He was just hungry. The cat-sized rat hadn't filled the void in his stomach. Neither had the goose, which had been more feathers than meat. He was tired of snacks. He wanted a
meal.

Dave tried to re-enter the tube he'd slid down, but it was far too slick to climb. He looked around madly. The walls of the pit curved inward—he couldn't climb those! The barren tree in the center of the pit had no pegs or branches that he could reach. And it was scarred with deep claw marks. Even if he could climb it, so could the dragon!

There seemed to be no way out.

No dangling ropes.

No catapults.

No elevators (painted or otherwise).

Dave backed along the wall, his heart pounding as the dragon lumbered closer. Flick, flick, flick went the dragon's long tongue. Flick, flick, flick.

Then suddenly
ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-
THL7MP the Bandito Brothers came tumbling out of the slippery tube and into the pit.

Now, I'm sure you're wondering why these three men would willingly slide into the Komodo dragon's killing arena, and I'm afraid it can only be explained this way:

They were, indeed,
bobos
banditos.

Idiotas!

Estúpidos!

You see, to the Bandito Brothers, it did not seem like such a risk.

It seemed wise.

Wily.

Smart!

After all, the dragon was occupied with the boy. All they had to do was sneak around them and overpower Damien Black in the den.

For fearsome bandits such as themselves, it would be easy!

And their plan might actually have worked, except for one thing:

They stank!

Especially Pablo.

You see, to a Komodo dragon, stinky means yummy. And the sudden presence of the Bandito Brothers caused the dragon's foot-long, forked, and yellow tongue great confusion. Ahead of him was dinner, but to the side of him? Wow, did that smell good!

“Uh-oh,” Pablo said as the dragon changed direction.

“Not good,” Angelo agreed.

“Whoa! He's cool!” Tito giggled, taking a step toward the dragon.

“You idiot!” Angelo said, grabbing him.

But Pablo nudged Angelo and gave him a little signal that meant, Let the dragon have him.

Ah, what a coldhearted, backstabbing, double-crossing, rat-faced bandito he was.

Meanwhile, Dave was hatching a plan of his own. He stood with his back flat against the wall by the den's opening and shouted, “Angelo! Hurry up! We must kill Mr. Black and feed him to the dragon!” Then he changed his voice and called, “I'm coming, Pablo! I'm coming!”

“Huh?” Angelo said, staring at Dave.

“He knows our names?” Pablo gasped. “How does he know our names?”

And then
whoosh
, out of the dragon's den came Damien Black. “You!” he said, his dark and dangerous eyes drilling into the Bandito Brothers. “How did you get away?”

Angelo and Pablo pointed to the place where Dave had been standing, but Dave was no longer
there. The instant Damien Black had whooshed out of the den, Dave had whooshed
into
the den.

And that's where he now was, whispering hoarsely, “Sticky? Sticky, where are you?”

But Sticky was no longer in the dragon's den. He was in Damien's coat pocket trying frantically to lift the satchel of power ingots that Damien had removed from the treasure chest in the den. He strained and heaved mightily. If he could just get the bag … up. If he could just get it…out…

But then he realized that something was terribly wrong. Damien was moving fast. Shouting. Whooshing all over the place!

He stuck his little gecko head up and couldn't help gasping “Ay
caramba!”
when he saw the chaos in the pit. The dragon was stalking Tito. Damien was chasing Pablo and Angelo.

Sticky looked around quickly.

Where was Dave?

He let out a little breath of relief—at least he wasn't in the pit.

But then he saw him, standing in the shadows of the dragon's den.

Ay-ay-ay. Why didn't humans ever listen?

But what could be done now? They were both in the pit and they had to get out. So Sticky waved with one hand. He waved with two. He tried desperately to get Dave's attention as Damien whooshed around the pit.

When Dave did at last see him, the boy could not believe his eyes.

Why was Sticky in that madman's pocket?

Had he switched back over to the demented side?

Was he waving
Adiós
, sucker?

Then Sticky disappeared into the coat pocket, and with a mighty gecko groan, he lifted the satchel of power ingots high enough for Dave to see.

In a flash of understanding, Dave pointed to his arm where the powerband was clamped and looked at Sticky questioningly.

Sticky's head bobbed up and down, and his meaning was clear:
SÍ, SEÑOR!
Why else would I be whooshing around a dragon pit in a madman's pocket?

Dave laughed with relief, but the relief was short-lived.

What was he supposed to do now?

Perhaps an older, wiser person would have been able to stand back in the shadows of a dragon's den and watch the frenetic scene in the pit play out, but Sticky had chosen a thirteen-year-old boy.

Older and wiser were not part of the deal.

So when Dave saw that Sticky was just about to tumble over the edge of the pocket with the satchel of power ingots, he didn't stand in the shadows and watch.

He
charged.

Sticky saw him coming and choked out “No,
señorl”
as he clonked onto the sand. If Dave had just waited, he would have dragged the satchel to Dave while the dragon and Damien and those
bobos
Bandito Brothers all killed each other.

But Dave wasn't the only one to make a mistake. Sticky had made one, too.

He had spoken.

Now, in your life you will hear many voices, and you will forget nearly all of them. But if you ever hear the voice of a talking gecko lizard, it will stay with you forever. It is just not something you forget (no matter how much you may want to).

So when Sticky uttered “No,
señorl”
the chaos in the pit instantly stopped.

Pablo gasped, “Did you hear that?”

Angelosaid, “Oh no!”

Tito cried, “He's here!”

Even the dragon's tongue stopped flicking.

Damien's eyes grew colder and deadlier as he looked around for the source of that unmistakable “No,
señorl”
He, of course, now saw Dave charging forward. So, in true demented-villain fashion, he shouted, “You! Stop or die!”

But, in true teenage fashion, Dave did not stop. He continued running for Sticky, who was struggling toward him, the satchel dragging behind.

“Ah-ha!” Damien cried, and in two big steps, he was upon Sticky.

Damien lifted his boot menacingly.

An evil smirk twisted his already diabolical face as he relished the thought of smashing the sticky-toed nuisance forever.

But (as diabolically demented villains are prone to do) he savored his evil intention a moment too long. And instead of smashing the gecko,
he
came down, tackled by the Bandito Brothers!

Tito grabbed for Sticky but missed.

Damien grabbed for the satchel but instead tore it open, spilling ingots across the sand.

Dave dived in, and as Sticky scampered onto his shoulder, Dave made a desperate grab for the ingots.

He did get one, but only one, and then the dragon charged the skirmishing bodies.

“Help!” the Bandito Brothers cried, scattering in different directions.

Dave rolled away, then stood and saw that the other ingots had been scooped up by Damien Black, who was now talking to the dragon. “Him, my sweet!” he commanded, pointing to Dave. “He is the tasty one. Go!”

The dragon seemed to understand. His tongue flicked in and out quickly. Nervously. He'd had enough of these games. It was time to
eat.

“You got an ingot, right?” Sticky whispered.

Dave nodded, his eyes on the dragon.

“What are you waiting for?
Ándale!
Put it in!”

Dave slipped his hand inside his sweatshirt.

His hands were shaking, but the ingot snapped in perfectly.

He stood there, waiting for something to happen.

“Are we invisible?” he whispered.

“No,
señor.”

“How do I fly?” he asked, his heart pounding.

“Think like a fly?” Sticky said.

“Think like a fly? How do I do that?”

“I don't know! Buzz in your head?”

Dave tried buzzing in his head. Nothing happened.

The dragon crouched.

Dave broke into a cold sweat.

The powerband didn't work!

They were doomed!

The powerband did, indeed, work. Dave just didn't know which power he had.

It wasn't invisibility, that was clear.

It also, quite obviously, wasn't flying.

And faced with a crouching Komodo dragon, Dave could think of only one thing to do.

Run!

I should pause here to explain that running from a Komodo dragon is a futile exercise that will only delay the inevitable. A Komodo dragon can run up to twelve miles an hour, so unless you can run faster than a five-minute mile, it will catch you with its talon-like claws and rip you to shreds with its curved, serrated teeth.

Not a very pleasant way to go, I'm sure you'll agree.

But what else could Dave do?

He ran, and when he did, so did the dragon.

“Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay!” Sticky cried, for the dragon was closing in, and they were trapped!

“Bwaa'ha'ha'ha'ha'ha'ha!” Damien laughed, for the dragon was closing in, and they were trapped!