Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang (7 page)

CHAPTER 13

or his last meal, the night before he was to be fed to the sharks, The Hooded Fang brought Jacob Two-Two two lamb chops and two desserts, an unheard of feast within the confines of the children’s prison. And then, tears filling his eyes, he sat down to watch the doomed child eat. Finally, The Hooded Fang said, “I’ll give you one last chance. I’m going to make my most horrible face, and you’re going to scream loud enough so that the other kids know you’re afraid of me.”

“Oh no, I won’t! Oh no, I won’t!”

“
Oh yes, you will!
”

“I won’t, I won’t,” said Jacob Two-Two, “because I know your dreadful secret.”

The Hooded Fang retreated a step.

“You’re not horrible,” said Jacob Two-Two two times, “and you’re not disgusting, mean, vicious, or vile.”

“Ssssssh,” said The Hooded Fang, clapping a hand over Jacob Two-Two’s mouth as two guards passed outside. “Somebody might hear.”

“You admit it, then! You admit it, then!”

“I DO NOT.”

“Every time you leave my cell,” said Jacob Two-Two twice, “I find a chocolate bar hidden somewhere. Or a bag of gumdrops.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. …”

“You do! You do!”

“Possibly, they just drop out of my pockets. I have a sweet tooth – I mean, fang – you see.”

“You’re not evil,” said Jacob Two-Two. “You’re not evil.”

The Hooded Fang bared his sharp, terrifying fangs. He growled. He grunted. He rolled his eyes. He leaped up and down.

But Jacob Two-Two didn’t tremble. Neither did he
cower. Instead, he leapt up and down, growled, grunted, and rolled his eyes right back.

“Cheeky! Oh, I never,” said The Hooded Fang, indignant. “I – I’m feeding you to the sharks at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“If you lead me out of this cell tomorrow,” said Jacob Two-Two, “I’m going to hug you and kiss you. I’m going to hug you and kiss you.”

“Oh, God, no! You wouldn’t.”

“In front of all the guards! In front of all the guards!”

“I hate children! Oh, how I hate children! You’ll be the ruin of me.”

“Not if we make a deal,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Not if we make a deal.”

“What sort of a deal?”

“I wish to have a letter delivered immediately to the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole.”

“Child Power! The Infamous Two! Oh no! Never!”

Which is when Jacob Two-Two bounded into his arms and began to hug and kiss him.

“All right! Okay! But cut out the mushy stuff at once.”

CHAPTER 14

nce having digested the contents of the letter, the intrepid Shapiro and the fearless O’Toole did not hesitate. Swiftly, they shed their clothes and donned the Day-Glo blue jeans, the golden capes, and the T-shirts with
Child Power
emblazoned on the chests. Then they strode to the enormous toy shop on Regent Street, lingering behind at closing time, cleverly concealing themselves behind a counter in the model section.

It soon grew dark, and the hours slipped past, seemingly one second at a time.

“Do you think Jacob Two-Two got it wrong,”

whispered Shapiro to O’Toole. “After all, he’s still a very small boy.”

Another hour passed. And then Mr. Fox appeared, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

As the leaders of Child Power watched, amazed, Mr. Fox cautiously opened a Tiger Tank model, removed a vital part, and slipped it into another box containing … a Spitfire model. He then plucked a piece from the Spitfire kit and dropped it into the Tiger Tank kit, before replacing both boxes on the shelves. Then, laughing out loud, he slipped over to the section where the electric trains and racing-car sets were displayed and began exchanging wires here and there, ruining both sets.

As The Infamous Two watched, aghast to witness such villainy, the nefarious Mr. Fox began to work more quickly. He moved to the counter where the most difficult two-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles were kept and busied himself switching pieces from box to box, making it impossible for a boy or girl to complete either puzzle successfully. Mr. Fox began to work faster, faster, and faster, for a toy saboteur’s work is never done. Removing batteries from toy boxes that promised “batteries included,” he slipped wrong-size screws
into erector sets and made pinprick holes in kites. He sought out the most complicated model kits, removed the English instructions, and replaced them with sheets written in Japanese. Then he turned to the chemistry sets, switching the labels on tubes. “That ought to make for an explosion or two,” he cackled.

So happily immersed was Mr. Fox in his wrongdoing that seconds passed before he noticed that somebody had switched on the lights.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

Too late. For right before him, in Day-Glo blue Jeans, her golden cape flying, stood the intrepid Shapiro.

“Aaargh,” cried Mr. Fox, turning to flee.

But his path to the stairs was blocked by the fearless O’Toole, his golden cape flying.

Mr. Fox swerved, he pitched a chemistry set at O’Toole, and clambered over the games counter, seizing a bow and arrow. “Say your prayers, brats,” he chortled.

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Shapiro, doing a backward flip over the costume counter and coming to her feet, broadsword in hand. “Not yet, fatso!”

Ducking a volley of arrows, O’Toole seized a cricket bat, tossed a ball in the air, and swung the bat, hitting the ball straight as a bullet at Mr. Fox.

Then a rubber-suction arrow caught the charging Shapiro in the forehead, and she reeled backward, stunned.

“And how would you like a taste of the same medicine?” cried Mr. Fox triumphantly to O’Toole.

But before he could fire, the intrepid Shapiro ducked under the magic counter, surfacing to pelt their onrushing tormentor with what seemed like a handful of flour, but was actually sneezing powder.

“Aaach-choo,” cried Mr. Fox, bending over double. “Aaach-choo!”

In an instant, Shapiro was at his throat, broadsword in hand.

Quivering with fear, Mr. Fox sank to his knees. “Mercy,” he pleaded between sneezes. “Mercy. I suffer from high blood pressure. My nerves are shot. I bleed easily.”

Shapiro drove the sword tip against the coward’s throat.

“You wouldn’t harm an old man who wears glasses,” cried Mr. Fox.

“We’re going to spare you, you wretch,” said O’Toole.

“We have other uses for you,” said Shapiro.

“Aaach-choo,” said Mr. Fox. “Aaach-choo!

CHAPTER 15

eanwhile, at the children’s prison, Jacob Two-Two had spread the word, and all the prisoners were waiting for the sign.

Waiting, waiting.

Until finally in the afternoon, an especially gloomy afternoon, as Jacob Two-Two stood watch on a balustrade of the hidden prison, staring into the surrounding waters, murky and foul-smelling, he suddenly saw something very odd happen. A crocodile that he had been following with his eye slithered onto the marshy shore, heaved, flipped over on
his back, and died. The letter
C
was emblazoned on his stomach. Then another crocodile flipped over, dying, this one still in the water, the letter
H
painted on his stomach.