A Fish Named Yum (3 page)

“So
that's
what you used to fix the leak in the diner,” said Phil.

“A good way to get rid of bad chocolate,” said Mr. Pin.

Television crews and newspaper reporters hurried over to find out how the flood had been stopped so quickly when so many had tried and failed.

“Sorry,” said Mr. Pin, “no more pictures. But you can talk to Phil. A great man who loves this city and never should have been fired. Not only that, he works well with chocolate. Not easy to find that kind of talent.”

Mr. Pin took the long way back to Smiling Sally's Diner. He needed time to think things over. As he walked along Michigan Avenue, he watched the sun come up over the Art Institute, a friendly sight after seeing too much water.

Caramel fudge pancakes were on his mind. A good stack with extra chocolate syrup. Besides, with all the work he had done, he was able to see his feet again.

Settling in with Smiling Sally's best pancakes, Mr. Pin unfolded the morning paper to the front page. There was a large picture of him holding buckets of fish. Next to that was a picture of Phil with a headline Mr. Pin would probably put in his memoirs:

PHIL O
.
DENDRUM
—
A GREAT MAN WHO WORKS WELL WITH CHOCOLATE
!

Nice to be quoted. Nice to hear that about Phil. But even better, with that praise, he might get his job back. At least the city might recognize a true hero. Besides, he had even managed to save a few fish. Not a bad day's work.

It was just about time to get back to writing his memoirs and watering his plants … his plants! He'd almost forgotten.

Just then, the door opened slowly. A man who could have been Phil's twin stepped into the diner. A shock of white hair caught the sun as he came inside.

“We'll be open in a few minutes,” said Mr. Pin. “Can I help you?”

“Why, yes, I think so, uh, I don't know,” he said. “I need to talk to a Mr. Pin. My Name is Dr. Herbert Rootrot from Herb's Bionic Garden. I'm a plant expert.”

A Fish Named Yum

1

Chicago was hit hard by a blizzard that had frozen pipes and closed schools. Buses ran late. Snowplows buried cabs. And more snow was on the way.

It was a bad day to be out. But it was a good day to be inside Smiling Sally's Diner on Monroe. Mr. Pin was helping Sally bake chocolate chip cookies. He tasted every batch that came out of the oven. Along with her cinnamon rolls, the cookies were beginning to make Sally famous.

In fact, Sally's cookies were so good that truckers took bags of them on long trips. The word about Sally's cookies was spreading fast. A businesswoman said Sally should sell them to stores and call them “Famous Shamus” cookies after Mr. Pin.

“It's a good idea, except who would know that a
shamus
is a detective,” Sally had said. “But I'll think about it.”

Besides eating, Mr. Pin spent much of the morning hand-feeding chocolate chips to his fish named Yum. Since the fish had popped out of the basement during the great Chicago flood, the diner had become his home. There was only one problem. Yum was a picky eater. He refused to eat regular fish food. He ate only the chocolate chips Mr. Pin hand-fed him. Not only that, they had to be fresh chips from Luigi's Pasta Shop. Luigi sold only the best pasta and chocolate. Mr. Pin knew that. And Yum knew that. They had something of … an understanding.

So at the height of the blizzard, when Yum ran out of sustaining food and Sally ran out of her secret ingredient, there was only one thing to do. Mr. Pin headed into the storm.

It was a mission of chocolate. An appointment with destiny. A time when only the brave or the desperate faced the perils of Chicago's snowbound streets.

Mr. Pin fought the swirling, blinding snow several blocks down Monroe to Luigi's. Speed on dry land was not Mr. Pin's specialty. But he naturally loved the cold and made up some time by tobogganing down snowbanks … beak first.

While Mr. Pin revelled in the snow, a shadowy figure in a trenchcoat lurked in the doorway of a sushi shop. Unseen by the rockhopper penguin, he watched Mr. Pin slide down Monroe. Then he slipped into the diner.

In addition to slow overland speed, Mr. Pin was not noted for his speed in chocolate shops. It was several diet-free hours later when Mr. Pin returned to the diner from Luigi's. He was barely recognizable. His checked cap and red muffler were completely white. Salt from the streets stung his webbed feet, and his yellow plumes were iced together. But the dangerous mission was a success. Tucked under his wing was a large sack of chocolate chips.

“There's been trouble,” said Sally.

“Trouble,” said Mr. Pin setting the bag on the counter. “Looks like I returned just in time.”

“It's Yum,” said Maggie.

“Why yes, the chocolate is quite tasty,” said Mr. Pin.

“Not the chips,” said Maggie, “the fish.”

“Yum!” said Mr. Pin, unwinding his red muffler.

“He's gone,” said Sally.

“Gone?” asked Mr. Pin, slowly creating a large puddle of melting snow.

“Yum,” said Sally, “has been fishnapped!”

2

Late that afternoon, it was a small gathering of mournful diners who discussed Yum's disappearance over mugs of hot chocolate. The truckers were fond of the fish that had grown rapidly under Mr. Pin's watchful eye and generous wing. The resident detective, himself, sat somewhat apart considering the case. Every now and then he would shake his head and say something like, “I can't believe it,” or “Impossible. Doesn't make sense.”

But there it was. The fish Mr. Pin had befriended and taught to love chocolate was now missing. Not only that, it was possible that Yum had fallen into desperate hands.

Mr. Pin reviewed the facts. Yum had been fishnapped while Mr. Pin was out buying chocolate. Sally and Maggie were in the kitchen making cookies. The diner was empty. It would have been all too easy for the thief to make his move then.

There were plenty of footprints on the black and white tile floor. Which ones belonged to Yum's fishnapper? A fish doesn't just walk away. One of the truckers
had
seen a short, shadowy figure lurking in the doorway of a nearby sushi shop just that morning. But what diabolical mind would steal a fish in the middle of one of Chicago's worst snowstorms?

There was a possibility he didn't want to consider. Gargoyle! Master spy. Had Gargoyle, the Spy Who Came North from the Pole, returned to Chicago to cause greater chaos? And for what reason? And why would he steal a fish?

The police were hesitant to help.

“We'll keep an eye out,” Sergeant O'Malley had said on the phone. “We don't have to wait twenty-four hours to say he's missing. But in any case, unless Yum's a person, we can't file a report. Sorry.”

“No harm in checking,” Mr. Pin had said.

His thoughts now were interrupted by the ring of Sally's pay phone.

“It's for you,” said Hank, handing the phone to Mr. Pin. The detective pulled the long cord out of the booth and leaned against the accordion door.

The connection rattled with the strange sound of some kind of motor in the background.

“All right, Pin, here's the story.” It was a low gravelly voice, probably disguised.

Mr. Pin held up his wing to silence the diner.

“Can't get something for nothing,” said the strange voice.

“What is it you have?” asked Mr. Pin coolly.

“Just listen,” said the voice.

Mr. Pin tipped his head and held the phone close. It was the sound of a pump … just like the kind used in a fish tank!

“Is he all right?” asked Mr. Pin.

“For now,” said the voice. “I'll be in touch. Meanwhile, be prepared to pay more than a fin for your fish!”

Click
.

Mr. Pin knew he was right about one thing. A fish and his chips are soon parted. Yum had fallen into desperate hands.

3

Now what?” asked Maggie later that night. “Yum is gone. The police won't help. And whoever stole our fish probably wants more money than we have.”

Mr. Pin was quiet for a moment. Perhaps he had missed something. Something right under his beak. Maybe even in the diner itself. The fishnapper was likely to call again. In the meantime, Mr. Pin had to do something.

“We need to look for clues,” said Mr. Pin.

“In the diner?” asked Maggie.

“Exactly.”

Mr. Pin hopped off his typing crate in the back room, which he called both home and office, and headed for the darkened diner. He brought along his black bag. Sally had closed the diner early and gone upstairs to pay a few bills. Maggie followed closely on the heels of Mr. Pin.

First he retraced the possible path of the fishnapper. From his black bag he took out a large magnifying glass. He had asked Sally not to clean the floor.

“Hmmm. There is something suspicious here. Something white and gluelike.”

“Can't be snow,” said Maggie. “What else is white?”

“I'm not sure,” said Mr. Pin, slipping a sample into a plastic bag.

“What's that?” asked Maggie.

“Evidence,” said Mr. Pin. He padded slowly from the door over to the diner stools. Sally had already cleaned the counter, but there was a chance she had missed something underneath.

“What are you looking for now?” asked Maggie.

“I won't know until I find it,” said Mr. Pin.

“Makes sense,” said Maggie.

“There!” shouted Mr. Pin. He had spotted it on the side of the old green marble counter right next to where Yum's jar once sat.

“Definitely chocolate,” he said, extending his wing and preening. Then he announced: “This is very familiar.”