Beware the Fisj (8 page)

He turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over once, choked and died. He tried again. Same result. And again. He checked the gas gauge. Empty. He tried to picture his police training manual, but could not recall a page dictating what an officer should do when he finds himself covered in garbage, in the middle of nowhere, with an empty gas tank.

He began to walk towards Chutney, passing the time by making a mental list of the many unpleasant things he had in store for the Fish when he apprehended him.

* * *

“Notice,”
read Jim Duffy.
“Beginning September 20th, there will be no transit service between the hours of 1 AM and 6 AM.”

“Terrific!” exclaimed Fred Johnston, resting his load against the bus shelter. “We’re stranded in beautiful downtown Stouffville! Call me a taxi. Or better still, a truck. We can’t walk all the way home!”

“We’ll just have to wait until six,” sighed Jim. “And while we’re at it, we may as well pick up a few more cans.”

Fred groaned. “Wait till I get my hands on Bruno Walton!”

* * *

Just before dawn a group of fifteen boys crept onto the Macdonald Hall campus, each carrying large bags full of cans. They stole across the lawn to the abandoned Dormitory 3 and opened the main door.

John Oak stepped inside. “Wow!” he whispered admiringly. “Look at this!”

The dormitory hall was lined with neatly-stacked pop cans, already stretching past two doorways. The stacks were four cans high. Their metallic surfaces glinted in the dim moonlight.

“We’ll have to stack ours too,” John whispered to the others. “That’s what everyone else is doing.” To set a good example, he began placing his cans one by one in a neat stack with the others.

“How many do you think we’ve got?” whispered someone.

“About a billion!”

“About five hundred.”

“Probably a few thousand.”

“A lot more than any normal person would want!”

“My feet are killing me!”

“I don’t think we have enough.”

“Don’t worry. There’s lots more coming.”

“My feet!”

“Your feet? My back!”

“Shhhhh!”

Their cans all neatly stowed away, the boys headed for their rooms to catch two hours sleep before breakfast.

* * *

Dawn found Bruno Walton and Boots O’Neal in Toronto’s High Park because, as Bruno put it, “It’s right in the middle of the city. There are picnics, school field trips, office workers having lunch — there must be millions of pop cans!”

And there were. The bins were piled high with the previous day’s leavings, since the clean-up crew had not yet come on duty.

“We should have brought more guys!” exclaimed Bruno enthusiastically. “We could get thirty-two thousand cans just from this park!”

“Who else would be stupid enough to come all the way to Toronto?” moaned Boots, yawning hugely. “How are we ever going to get all these cans back to the Hall?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part,” said Bruno, tossing three cans into his second bag. “Via the Art Gallery at four o’clock.”

“Scrimmage’s?” asked Boots in horror.

Bruno shrugged. “They’re going to have two or three buses. Surely they’ll have room for little old us.”

“Bruno, we’ve got two huge bags of junk apiece! How do you figure we can just slip onto one of their buses unnoticed? Miss Scrimmage is bound to catch us!”

“The girls will all have big bags of junk too,” said Bruno. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after everything.”

“I’d rather take the bus to Chutney and walk back to the Hall,” said Boots hopefully.

“Well, let me put it this way,” said Bruno. “We have enough money either for bus fare or for lunch. Take your choice.” He smiled engagingly. “And Miss Scrimmage’s buses go for free.”

* * *

Having spent a full two hours in the bathtub, Sergeant Featherstone then turned on the shower for cover noise and began to record his report.

“Investigation Fish — Field Report Number Four — Sergeant Harold P. Featherstone, Special Division, reporting.

“Last night I managed to elude the Fish’s agent from room 14 and pursue my investigation in secrecy. I came upon what I believe to be a phase of Operation Popcan at the Chutney town dump. Several people were involved, descriptions impossible due to poor light. They were using the code word Fish. As I closed in on them, one of the terrorists made a vicious attempt on my life by starting an avalanche of garbage. I got a good look at my assailant, and I must say that I have never seen a more evil face in my entire career. I shall certainly know him when we meet again.

“Featherstone out.”

* * *

At mid-morning on Saturday, a group of nine Macdonald Hall students who had met on the way home stole onto the campus from the rear by way of the woods. Taking care to keep out of sight, they eased their way into Dormitory 3 through a side window. In the hallway, a wondrous sight met their eyes: row upon row of neatly stacked pop cans lined the wall. To their weary souls it was awe-inspiring evidence of great achievement.

“It kind of makes you
believe
, doesn’t it?” commented Chris Talbot.

The group began to stack their own cans.

* * *

“All right, girls,” said Miss Scrimmage brightly. “Now that your guided tour of the gallery is over, you may spend the next two hours looking over the exhibits that interested you the most. Or perhaps you might enjoy having a small snack in the cafeteria. Your time is your own, but be sure to be back at the buses at quarter to four. Run along, now.”

Like a general, Cathy Burton marched the entire population of Miss Scrimmage’s school down the hall and into the ladies’ room. There each girl was handed a green garbage bag, hoisted out the window to the street and sent in search of pop cans.

After the last girl had been sped on her way, Diane turned to Cathy. “What about us? What are we doing?”

“I’m not fool enough to chase all over town looking for pop cans,” replied Cathy. “There must be a million of them right in the cafeteria of this building.”

“Gee,” chuckled Diane admiringly, “you sure know how to plan the right way.”

“I hope so,” grinned Cathy. “And I hope the guys build their pyramid and get into the record book. Things would be awfully dull around our place if we lost Macdonald Hall.”

* * *

“There are the buses,” said Bruno as he and Boots approached the Art Gallery. “All we have to do is sneak aboard and we’re home free.”

“It’s hard to sneak anywhere,” observed Boots, “when you’re carrying two gigantic bags that clank. Would you mind telling me how we’re going to do it?”

“Easy,” said Bruno. “We wait for the girls and we all clank on together.”

On cue, a line of girls began to stream out of the building. Bruno and Boots quickly ran over and merged with the crowd. Spotting them, Cathy and Diane pushed their way over.

“Hi,” said Cathy. “Want a lift?”

“Yes, please,” replied Bruno, grinning.

The line stopped.

“My goodness,” said Miss Scrimmage at the entrance to the bus. “Why is everyone carrying such huge parcels?”

“Souvenirs, Miss Scrimmage,” piped Bruno, falsetto.

“Oh, how nice!” exclaimed the Headmistress with delight. “I
am
pleased that you all enjoyed the gallery so. Let me have a peek.” She looked into the bag carried by the first girl in line and raised a perplexed face. “Uh — splendid,” she said dubiously. “All right, now, girls. Everybody on the buses.”

They all filed on, Cathy and Diane keeping Bruno and Boots well hidden.

“How strange,” commented Miss Scrimmage to the driver. “I counted two more than we brought.”

The driver shrugged indifferently. “They’re probably from the other bus,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I guess that’s it.”

Both buses pulled away from the Art Gallery.

Bruno thoroughly enjoyed the trip, hanging his head out the window to catch the breeze. Boots, on the other hand, sat in hunched misery, hiding his face in his green garbage bags and peeking out now and then to check the back of Miss Scrimmage’s head.

When the buses finally pulled into the driveway of Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, Bruno turned to Cathy.

“You’ll have to take our stuff,” he said. “We’ll never get across the road with it now. Leave everything in the orchard. I’ll send a crew over to pick it up tonight around midnight. Come on, Boots. We’ll go out the emergency exit and take off across the road.”

“But —” Diane protested.

She was too late. Bruno pulled the lever and kicked open the door. The bus exploded with a loud alarm buzzer. Bruno grabbed a shocked Boots and the two shot across the road to their own campus, leaving chaos and confusion behind them.

“Who did that?” shrilled Miss Scrimmage.

Nobody answered.

“I tried to tell them,” Diane whispered to Cathy, who was laughing too hard to reply.

“Who did that?” repeated Miss Scrimmage.

“It must be defective,” called out Cathy finally. “It’s a good thing someone didn’t fall out on the way home.”

“Quite right,” fumed Miss Scrimmage. “I shall complain to the bus company.”

* * *

“I’m glad to see we’re all present and accounted for,” said Bruno at the dinner table.

“Barely,” muttered Wilbur.

“Some guy was after us at the dump,” said Pete. “If it hadn’t been for Sidney’s quick thinking, we’d have got caught.”

“Quick thinking, my eye!” retorted Wilbur. “It was clumsiness, as usual.”

The boys broke into a confused babble of complaints about their experiences on the hunt, all directed at Bruno Walton.

“Most important,” cried Bruno over the din, “did you guys get a lot of cans?”

“When you see Dormitory 3,” said Larry, “you’ll freak out! We’ve got them stacked four high and they take up the first nine doorways! I didn’t think there were that many cans in the world!”

“Scrimmage’s has a lot too,” said Boots.

“We’re all going over there to get them tonight,” Bruno added.

“Count me out,” chorused everybody.

“If we don’t get them,” responded Bruno cheerfully, “all that work we did last night will be for nothing.”

Wilbur held his head. “What do we have to do?”

“Each of you recruit a few more guys,” instructed Bruno. “We need lots of muscle. We’ll all meet tonight in front of Dormitory 2.”

“Is this mandatory?” asked Elmer in a small voice.

“Absolutely,” said Bruno.

Elmer sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

“When are we going to build this pyramid anyway?” asked Boots.

“Next Saturday,” Bruno told them. “That’s the day The Fish and most of the staff go to Toronto for the big Board meeting. I’ve already called the TV station in Chutney to come and witness it for us.”

“We’re going to be on TV?” gasped Pete.

“Publicity and the
Rankin Book of World Records
,” said Bruno with great satisfaction.

At midnight Cathy Burton and Diane Grant were at their window watching as about twenty-five Macdonald Hall students arrived at Miss Scrimmage’s apple orchard. It took the boys only a few minutes to locate the treasure of pop cans the girls had hidden there for them. Then, carrying four big bags apiece, the boys began to move slowly and silently back towards Macdonald Hall.

In the lead, Bruno and Boots were just about to step onto the highway.

“Halt!”

The whole group stopped and wheeled about. Miss Scrimmage was running towards them, her arms waving wildly. She did not, Bruno was relieved to note, have her shotgun.

“Run!”
he bellowed, and twenty-five yelling boys, each carrying huge clanking bundles, thundered across the highway with Miss Scrimmage in hot pursuit. In a matter of seconds, a stream of girls dressed in nightclothes swarmed after them.

“No!” howled Bruno, seeing his crew heading for Dormitory 3. “Don’t lead her there!” He could not be heard over the general din. “No! Stop! Awwwww …” He ran after them.

Boys began to pour out of Dormitories 1 and 2, sleepy and bewildered.

“Stop, thieves!” screeched Miss Scrimmage, still running at the head of her army of shrieking girls.

The boys arrived at Dormitory 3, threw the door open and stampeded inside, dropping their bags and kicking the neatly stacked pop cans all over the hall. Sidney Rampulsky was the first to fall. He started a chain reaction, and soon all twenty-five boys were down on the floor, pop cans scattered all around them. More boys were pouring in through the doorway, all tripping and tumbling.

“What’s going on?”

“Our pop cans!”

“Miss Scrimmage is coming! She’s going to find our pop cans!”

“Don’t be silly! What would she do with thirty-two thousand pop cans?”

“Ouch!”

Outside, a hysterical Miss Scrimmage was being restrained by several of her girls.

“Don’t go in there, Miss Scrimmage,” Diane Grant pleaded. “You won’t like it!”

“Release me!”
insisted Miss Scrimmage.

The girls’ gym teacher, Miss Smedley, arrived on the scene. “Miss Scrimmage,” she shrilled, “all the girls have left their rooms!”

“I can see that!” cried the Headmistress.

From room 200 in Dormitory 2, Coach Flynn’s head appeared. “Shut up out there!” he bellowed. He took in the wild scene and exclaimed in horror, “What the heck is going on?”

“It’s Al!” cried Cathy. “Hi, Al!”

“Are you all crazy?” shouted Flynn. “Get off our campus! Go back where you belong!”

“Release me!” shrilled Miss Scrimmage once more.

Bruno finally scrambled out the door of Dormitory 3.

“Walton!” yelled Flynn. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“There’s one of them!” cried Miss Scrimmage. “Stop, thief!” She pulled herself loose and, arms waving, began to chase Bruno around the building. A crowd of her girls followed, screaming for her to come back. Boots darted after them.

Bruno gulped as he ran. Approaching on the dead run was a familiar figure in a red silk dressing gown and bedroom slippers. It was Mr. Sturgeon.

“Hello, sir,” panted Bruno as they met.

The Headmaster thrust Bruno behind him, held up both hands and announced quietly and firmly, “Stop this
at once
!”