I am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class (21 page)

In retrospect, I should have been suspicious of such a massive press turnout for such a minor speech. It’s possible Lionel’s been right all along; maybe I
am
taking my eye off the ball.

 

It is a tribute to the competence of the mercenaries who were hired to make the hit that none of my classmates were injured in the attack.
¹⁰⁷

 

It is a tribute to their
incompetence
that Sheldrake lived. The localized mini-bomb under the lectern, which was supposed to kill him outright, or at least mortally wound him so the troops rushing the stage could finish him off, only succeeded in blowing a hole in the planks beneath him, which he fell through. He suffered a sprained ankle and about a thousand splinters. Physically, he’s fine. Mentally, he’s another story.

 

He hobbles around the cabin of the blimp with manic energy. “I told you. . . . I
told
you. . . .”

“I know.”

 

“How bad is the damage to our network?”

 

I look at the piece of paper in my hand, though all this information is burnt into my brain. “He only succeeded in bribing a few operatives at the outer fringes. They only know about you, of course, not me. . . .”

 

“Well, that’s a relief!” he hisses, with an ugly dose of sarcasm.

 

He’s right, of course. This is bad. This is very bad. It is the worst attack my Secret Worldwide Empire has ever faced. But I can’t allow him to see that I’m worried. He’s too fragile to handle that right now.

 

“When you come to your senses, I think you’ll agree that it is, indeed, ‘a relief.’ All the turncoats have been Phase Foured—”

 

“I should certainly hope so. What about our friend in Switzerland?”

 

“He won’t be making any more attempts on your life.”

 

“Phase Four?”

 

I shake my head. “That’s too good for him. No, he’s going to eat a big dinner and go to sleep early tonight. After a few unnecessary surgical procedures, he’ll wake up two weeks from now as ‘Lobster Man’ in a traveling Mongolian freak show.”

 

Sheldrake snorts with bitter amusement.

 

“On a more positive note, we’re throwing a pizza party for his country’s new government. To say, ‘Thanks for thwarting the assassination.’”

 

“Of course,” I continue, “this setback complicates the election immensely. Still, I should be able to beat Randy handily. And even if he somehow pulls ahead in the polls—if I keep it close—I can rig the voting machines and no one will be the wiser.”

 

Sheldrake explodes, like an overripe plum in a microwave. “Will you shut up about your precious election!” he splutters. “I was almost killed! Our organization was compromised! Two platoons of soldiers were able to enter Omaha without anyone from surveillance noticing!”

 

I struggle to keep my voice calm. “I know all that, Lionel. I’ve already put the entire network on high alert. Double surveillance of the area. Regular jet patrols over our airspace. We won’t take any chances until this thing is resolved.”

 

“Until
what’s
resolved? Your middle-school
election
? My God—all of this to gain the respect of a man who doesn’t seem to even
like
you—”

 

He stops suddenly, casts a worried glance at Lollipop, who’s curled up on a bench. He’s upset, so I decide to ignore the meaningless babble spouting from his lips. I give Lolli a subtle hand gesture. Lionel shivers when she leaps down from her perch and lopes over to him, but she only gives him a friendly nuzzle on the hand with her cold, wet nose.

 

This doesn’t soothe him one bit, and he continues to stump around the cabin like Rumpelstiltskin trying to put his foot through the floor. He points a shaky finger at me and says, “There’s going to be publicity, you know. Lots of publicity. This is front-page news for the next two weeks.”

 

I’m surprised. He doesn’t underestimate me often. “Yes, there’s publicity, but it’s contained. I’ve already had our friends in the media shift their attention to Africa—”

 

“Yes, but—”

 

“
And
I’ve arranged for a teenage honor-roll student from Chicago to go missing . . . starting about three hours from now.”

 

“Oh.” He stops pacing. “Is she pretty?”

 

“Very. It’ll be a suspected kidnapping. Suspicious vehicles in the area, weird phone calls to the press, all that.” Sheldrake knows as well as I do that his attempted murder will swiftly get pushed off the evening news. The public has an insatiable hunger for missing honor-roll students.

 

“Where is she really?”

 

“Camping trip with her Scout troop. She forgot to tell her mother about it.”

 

Sheldrake whistles. It’s nice that I’m still able to impress him. Suddenly, he looks calmer . . . but also older. More tired. “And how long . . . how long do I have to stay up here on this thing?”

 

I give him a guarded smile. “That depends on you. Do you still want to have a drink?”

 

He licks his lips. “God, yes. More than life itself.”

 

“Then I think you need to stay up here a little while longer.” I give his arm a squeeze.

 

He smiles sadly but gratefully. “Thank you, Oliver. I can’t tell you how much . . . I mean, it means so much to me, that you actually—”

 

I give him a frigid glare, and he knows to shut up. Gratitude can sometimes be just as annoying as whininess. He looks down at the floor. He looks beaten. Whipped.

 

Do me a favor. If you’re ever in Mongolia and happen to go to a traveling freak show, don’t throw the lobster boy a peanut. I’m still mad at him.

“Sic semper tyrannis,”
¹⁰⁸
says Daddy, as he flips stations, looking for news about the attack on Sheldrake.

 

“The noted businessman and philanthropist remains in seclusion after yesterday’s attempt on his life, though a spokesman says he is unharmed. . . .”

 

Daddy snickers into his bowl of Swedish meatballs. “Of course, he’s hiding. They get a little scare and guys like that always show their true colors. . . .”

 

The TV drones on: “Now, we return to our continuing coverage of the disappearance of Ethel Majeski. As you’ll recall, the Highland Park, Illinois, teen failed to come home last night after going to the movies with friends—”

 

“Bah!” barks Daddy, as he hits the off button on the remote. I am, without exaggeration, stunned. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone use the word “bah” besides Scrooge in
A Christmas Carol
. And he seems to really mean it, too.

 

Daddy looks rough. He stopped shaving five days ago. The whiskers around his mouth are stained with gray gravy from the meatballs Mom made us for dinner. His whiskers are also stained with brown gravy from last night’s pot roast and yellow gravy from the turkey we had night before last. So I guess he’s stopped bathing, too. Mom is a little too preoccupied these days to notice.

 

We’re eating in the living room. Daddy sits in his favorite chair, staring at the still-glowing screen. I sit on the couch with Lolli, hoping he won’t talk to me. We’ve been exiled from the kitchen by Mom and her gang, who now call themselves the Pink Pythons.

 

They’re not even making posters anymore. They just sit at the counter cackling like mynah birds, and clapping their traps shut whenever I walk into the room. When I went in to get my dinner from Mom tonight, they all looked like someone had superglued their mouths closed.

 

Except for Tati. She was lounging at the kitchen table in a rather skimpy tube top that reads
QUEEN PYTHON
. I was surprised, because I’d seen her wearing her silk kimono when she came over—then I saw that Logan had the ironing board out and was pressing the wrinkles out of the kimono for her.

 

“Big day’s almost here, eh, Tubs?”

 

Election Day. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m working on my speech.”
¹⁰⁹

 

Mom bolted out of her chair. “Do you need any help, Sugarplum?”

 

Tatiana gave Mom a tolerant smile. “Don’t worry about it, Moggsy. We’re giving Sugarplum all the help he needs right here.”

 

That made all four of them—even Mom—giggle like evil villains in a James Bond movie. I was kind of proud of Mom for that.

 

“Tubby,” said Tatiana, “when we get through with you, you’re not even going to need to
give
a stupid speech.”

 

“And then you’ll live forever!” screamed Liz, throwing her arms around me.

 

“Knock it off, Bomb Squad,” said Tati, not smiling anymore. “He’s not a stuffed animal.”

 

“But he’s so
soft
. . .” moaned Liz, reluctantly releasing me.

 

Bomb Squad is Liz’s gang nickname. Tati is Queen Python. Moggsy is what they call Mom—it comes from M.O.G., which stands for Mother of Greatness. Logan’s nickname is Silent But Deadly. She isn’t very happy about that.

 

“Tubby,” said Tati, “go eat your dinner. The Pink Pythons got some planning to do in here. And don’t make yourself crazy writing that speech. We’re gonna win the election for you before you even open your mouth.”

 

Those words ring ominously through my brain now as I sit on the couch sucking on Mom’s Swedish meatballs. To be honest, I’m a little concerned. What are they up to? It’s never even occurred to me to bug my own house before, but it might be time to plant a listening device in the kitchen. . . .

 

I don’t even notice that Daddy is staring at me until he speaks. “That must have been scary. What happened at school yesterday. The attack.”

 

I look over at him and nod gravely. Behind his glasses, his little turtle eyes are bloodshot and bleary.

 

Daddy gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder and says, “You have to understand, a man like that Sheldrake. . . .” He says “man” like it’s an insult. “A man like that, he reaps what he sows. He reaps what he sows. And sometimes, innocent people like you suffer for it.”

 

“Okay, Daddy,” I say, “I believe you. May I please be excused?”

 

He looks annoyed. “Listen to me, Ollie. This is serious. Your Sheldrakes of the world, they have a lot of money; they think that gives them the right to push other people around. And usually, they get away with it. Because most people can’t do anything to stop them. They just don’t have any
choice
. . . .”

 

Daddy spits on the floor—a shocking breach of household protocol. The man is suffering. I know he’s been getting a lot of phone calls from managers of other public television stations, all “congratulating” him for being so annoying that he doubled his pledge goal. “But sometimes there’s justice,” he says. “Sometimes your Sheldrakes tangle with someone who can fight back. Like this African dictator. I bet Lionel Sheldrake rues the day he ever interfered with
that
man.”

 

I gaze at him owlishly. Daddy, for once, has hit upon a topic that interests me. “I bet Lionel Sheldrake rues the day he didn’t
kill
that man when he had the chance.”

 

Now he looks at
me
owlishly. “You surprise me sometimes, son,” he says, as he puts his forgotten bowl of meatballs on the floor. Lolli lunges for them, and I let her. “You are always the innocent . . . and then sometimes, you’re Machiavelli.”
¹¹⁰

 

Have I been indiscreet? I replay our conversation in my head. I don’t think so. It’s okay for him to know his baby has teeth.

 

“Daddy, can I please be excused? I have homework.”

 

He motions for me to leave. I pause in the doorway and turn back to him.

 

“Daddy,” I ask, “are you gonna come hear my speech?”

 

He rubs his gravy-stained stubble with the back of his hand. “Uh . . . I don’t know about that, champ. I . . . It’s not that I’m not proud of you . . .”

 

Of course not.

 

“It’s just . . . I’m kind of a celebrity in town, and I’m really not feeling up to any public appearances these days. But we’ll have a big dinner when you get home. To celebrate.”

 

“A victory dinner.”

 

“Right,” he says. Then he turns the TV back on and starts scanning the channels again for news about Sheldrake.

 

And to think:
I’m
the evil one.

Is that blood I taste in my mouth? Have shards of glass carved up my tongue?

 

No, that’s rage I taste. Just rage.

 

Verna Salisbury looks uncomfortable. She should be. She perches on the edge of Sheldrake’s sofa, trying to keep up an air of confidence as she speaks slowly into the speakerphone. “I
know
we had deal, but that’s over. My mind is made up. I’m sorry. . . .”

 

Sheldrake’s voice hisses reluctantly over the speaker: “No,
I’m
sorry, Verna.”

 

A panel in Sheldrake’s bookcase opens, revealing The Motivator. He smiles and takes a few lumbering steps toward Verna, looking like the unholy child of Frankenstein and an albino hammerhead shark. She laughs. “Don’t try to intimidate me with your goon. I know you didn’t get as rich as you are by killing people over student-council elections.”