Molly Moon's Incredible Book of Hypnotism (21 page)

M
olly, Rocky, and Petula sat patiently in the warehouse. As the light outside faded, Molly went out to a phone booth. From there she called Rixey Bloomy and told her that she was too upset about Petula being stolen to go through with that evening’s performance of
Stars on Mars.

“I’m sorry, Rixey, it’s just I might collapse on the stage.”

“Oh, Molly, the public will understand,” sympathized Rixey. “And don’t you worry—your understudy, Laura, will play your part tonight.”

Molly felt a bit guilty since she knew that the people coming tonight would be disappointed. But then she thought of Laura, the understudy, a girl who was longing to show everyone how she could dance and sing,
and Molly felt better. Rocky didn’t need to call anyone since he’d hypnotized the Alabasters into thinking that he’d gone on a Boy Scout trip to New York City. So instead, he ordered pizzas. Then, full of pizza and hope, they waited for Nockman.

Petula, meanwhile, was venting her anger on Nockman by attacking the garden gnomes that stood like a small army in the shadows. She thought they bore a nasty resemblance to the smelly man who had kidnaped her.

Molly and Rocky ventured upstairs, where there was a window looking out onto the dark street.

“Do you think he listened to the tape?” asked Rocky.

“If he didn’t, I’m in big trouble,” said Molly, wincing.

“If he did listen, I hope the tape worked,” said Rocky. “I hope my voice was up to it.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

While they were waiting, Molly and Rocky snooped around Nockman’s warehouse. They discovered two more rooms on the second floor: a tiny kitchen and a bathroom. The kitchen had a sink, with Bubblealot dishwashing liquid and gloves on its drainboard, a dirty stove, and a fridge that smelled of sour milk. And everywhere were boxes. Boxes of perfume, jewelry, ornaments, antiques, and expensive watches. “Wow,” said Molly, “these must be worth a fortune!”

“I don’t think so,” said Rocky, pointing to a stamp on one of the boxes that read MADE IN CHINA. “These are fakes, but I expect Nockman sells them as if they’re the real thing.”

In another room they found boxes full of leather handbags. “Fakes too,” said Rocky. “They’re copies of posh designer handbags. If you look closely, you’ll see they’re glued, not stitched … They’d fall apart in seconds. I’ve heard about crooks selling these.”

“Bet he sells them for a mint,” said Molly.

“Yeah, you bet he does.”

Downstairs were boxes of precious old porcelain, again every piece a modern fake. Other boxes were full of anything Nockman could lay his hands on: hair dryers, cat baskets, hammers, mops, TV sets, and stereo equipment. There was even a box full of cuckoo clocks.

“I bet all of this is stolen,” said Rocky.

“‘Fallen off the back of a truck,’ as they say,” Molly agreed.

Shortly after midnight headlights lit up the street by the warehouse.

“It’s him!” Molly and Rocky said in unison. They bolted downstairs to open the huge metal door. Nockman drove in and parked, his truck’s tires crushing a box of teapots. Molly and Rocky opened the driver’s door and found him staring straight ahead
with an idiotic expression on his face, clutching the wheel.

Driving in a semi daze had been quite an experience for Nockman. At one point, he had driven off the highway and around a cloverleaf sixty-two times before hitting the main road again.

“You can get out now,” Rocky said. Obediently Nockman stepped down. Petula growled at him, and Nockman blew his cheeks out until they were full of air. When his eyes began rolling in their sockets, Petula backed off. This was not the tough man she had known. This one looked like he might suddenly explode. Petula decided to leave him and to attack another garden gnome instead.

Molly rescued the hypnotism book. “Pheeew,” she whistled.

Then she and Rocky walked around Nockman. “With the right outfit,” Molly said, “he’d be perfect as a scarecrow.”

“Mmmmm,” said Rocky. “You,” he ordered Nockman, “will be under this person’s power too. She is called …” Rocky looked about. “Hair Dryer.”

“I’ve had worse nicknames,” Molly said.

“And I,” continued Rocky, “am called Cat Basket.” Nockman nodded seriously, and Molly and Rocky started to giggle.

“Who am I?” asked Rocky.

“Cat Basket,” said Nockman as if he were saying “God.”

“And this person is?”

“Hair Dryer. I will do—whatever Miss Hair Dryer—and Mr. Cat Basket—say.” Petula’s barking disguised Rocky and Molly’s stifled laughter.

“Sshh, Petula,” said Molly. Turning to Rocky, she whispered, “What next?”

Rocky pulled at the hairs in his eyebrow. They had talked about what they might do should Nockman return hypnotized, but they hadn’t come to any decisions.

“Let’s just leave the truck here, dump Nockman in Manhattan with his mind blanked, and call the police anonymously. Once they’ve got this address, they can sort everything out.”

“No way,” whispered Molly hoarsely. “I told you … when the police come here, they’ll probably trace the truck back to Nockman, and then when they investigate him, maybe they’ll find out he’s been hypnotized and maybe they’ll undo all the hypnosis we’ve done and they’ll eventually track us down.”

“Couldn’t we just park the truck somewhere?” asked Rocky.

“No, because they’d find it. It’s too risky. No, what
we should do is put the jewels somewhere
else
, like in garbage bags. We could put them in garbage bags
outside the bank.”

Rocky looked doubtful.

“Why not?” insisted Molly. “The bank doesn’t need security guards now that there’s nothing left to steal, so it would be safe. No one would expect the robbers to come back to the bank. We could call the police and tell them where to go.”

“We can’t put it in garbage bags,” whispered Rocky. “What if the garbage collectors think it’s trash? And we can’t dump it all at once—there’s tons of it. It would take ages to get it all out of the truck. Someone would see us.”

Petula, sensing the tension in the discussions, was barking ferociously at a pink-faced gnome as if it were all his fault.

“Yes, you’re right, garbage bags are bad. How about those handbags then, from upstairs?”

“They’re too small,” whispered Rocky. “And anyway, people would steal them. I mean, handbags almost always have money in them, don’t they?”

“Hmm, we need big bags that won’t be stolen
or
picked up.”

Petula was leaping at another gnome, trying to bite his nose. Finally, she knocked him over. His hat hit a concrete step and his head smashed open. Petula looked up proudly as if she’d just killed a gorgon.

“The gnomes!” Molly gasped. “I don’t believe it— they’re hollow! Look, they’ve got screw-on bases so that you can fill them with sand and they don’t fall over.”

“Perfect,” said Rocky, picking up the gnoms’e pipe. “Thanks, Petula.”

“Raoof raoof,” barked Petula, feeling pleased with herself.

Over the next two and a half hours, Molly, Rocky, and Nockman, all with Bubblealot rubber gloves on to avoid leaving fingerprints, set to work transferring the envelopes of stolen stones and jewels into twenty-five gnomes. They gave each gnome a mixed stuffing: delicate, lighter jewelry in the heads and upper parts of the gnomes so that they wouldn’t be crushed, and the heavier packets of jewels in their bottom parts to weigh them down. Once their bases were screwed on, the garden statues looked as innocent as before.

Eventually Nockman, sweaty and smelling like a dirty sock, pushed the last of them into place in the truck.

Molly and Rocky, holding Petula, admired the lineup of smiling gnomes, all ready for action, and watched as Nockman descended on the truck’s electric platform.

“Shall we leave him here?” asked Rocky.

“No, he’s too dangerous,” whispered Molly. “He knows too much. He might have a bank-robbing map or something that would jog his memory.”

“But—but that means he has to come with us,” moaned Rocky.

“Sorry,” said Molly, “but he could be useful to us. Look how he helped us load up. Anyway, Rock, for starters, we can’t drive.”

“I know,” said Rocky, yawning.

“Come on, we’d better deliver these things before everyone in Manhattan wakes up.”

Molly and Rocky checked the warehouse for any incriminating evidence. Then, with Rocky and Nockman in the cab of the truck, and Molly and Petula in the back, they drove away from the warehouse toward Manhattan.

As they crossed the Manhattan Bridge, Rocky noticed that all the vehicles coming out of Manhattan were being stopped and checked by police. There was a long traffic jam. But the road into Manhattan was empty, and they headed straight over the bridge.

Once in Manhattan, “Operation Plant a Gnome” began. They had decided to drop the gnomes in different places over the city. That way they didn’t have to stop the truck for too long and so reduced the risk of
concrete step and his head smashed open. Petula looked up proudly as if she’d just killed a gorgon.

“The gnomes!” Molly gasped. “I don’t believe it—they’re hollow! Look, they’ve got screw-on bases so that you can fill them with sand and they don’t fall over.”

“Perfect,” said Rocky, picking up the gnome’s pipe. “Thanks, Petula.”

“Raoof raoof,”
barked Petula, feeling pleased with herself.

Over the next two and a half hours, Molly, Rocky, and Nockman, all with Bubblealot rubber gloves on to avoid leaving fingerprints, set to work transferring the envelopes of stolen stones and jewels into twenty-five gnomes. They gave each gnome a mixed stuffing: delicate, lighter jewelry in the heads and upper parts of the gnomes so that they wouldn’t be crushed, and the heavier packets of jewels in their bottom parts to weigh them down. Once their bases were screwed on, the garden statues looked as innocent as before.

Eventually Nockman, sweaty and smelling like a dirty sock, pushed the last of them into place in the truck.

Molly and Rocky, holding Petula, admired the lineup of smiling gnomes, all ready for action, and watched as Nockman descended on the truck’s electric platform.

“Shall we leave him here?” asked Rocky.
being noticed. Every time they came to a quiet grassy area, where there were no prying eyes, Rocky, sitting in the front, told Nockman where to stop and banged on the partition behind him, signaling to Molly. Molly then opened the back of the truck from the inside, rolled a gnome out onto the electric platform, and lowered it down to the ground. Petula acted as watchdog as Molly rolled each gnome into position. Rocky wrote down exactly where each gnome was.

They left gnomes under trees, beside bushes, and on tiny triangles of grass. They decorated playgrounds with gnomes and put gnomes by fountains, by sidewalk benches, and beside park benches. One looked very brave laughing beneath the statue of a horse and rider outside the Museum of Natural History. Another looked pleased that his pond had frozen over, as he sat on a ledge overlooking the Rockefeller Center skating rink. They put two gnomes by the gates of the zoo, and two at the Strawberry Fields entrance of Central Park.

Each gnome took five minutes to plant.

Each hair-raising five minutes was a window for them to be seen, and there were a few tense moments when Molly thought they might have been. At Riverside Park Molly halted the electric door halfway open, since she saw a police car approaching. As it coasted by, like a hungry shark, she crossed her fingers that it wouldn’t
stop. At Gramercy Park Petula ran off into the darkness to investigate a stray dog, and Molly had to call quietly for her until she returned.

One by one, they got rid of the twenty-five brightly colored gnomes. The last two were placed teasingly outside Shorings Bank.

“They look great!” said Molly, climbing into the front of the truck with Petula, Rocky, and Nockman.

Then they drove back to the warehouse by the docks on West 52nd Street to ditch the truck. Rocky took his tape out of the radio/cassette player.

They left the dockside and walked quickly back to the main streets. At a phone booth they telephoned the police and held the receiver to Nockman’s mouth. “The—Shorings—jewels—are—safe. Look—for—twenty-five gnomes—on—the—streets—of—Manhattan,” he said. And then they hung up. They flagged an early-morning cab and, by six o’clock, before the December sun came up, they were back at the Waldorf.

T
he hotel receptionist was tired from his night shift. Molly easily used her powers to persuade him to give Nockman a room, just for that day, and to bring him a clean outfit, whatever outfit the hotel had that would fit him, and a shaving kit. The receptionist nodded.

“Lastly,” Molly instructed him, “you won’t remember seeing this man after you have delivered his outfit. Understood?”

“Under-stood—-madam.”

“You may go.”

Then, to Nockman, Molly said, “Sleep in your room until one o’clock, then have a bath, wash your hair, shave off your mustache and your beard, and make yourself smell nice. At two thirty, when you are dressed
in your new outfit, come to the Royal Suite.”

Molly and Rocky went upstairs and, peeling off their jackets, flopped onto the bed. Petula made herself a bed on Molly’s old jacket and fell asleep too.

Molly slept until her alarm went off. For a minute or two she lay on the bed looking at Rocky’s ink-stained hands and listening to the rain, which was starting to pelt down outside. Their early-morning adventure already seemed like a dream. Molly smiled and called room service to order some food.

Rocky woke to the smell of eggs and toast, and then he and Molly sat down for a TV brunch.

The news channels were full of reports about the gnomes, and the TV reporters were going bananas. This was a fabulous news story. On channel thirty-eight a reporter, under an umbrella, was talking excitedly into a furry microphone outside Shorings Bank.

“Amazingly, the Shorings’ jewels have
all
been returned. The bank has verified that every last pearl has been accounted for.
Every
diamond, ruby, and gem! In fact, goods to the value of a hundred
million
dollars! And the method of delivery adds a bizarre twist to what was already an incredible story. Twenty-five garden gnomes stuffed full of the stolen property were discovered dotted about Manhattan in the early hours of this morning, after an anonymous phone call. The male
caller had a Chicago accent, but apart from that, nothing else is known about him. Police have released these pictures of the gnomes as they found them.”

The screen filled with photographs of the gnomes, looking startled in the darkness, lit with police flashlights like criminals caught in the act. They looked very funny.

The reporter continued. “The reason for the return of the jewels is baffling detectives. Some think that the robbery was some sort of dare, others believe the robbers themselves were robbed. The police are asking the public for any information that could help them solve the mystery. Now, back to the studio.”

“More! More!” Rocky shouted at the TV. “We want more pictures of the gnomes, and more of the police looking baffled!” He fired the remote control at the TV, skimming through the channels, trying to find more news. “Aw,” he complained, “lunchtime news is over. I’ve never been on the news before. That was brilliant!”

“We were brilliant,” agreed Molly. “We robbed that bank like professionals and returned the loot like undercover agents.”

“Except we did have a few hiccups doing it….” Rocky chuckled. “Molly, you didn’t look quite so pleased with yourself in the bank when you thought
you’d been caught on tape. Your face was so worried.”

Molly remembered and grinned. “Okay, but not half as freaked out as you looked when you thought we wouldn’t get past those eye scanners….”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but what about you, Molly, in Gramercy Park this morning when Petula went running off. I thought your bottom lip was going to fall off….”

Molly and Rocky laughed as they relived the scariest moments, scene by scene.

“And the crazy thing is no one will ever know who did it or how it was done. In fact, you know what?” Rocky pointed out proudly. “This crime will go down in history.”

It would go down in history. Molly remembered how Nockman had hoped for that himself. Then she remembered some other things he’d said. Molly switched the TV off and started twiddling her napkin with her fingers.

“You know, Rocky, I’m no better than Nockman really. I’m a criminal too.”

Rocky looked surprised.

“Yes I am, Rocky. If you think about it. I mean, look at this place. I conned my way here, I conned people to pay for it, I conned Davina Nuttel out of her part. I conned the audience at Briersville, so I
stole
the prize money really, and I cheated all those other kids out of
a chance to win the talent show.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Rocky lightheartedly. “You are a genius hypnotist. That’s what you’re good at. That’s what your talent is. I mean none of those other people in Briersville could have got to New York with their talent. You’re brilliant. Everyone’s happy. New Yorkers loved your show—they had the best night of their lives. And Rixey and Barry love you. Just look at all the publicity you’ve got them for
Stars on Mars.
You’re not a
real
thief; you just get what you want using a different method from everyone else. The only thing you ever actually really stole was Davina’s part, and she wasn’t an angel herself, was she? You and I are the only ones who know the truth, so really, Molly, what does it matter?”

“Yeah, I know, but being truthful is better, isn’t it, Rocky?”

“Okay, it is, but Molly, I’m not having you going on some kind of guilt trip now. Loosen up.”

Molly did feel guilty, but she felt more than that. Like a runaway horse that had galloped and galloped, she’d found herself in a place where she didn’t really want to be. Being with Rocky had made her slow down and look about.

“Rocky, it’s not just that. There’s something else that is making me feel … well,
bad.
I know this hotel room is amazing and everything, but the thing is, Rock, I’m starting to not like being Molly Moon the Star. Maybe
I would if I really
was
the person who everyone thinks I am, but the thing is, I’m not. I’m getting tired of this thing where people like me just because they’ve been hypnotized to like me. People aren’t liking the
real
me. They’re liking something unreal. Like an ad. They’re liking a sort of fake Molly Moon. So it makes the
real
me feel like rubbish, and my life here is just a waste of time, because it’s not the
real
Molly Moon’s life. Nobody is getting to know the real-life Molly Moon.” She looked at Petula, sound asleep. “I mean, even
Petula
doesn’t properly like me. I hypnotized her to like me.”

“Molly! But that was ages ago. Your hypnosis on Petula must have worn off by now.”

“Worn off? What are you talking about?”

“Molly, it doesn’t last forever, you know. Didn’t you realize? The
lessons
that animals or people learn from hypnosis
can
last forever, like Petula not eating chocolate cookies. She got into new habits that made her feel good, so she continued being like that. But the hypnotism doesn’t last forever. Petula’s not hypnotized anymore. Now she likes you because she does.”

“So you mean that the hypnotism I did on Barry Bragg and Rixey Bloomy will wear off?” Molly’s mouth fell open.

“Sure. Eventually. They won’t ever know that they were actually hypnotized, and they’ll always remember you as brilliant. But if you didn’t see them for six
months, they wouldn’t think you were as brilliant as they thought you were before. You’d have to hypnotize them all over again.”

“And the audience I hypnotized?”

“The same. They’ll remember you being good, but if they saw you onstage again, you’d have to hypnotize them afresh; otherwise they’d see your little singing and dancing routine for what it was.”

“But how do you know all of this?” asked Molly.

“From the book, of course,” said Rocky. Molly looked perplexed. “Oh, whoops,” he said, covering his mouth with his hand, “it was written at the end of chapter eight.”

“So that piece of
vital
information was in your pocket. Jeepers!”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” said Molly thoughtfully after a few moments. “So, hypnotism wears off. Well, you know what? The sparkle of my life here has worn off too. I wanted to leave New York with you and Petula anyway. Now that you’ve told me all this, I
really
want to go. Having to charm and hypnotize everyone all the time, forever … uuurgh! What a nightmare!”

“Where do you want to go?” asked Rocky.

Molly looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve been worrying,” she admitted, “about everyone at Hardwick House. Not Hazel or Gordon or Roger, but about Gemma and
Gerry, and Ruby and Jinx.”

“Mmmnn, so have I,” agreed Rocky. “Imagine what it must be like there with Hazel in charge. It’s probably worse than when Miss Adderstone was there.”

“And it’s all my fault,” said Molly. “I bet Hazel has them doing all the work. I want to go back. But you, Rocky … you won’t want to come back, not now that you’ve got your new parents.”

“Ah. Well, Molly, I’ve got something to tell you about the Alabasters. They aren’t very nice.”

“Not very nice?”

“No. In fact they are horrible.”

Rocky proceeded to tell Molly about the dreadful Alabasters, who had seemed wonderful the day they visited Hardwick House, but who had shown their true colors once back in the States. They’d been very, very strict, and Rocky found their house like a jail.

“They wanted to dress me in stiff, old-fashioned suits and make me sit inside doing puzzles or making origami.”

“What’s origami?”

“You know, that Japanese art of folding paper. I wouldn’t have minded doing it a bit, it was just that they gave me a book to learn it from, and the instructions were impossible to follow, and they wanted me to do it all day long.”

“All day?”

“Well, a lot. They said it would discipline my mind. I hypnotized them, of course, to drop the origami.”

“What else?”

“Well, they didn’t like me going out in case I muddied my clothes. Or in case I caught a bug from another kid. Not that I saw any other kids. Their neighborhood was full of old people. Once, when I went on a walk, they called the police! If they’d had their way, I wouldn’t have been allowed to sing or whistle or go for a walk or watch TV. They liked me reading, but the only books were ancient ones that Mrs. Alabaster had when she was a girl. Oh, and the food they ate was gross—they were both on special diets, and so I had to eat their rabbit food with them.”

“Rabbit food?”

“Well, it looked like rabbit food. Sometimes it looked like cat food with goldfish food sprinkled on top. Everything they did was weird. Worst of all, I missed you. I mean, you’re my family, Molly. I’ve known you forever.”

Molly felt all warm inside. “Thanks, Rocky.” There were a few moments of silence as the two smiled at each other, appreciating what they had. Then Molly asked, “But how will you get away?”

“I’ll hypnotize them that it never worked out because they didn’t like me. I’ll make them think that they sent
me back and that it was all for the best, you know, that sort of thing.”

“It’s going to be difficult disentangling myself from New York,” said Molly with dread in her voice.

“You can fix everything,” said Rocky thoughtfully. “I know what you should do. And I think I may know how you can make up for all your guilt about the conning you’ve been doing. You just need to make a few phone calls.”

Ten minutes later Molly was on the phone. “Yes, Barry, so Petula got returned in the night.”

“Just like the Shorings Bank gnomes!” said Barry.

“Yes, like the gnomes. But you see, Barry, the whole kidnap thing has freaked me out. And I’ve decided I want Davina to have the part back. I want to take a
long
break.”

“But …”

“I have to go,” said Molly firmly.

“I see,” said Barry. “Well, Rixey and I and the cast will miss you.”

“Thank you. I’ll miss you, too. Now, Barry, listen carefully. You must arrange for the hotel bill to be paid and I want some wages. Er, how much do you think is really fair?”

“Well—con-sidering the—amount you’ve cost—to
keep—and the cost—of that massive—magnifying glass—balanced against the—great publicity—you got the show—well—I think—thirty thousand dollars,” calculated Barry, thinking about his ten percent cut.

“Okay,” said Molly, very pleased by his sums, “great. Please will you get that delivered to the Waldorf by four o’clock today. Oh, and I’ll have it in cash.”

“A-greed.”

“And, Barry, tell Rixey that I can’t do the show again tonight. Let Laura, the understudy, do it…. Oh, and talking of Laura, will you look after her, Barry? Make sure she gets a really good lead part in something … take-her-under-your-wing sort of thing …”

“A-greed.”

“Then no one is to know I’m actually leaving until tomorrow.”

“A-greed.”

“Tell Rixey you had a long, long conversation with me and that I said good-bye.”

“A-greed.”

“So, good-bye, and, well, thank you for everything.”

“A-greed,” said Barry, and he put the phone down.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” said Rocky.

“No,” said Molly, although inside she was feeling slightly sad. She’d grown fond of barmy old Barry Bragg, and she would miss him.