Fake Mustache Read online

  “I wonder exactly how high that fence is,” I said to myself as I walked back to Soymilk.

  “Two point eight five meters,” said somebody. “That would be about nine feet and a few inches to you Americans.”

  I dropped to the ground, crouching in the darkness and reaching for the throwing knives in my pack.

  “Don’t be scared,” said the voice again. A mean voice with a thick European accent. Not exactly French but sort of French. “It is not to hurt you that I am here. In fact, we seem to be on the same side. We both would enter the Heidelberg factory, but are blocked by the many guards.”

  A figure emerged from the shadows of the alley. He was one scary-looking nut job, I’ll tell you that. He was pushing a bicycle. He carefully leaned it against a Dumpster.

  “Why do you want to go in there?” I asked.

  “Simply to retrieve what was once mine. What is still a part of me and still belongs to me and only me. That which was born of my blood and shall be returned to me even if it means spilling the blood of another. And you?”

  “Uh ... I’m meeting a friend,” I said.

  “A friend? In there?” The man’s neck got all veiny.

  “Yes, but he’s not one of them,” I said quickly. “He’s a prisoner of them.”

  “Ah,” sighed the man. “Then we are on the same side after all. But I fear we are outnumbered. The guards are many, and the fence is high. It’s brand-new, by the way. You can tell it’s just been put up. Never rained upon. It’s an effective deterrent. There is no time to climb over it, because of those golf carts going around and around. I fear I must wait until I will have made better . . . uh . . .”

  “Preparations?” I suggested.

  “Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, I fear it is impossible to get in tonight.”

  “For you, maybe,” I said, standing up and giving Soymilk two quick pats on the shoulder, “but not for a cowgirl.”

  Two pats was the code for our famous Brazilian Running Mount. In a flash I was on Soymilk’s back and we were out of the alley and galloping toward the fence.

  s we got near the fence, one of the golf carts appeared around the corner. I heard shouts.

  “They’re after us! C’mon, Soymilk!”

  We turned hard, Soymilk hugging the fence corner like she used to do in our rodeo barrel races. We galloped along next to the fence. I looked back and saw the golf cart closing on us fast. One plumber was driving, and the other was waving his gun. I doubted he could hit me, but Soymilk was a big target.

  Time to get over that fence. Time for some trick riding.

  I got to my knees and started to stand up. Soymilk stumbled, probably on some uneven pavement. I almost fell off, but I grabbed on to her mane. She hates that, but she probably understood.

  I looked back. The golf cart hadn’t gained on us much; Soymilk is hard to beat.

  We were coming to another fence corner. A second golf cart came skidding around it, heading right for us. In a second, we’d be caught in the middle.

  No more time to waste. I stood up, riding Soymilk’s back like a surfboard in a hurricane.

  “Now, Soymilk!”

  She jumped. Not over the fence, of course, just enough to give me a boost. I was the one who jumped over the fence. Halfway over, I remembered that when we did this stunt on the show I had an air bag to land on.

  I looked down. If it was concrete, I was a goner.

  It turned out to be some sort of hairy mass. I landed on it, nice and soft. . . soft but hairy. It felt kind of like a big pile of wigs.

  From the other side of the fence I heard the plumbers shouting and Soymilk’s hoofbeats racing into the night. Good, she had gotten away. It was a relief to know she’d be out there, waiting and listening in case I whistled for help.

  I tried to clamber out of the tangly pile of stuff I had landed in. I realized it was a big pile of wigs. I saw a tag on one of them: OFFICIAL JODIE O’RODEO NOVELTY WIG. They were right next to the Dumpsters.

  etting into the building was easy-peasy. There were big double doors nearby that they must use for hauling out trash and unsold merchandise, like my wigs.

  DO NOT PROP OPEN said a big sign on one of the doors, which was propped open with a brick. I just walked in. There was a freight elevator right there. So I got in. Pushed four, which was the highest number, and up I went.

  About halfway up, I heard alarms going off. Great, everybody in the whole building was going to be looking for me now.

  I took off my backpack and got out some of my stuff in case there was trouble. To tell you the truth, I was going to be disappointed if there wasn’t at least a little trouble. I tucked a knife in each boot and slung the lasso over my shoulder.

  The elevator doors opened at the top floor.

  I took a careful peek out into a long hallway. Nobody there! Maybe everybody had run downstairs to look for me.

  I raced down the hallway, glancing at the doors.

  WHOOPEE CUSHION TESTING DEPARTMENT.

  VOTING MACHINE RIGGING DEPARTMENT.

  FAKO MUSTACHO, CEO. PRIVATE. KEEP OUT.

  CLEARANCE LEVEL ZED ALPHA ONLY.

  The CEO’s office! I tapped on the door.

  “Lenny? Are you in there?”

  “Yes! I can’t believe you came! Look down.”

  I looked down and saw a key being pushed under the door.

  I bent down and grabbed it. It all seemed so easy.

  As I put the key in the lock, I wondered what we would do when we saw each other. Hug? Kiss? On the lips?

  I turned the knob, and the door was yanked open from the other side.

  There was a wolfman standing there.

  “Jodie! You came! I don’t believe it!” said the wolfman.

  It was Lenny. Thank greasy goodness he’s not still dressed like me, I thought. He was a werewolf now. A really cute werewolf!

  I put out my arms. He put out his. We were stepping toward each other . . .

  “Oh no!” he groaned. “I guess you didn’t get my second e-mail about your hat!”

  He grabbed my hat and threw it on the ground and stomped on it. This ticked me off big-time.

  “What in the name of Hardee’s is your problem with my hat?”

  “It was bugged, Miss O’Rodeo,” said someone behind me.

  I turned and saw a mime coming down the hall with a smart-aleck grin on his white face. Behind him were five guys in white karate outfits.

  “Oh, yes,” said the mime. “The camera in your hat made it easy for us to follow your little plan. We watched you pick out your little jacket, and we saw your little horse ride. Nice jumping. We’ve had plenty of time to get ready for your little rescue mission. Now, please, step into the boss’s office with your little boyfriend.”

  “Wait,” said Lenny. “She only came to give me some food. She’s not part of this. Just let her go and I’ll go back in the office.”

  “OK,” said the mime. “It’s a deal.”

  ou know what I thought about that? I thought, What would be the point? What would I do if they let me go? Go back home and sit around watching Elmo’s World with the twins? Not that I have anything against Elmo, but how could I enjoy anything when all this was unsolved? When Lenny was still in trouble?

  Then I remembered Ol’ Gramps and his “Use your brain first” line. But you know what? Gramps was a pain in the neck and a bad actor too.

  “No thanks,” I told the mime. “You clowns can either let us both go or get your heinies kicked. What’ll it be?”

  “First of all, I’m not a clown. I’m a mime. Second of all, do you really think you can kick the heinies of Hairsprinkle’s top ten karate instructors?”

  “I only see five.”

  “Look behind you.”

  ep, the other five were back there. We were surrounded.

  I reached for my guns. I’m a pretty quick draw. I had them pointing in the mime’s face before he could blink.

  “Sorry, Miss O’Rodeo, but we know they’re wate
r pistols,” sneered the mime. “We saw you filling them up earlier. There was a camera in your hat, remember?” His face paint made his smirk just too ding-dang much to take.

  I squirted him good. Right in the eyes!

  His face paint started to run.

  “NOOOOO! It stings!!!! This face paint is a known eye irritant! I’ve got to go rinse and repeat until it’s all out!” screamed the mime. “Karate instructors, ATTACK!”

  They started to close in, slowly, doing that sort of crab-style walk they do.

  “Wow,” said Lenny, stepping out of the office to stand next to me. “You are one amazing cowgirl!”

  “Thanks,” I said, “and you’re a pretty awesome . . . uh . . . werewolf guy.”

  We looked each other in the eye. And I knew—and I think he knew—that we were in love.

  I leaned in to kiss him. One sweet kiss before we got clobbered.

  “Careful,” he said, “my nose is loaded.”

  Good grief.

  I stepped back to take a look. His nose did look pretty jacked up.

  He stuck a finger into one nostril, turned toward the closest karate instructor, and snorted. Fizz! A slimy blob of snot flew out and hit the guy right in the face. Karate guy tried to brush it away, and soon he was entangled in putrid green snot.

  I watched in amazement as Lenny put his finger into the other nostril, but I was grabbed from behind before I saw what happened next.

  I had one arm free, so I dropped a pistol and grabbed for one of my knives. I swung it wildly behind me. The karate instructor dodged it easily, but he had to let go of me a little and I slipped loose.

  I couldn’t imagine actually stabbing someone with a knife, so I gave it an extra half flip when I threw it. It hit the guy handle-first right between the eyes. He stumbled back, and now I had room to swing the lasso.

  After that things were pretty crazy.

  Once I had roped a couple of guys and hit another one with my other knife, I didn’t have anything left to fight with. I glanced at Lenny. He was shocking the bojangles out of a guy with what appeared to be a pack of gum. But it must have run out of juice, because I saw him throw it down.

  There were four karate guys still standing, and they were closing in on us. We were back to back, and I was getting ready for a bare-knuckled brawl.

  Then the doors burst open at the end of the hall. It was our old friends the bodybuilders, followed by an angry mob of craft-store employees.

  “I’ve got one thing left that might give us a couple of seconds,” whispered Lenny. “Get ready to jump for that blue door over there.”

  He pulled out a grenade and held it up.

  “OK, fools! Prepare to die!” he screamed. The brainwashed henchmen and henchwomen stopped running. Some started to back away.

  We shuffled toward the blue door.

  Lenny pulled the pin and dropped the grenade.

  Everybody fell to the floor and covered their heads. Except us. We ran through the door, which I just had time to notice said CATWALK.

  I stepped out into nothingness. A vast empty space, with the floor miles below. But I wasn’t falling. I felt like Wile E. Coyote, waiting to fall. But I still didn’t.

  Then I realized there was a steel grid under our feet. You could see right through it, all the way to the floor far below.

  Lenny slammed the door shut. I was bracing for an explosion.

  “HOO-HOO-HA-HA-HOO-HOO-HA-HA-HA!” Insane laughter was coming from the other side. Were those goons laughing at us?

  “It was Heidelberg’s LaughBomb!” shouted Lenny above the hoo-hoo-ha-ha. “Try to hold the door shut while I see if one of these keys fits.”

  The laughter must have had a paralyzing effect on the karate instructors and the rest, because Lenny had plenty of time to find the right key and lock the door before anyone even tried to open it.

  We ran across the catwalk. Under our feet—four stories down—was the Heidelberg factory floor. It was huge and kind of noisy. Some of the machines were still running.

  There were big stamper machines that would slam together and then open up and a couple of Spock ears or something would slide down a little chute. Another machine had giant spools of blue hair and was spitting out curly blue wigs that look just like the wigs that girl wears on the show that replaced mine, Bobby and Blu, starring Roxy Diamond. Goshamighty, I hate her.

  Just a few feet below us, a big vat of green snotlike goo was slowly chugging around and around until the goo came out of a big metal chute on the side and went zigzagging off through the factory like a totally unclean waterslide. Conveyor belts were carrying big empty boxes that would stop under a machine and get filled up with glittery confetti.

  I wish I could have seen more, but there was no time. The banging on the door behind us was intense. They must have been karate chopping it with their bare hands!

  “They’ll be through that door in seconds!” I called to Lenny.

  “Look down there,” he said, pointing at the floor. “I see an exit sign. We just need to get down the ladder and make a run for it.”

  “What ladder?” I asked.

  f you were standing on a catwalk that you really needed to get off of fast and you didn’t have a ladder but you did have a big vat of liquid boogers right under you, you would think of the same solution.

  Lenny and I realized it at the same time. We both pointed, looked at each other, nodded, and jumped.

  At the last second, I started to worry that it was going to be hot. Maybe the vat was a goo cooker.

  It wasn’t hot. But it was way weird. I hit the surface hard and kept going down. It was like diving in a pool, except instead of a splash it made a big burping sound as it sucked us under.

  realized I was in big trouble. I was under goo and I hadn’t taken all that big of a breath before I jumped.

  It was so thick and it just surrounded me and seemed to be squeezing tighter and tighter. And when I tried to move my arms to swim, it was like there was nothing there to push against.

  Then I felt a strong suction pulling me, and I got sucked out of the vat and into a chute that became a trough for the river of goo. Gasping for breath, I pawed at the snot covering my eyes, then looked for Lenny.

  I saw him right behind me, all coated in green snot. He must have swallowed some of the goo, because he was snorting it out of his nose! It was the most disgusting thing I’d seen since . . . well, since he used that weird booger blaster a few minutes earlier. I looked away.

  That’s when I realized we were moving—very, very slowly. It really was like one of those water slides at Six Flags Over Hairsprinkle. Just a lot slower.

  “Lenny! We’re—” I started. But then I heard the sound I had been dreading: The catwalk door banged open, and the karate instructors and bodybuilders came stomping out onto the catwalk, yelling and hollering.

  We lay as flat as we could in the goo trough. I hoped that from above we would look like nothing more than two lumpy boogers in the stream of snot.

  “They got down somehow!” shouted somebody, probably that cruddy mime. “Everybody downstairs! We got a werewolf and a rodeo queen on the loose. Search the factory! Cover every exit! Shoot to kill! And somebody leave a note for the goo department. Looks pretty lumpy tonight.”

  here was nothing to do but just lie there and slowly, slowly ooze down the trough to get to wherever it was we were going.

  What I could see, by looking past my feet, was the goo-bottling machine about twenty feet away. At some point, the trough would drip us out down there, and we were going to be too lumpy to go any farther.

  The karate guys must have given up on the catwalk and come down in the elevator. I could hear them searching the factory below us. Then the mime came in and started shouting at them.

  “All right—the plumbers say they haven’t gotten out. That means they’re in the building somewhere. We’re going to search till we find them. Harris, you and MacKenzie stay here and guard the door. The rest of you, split up a
nd check every hallway and ...”

  The voice faded and I figured they were too far away to hear us, but I whispered anyway.

  “Hey, Lenny. Are you OK?”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “Fine. But we’re going to come to the end of the trough before too long. We can’t stay here.”

  “What do you think?” whispered Lenny. “Should we try fighting our way past Harris and MacKenzie?”

  “I’ve got another idea,” I whispered back.

  And I told him about what I could see up ahead.

  In a minute, the trough was going to pass over a conveyor belt. Every few seconds, a big dishwasher-size box came riding along on the belt on its way to a machine that filled it full of confetti or something. Then the conveyor belt went through a door in the wall to who knows where.

  “If we time it right, we can hop right into a box.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said. “You’ve done a great job so far.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” I asked, since after all, I had almost gotten him killed and then made him jump into a vat of fake snot.

  “No, I’m serious. You saved my life, I think. And I’m not even sure why.”

  “Because I like you.”

  “Oh! You mean you—”

  “Shhh! Here comes a box. I’m going for it.”

  didn’t jump into the box so much as drip into it. The goo made it a slow-motion sort of thing, which was good, because that way I only made a little plop when I landed.

  A few seconds later, I heard another little plop that must have been Lenny getting into a box.

  I wished I had something to poke a hole in the box with. Then I remembered the fence-mending tool. It was tough getting it out of the backpack, but it easily made a hole big enough to peek out of with one eye. You know, a fence-mending tool really is an incredibly useful thing to have.

  I put my eye against the hole and looked out, just in time to see I was about to go under the confetti machine. Like a total idiot, I looked up . . . and got whammed right in the face by about twenty pounds’ worth of tiny pieces of paper!