They were marked $2.99 and looked like they had been sitting there since before Sven was born.
“I’m interested in the Heidelberg Handlebar Number Seven,” said Casper.
For the first time, Sven glanced up. She looked very closely at Casper. Her eyes went up and down, noting the sharp creases in his pants . . . the herringbone pattern in his suit coat . . . the way his suspenders hooked on to his pants with buttons, not metal clamps.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, tossing her cell phone on the counter and pulling a tangled mass of key chains from her pocket. She rummaged through the mess until she found what seemed to be the only key.
“See?” whispered Casper. “The suit worked.”
Sven unlocked the cabinet and punched in a code on a little keypad to disable the alarm. There was a whooshing sound as the door opened.
Using a long pair of tweezers, she picked up the mustache and then placed it into a felt-lined box, which she snapped shut when she was done.
The cashier started to ring up the purchase on the cash register, but Sven put out a hand to stop him. “One formality. The Heidelberg Novelty Company requires me to ask the purpose of your purchase.”
“Our school is putting on a musical adaptation of The Hoboken Chicken Emergency,” Casper replied, “and I’ve been chosen to play the mayor.”
This was a complete and total lie.
“Impressive,” said Sven, raising one side of the thick eyebrow that grew across her forehead. “That is a role that takes real gravitas. The mustache will serve you well . . . Here, please take a complimentary year’s supply of spirit gum. It will keep the mustache on your lip through thick and thin.”
“Thank you, Sven,” Casper said gravely as she handed him a ziplock bag containing a wad of goo.
“Proceed with the sale,” Sven instructed the cashier.
When Casper had paid, both Sven and the cashier looked at me expectantly.
“I just want this,” I said, and put the little egg with the sticky hand on the counter.
Sven wrinkled her nose in disgust.
The cashier, sneering, hit a few buttons on the cash register and said, “That’ll be four fifty.”
“But the sign said ninety-nine cents,” I said.
“JUST TAKE IT AND GET OUT OF HERE, YOU PATHETIC, SLIGHTLY SHORT, NERDY SEVENTH GRADER!” bellowed Sven.
asper and I got back on the trolley and went home.
“Happy birthday,” I said, just to be polite. Frankly, I was annoyed by everything that had happened. I had lost ten bucks, been treated like a child twice, and didn’t even get a Hairsprinkle hot dog.
Casper looked me in the eye. He shook my hand and patted me on the shoulder. And then he said, “Goodbye, Lenny. Wherever fate leads us tomorrow, please remember that we have walked far in friendship.”
“Uh . . . yeah . . . real far. Right. Um . . . see you,” I said, with no idea why he was making such a big deal about stuff.
I went home to supper. We eat supper in front of the TV and we vote on what we want to watch. My mom, dad, and I all vote for different things. My sisters both always vote for The Jodie O’Rodeo Showdeo. So they win every time.
To tell you the truth, I’m too embarrassed to vote for it, but I don’t really mind watching it. I mean, the plots are stupid—mostly about going to the mall—and now they’re all reruns because the show was canceled. Worst of all, the singing is annoying and lip-synched. But Jodie O’Rodeo, the preteen cowgirl queen, is the coolest girl I’ve ever seen. She rides a horse and does rope tricks and is pretty cute.
It goes like this . . .
SCENE: JODIE’S BEDROOM
We see Jodie sleeping in a tangle of sheets, blankets, and stuffed animals.
A cell phone rings.
Without getting up, Jodie reaches for it, but picks up a cowgirl boot instead.
JODIE
speaking into the boot
Hello?
[LAUGH TRACK]
She drops boot and picks up cell phone.
JODIE
Hello?
Split screen showing Jodie and her best friend, Kat.
KAT
Oh. My. Gosh! Jodie, what are you doing?
JODIE
Sleeping!
[LAUGH TRACK]
KAT
Why aren’t you at the mall!!
JODIE
Didn’t I tell you? I’m grounded!
KAT
What for?
JODIE
Remember when I said my dad wouldn’t mind if I borrowed his credit card to get those boots with the red, white, and blue fringe?
KAT
Yeah. So?
JODIE
He minded!
[LAUGH TRACK]
JODIE
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m asleep!
KAT
OK, fine, Lala, I just thought you might want to know what your boyfriend is doing . . . Answer: Buying Shayla an Orange Julius!
Jodie sits straight up in bed, sending her stuffed animals flying.
JODIE
Now I’m awake!
[LAUGH TRACK]
JODIE
I’ll be right there!
KAT
I thought you were grounded?
JODIE
Well, it’s like Ol’ Gramps says, “Sometimes it’s better to break a rule . . . than to break your heart!”
EXTERIOR SHOT OF JODIE’S HOUSE
Second-story window opens. Jodie sticks head out window.
JODIE
“Hey-YO-yo-te-do, Soymilk!”
Soymilk the Wonder Horse gallops past house just as Jodie jumps from window and lands perfectly on Soymilk’s back.
[CUE: MUSIC MONTAGE. Shots of Soymilk galloping across town, weaving in and out of traffic, jumping fences while Jodie rides, yodels, and sings her new single, “You’re Breakin’ My Rule About Breakin’ My Heart.”]
This was the episode about someone trying to rob the Orange Julius stand at the mall, so Jodie O’Rodeo had to ride her horse down the escalator and lasso the robbers. Then she yodeled, and then her boyfriend gave her the Orange Julius he had bought for Shayla, who accidentally stepped in horse poo.
I’ve seen the episode so many times, I think I’ve learned how to yodel just by watching it, but I haven’t figured out how they did the horse-on-the-escalator trick.
After supper, I practiced using my new sticky hand. It turned out to be pretty hard to pick up anything with it, even a penny that was just a few feet away. I was just starting to get the hang of it when Dad told me I was driving him crazy and made me go to bed.
he next morning when I went into the kitchen, my mom and dad were watching the Good Morning Hairsprinkle show. They watch it every morning, even though it’s the same people shouting at each other or sharing cooking tips. But this morning there was actual news.
“Look, Lenny Junior! Someone robbed the First Bank of Hairsprinkle!” my dad said. Since he’s Lenny Senior, he always calls me Lenny Junior. “This is the national news! Hairsprinkle is actually on the national news!”
“Look, Puddingcup, that’s our bank! I was just there last week,” said my mom. When I was a baby, I liked pudding, so she still calls me Puddingcup. It’s better than what she calls my sisters. “Wow, I’m lucky to be alive! I wonder if News Attack wants to interview me?”
“Look,” said my dad, “it’s Giorgio ‘Jim’ McPunklett, the famous CNT NewsAttack anchor. He’s right here in—”
“This is Giorgio ‘Jim’ McPunklett, the famous CNT NewsAttack anchor, reporting live from Hairsprinkle, where the first-ever billion-dollar bank robbery was carried out in the wee hours of the morning by a gang of strolling accordion players. Police have arrested several members of the gang—all of whom claim to have no idea what is going on—but haven’t found the missing money or the ringleader. The bank’s security cameras caught the robbery on film, and, as you can see, the ringleader appears to be a short, well-dressed man-about-town s
porting a spectacular handlebar mustache.”
ater, at school, I ran into Casper in the hall.
“Hey, Lenny, I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“Which part?” I asked.
“The part where I complained about your birthday present and made you give me ten dollars. Herbert Hoover is actually a great action figure. I want to give you your money back.”
He handed me a bill.
“Uh, Casper, this is a ten-thousand-dollar bill.”
“Whoopsie!” he said, taking it back. He rooted around in his backpack for a minute, then pulled out a ten.
I just looked at it. Finally, I said, “Casper, did you rob that bank last night?”
“What bank?”
“The bank downtown that got robbed!”
“Really? There was a bank robbery?”
“Yeah, really. It’s all over the news. The national news!”
“Huh, well, you know, we don’t have a TV, so I didn’t see the news.”
The homeroom bell rang.
“Tell me about it at lunch,” said Casper, and he pushed the ten-dollar bill into my hand and headed down the hall.
I looked at the bill. It was stiff and crisp . . . like a bill that had just come fresh from the bank.
I realized that Casper had never answered my question.
s it turned out, I didn’t see Casper at lunch. They closed school early because of the manhunt for the criminal mastermind of the bank robbery. Even though nobody had been hurt in the bank robbery, the FBI was worried that the leader of the gang might be dangerous. He had instantly become the second-most wanted criminal in the United States, behind that lady who stole the president’s underpants last year.
So the FBI agents and the police and the K-9 squad were searching all over Hairsprinkle. My dad wouldn’t let me out of the house to go see Casper. I tried texting him, but he didn’t write back.
I just couldn’t figure it out. Could Casper really be a bank robber? A billion-dollar bank robber? It sounded crazy, but every single clue matched. I decided to tell my mom and see what she thought.
“That’s crazy,” she said. “Look at this picture in today’s paper.”
She showed me the picture, a fuzzy still from footage taken by the bank’s security cameras.
“It looks exactly like Casper with a mustache,” I said.
“But Casper doesn’t have a mustache,” Mom said. “He’s just a little boy.”
“Actually, he’s a slightly tall boy, and he does have a mustache—a fake one.”
“Well, I think I know the difference between a fake mustache and a real one, and the bank robber’s is real. Just look at it!”
I looked at it again. It did look completely real, but then again, so did the Heidelberg Handlebar Number Seven.
Thursday, Oct. 29, 5:30 P.M.
Dearest Lenny,
Man, did I get lucky today! When they closed school, I didn’t have to go to math class, which was good because I hadn’t done my math homework because I was “busy” last night.
I think I’m going to be “busy” again tonight, so, hopefully, they’ll keep school closed tomorrow and I won’t have to do that oral report on the Electoral College. Fingers crossed!
I remain as ever...
Your faithful friend,
Casper
he next morning, Good Morning Hairsprinkle reported that another bank had been robbed. A big government bank—the Hairsprinkle Federal Gold Reserve!
They were showing the same film clip over and over. It was from the bank’s security cameras, and it showed a gang of school librarians breaking down the doors and knocking out the guards with ninja moves. Then a short mustachioed figure in a suit strode in and ordered them to blow the vault door off with dynamite and load the gold bricks onto book carts.
Actually, you couldn’t tell they were school librarians from watching the video. But they were all arrested afterward and the police discovered that’s who they were. One of them was Mrs. Minnick, our school librarian! Just like the accordion players, none of the librarians knew where the loot had gone or who the mustachioed man was.
The Hairsprinkle Federal Gold Reserve reported that two billion dollars in gold had been taken. They said it would take fourteen big tractor-trailers to move all that gold.
Later in the morning, Move-U-Right Movers called the police to say that they were missing fourteen big tractor-trailers.
It was Friday, but school was called off for the whole day this time, and the National Guard was brought in to prevent another robbery.
My sisters and I had to stay inside all day, and by supper time they had just about driven me crazy.
So after supper—and another episode of The Jodie O’Rodeo Showdeo—I convinced my dad to let me go to Casper’s house. He insisted on driving me over, even though it’s only three houses away. Along the way, we passed several tractor-trailers driven by what appeared to be children’s party clowns.
My dad dropped me off at Casper’s and made me promise to phone him to pick me up instead of trying to walk home. “Remember, there’s a mad genius criminal mastermind on the loose, and you never know where he might be,” he said.
Actually, I was fairly sure that I DID know where the mad genius criminal mastermind was, but I didn’t tell Dad that.
rang Casper’s doorbell.
“Aw, you’re just as welcome here as you can be, sugar,” said Dolly Parton’s voice.
A few moments later, Casper’s mom answered the door. She was carrying what appeared to be a three-foot-long diseased carrot and she had a hatchet in her hand.
“Hey, Lenny. Wassup, dude? Casper’s in his room. Supper will be ready at nine thirty if you want to stay . . .”
“Uh, no thanks, Tammy,” I said. “I already ate.”
I went up the stairs.
Casper was in his room, putting on a suit. But I noticed it looked slightly different from the one he had bought on our trip downtown.
“How do you like the pinstripes, Lenny?” Casper asked. “I decided the herringbone suit was a little too man-about-town and not quite enough hard-nosed businessman.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say, because just then I was looking at the rest of the room. The chair, his bed, and almost every bit of space was piled high with gold bricks and bundles of ten-thousand-dollar bills. There was no place to sit down.
“Red—the salesman at Chauncey’s, remember?—he gave me another cravat. Honestly, I really don’t need two. Would you like it?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” I said. “Listen, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on! Did you rob the Federal Gold Reserve?”
“What Federal Gold Reserve?” he asked.
“The Hairsprinkle Federal Gold Reserve that got robbed!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really, it’s all over the news. The national news!”
“Huh, well, you know we don’t have a TV, so I didn’t see the news.”
Just then the voice of Johnny Cash came floating through the house: “Welcome to the house, man.”
Then Casper’s mother hollered up the stairs. “Casper! There’s a limo driver here for you.”
“Shoot! I’ll have to put the mustache on in the car,” said Casper, placing the Heidelberg Handlebar Number Seven in his suit pocket along with the bag of spirit gum. “Sorry I don’t have more time to talk. I’ve got to get to School Skate Night down at the roller rink.”
“The roller rink closed last year,” I said. “And you never went to School Skate Night anyway.”
“Wish me luck!” he shouted, and he took off down the stairs.
“Did you do it or not?!?” I yelled after him.
He didn’t answer.
hen I got outside, his limo was racing away down the street. I flipped open my cell phone and called my dad to come pick me up. Then I called 911.
“Hairsprinkle Dispatch,” said a voice, really fast but also bored.
“Yeah, I know who the bank robber is.” br />
“Let me put you through to the FBI tip line,” it said even faster and boreder.
This time I got a recording.
“The FBI is searching for a short man-about-town with a handlebar mustache. If you know any short men-about-town with handlebar mustaches, please rat them out at the tone. Beep.”
“Yeah, I know who the bank robber is. His name is Casper Bengue, and he lives at 3414 Sprinkle Street, East Hairsprinkle. He’s got all this money and gold in his bedroom . . .”
Suddenly, I started to feel really bad for turning in Casper. I mean, he was my best friend before all this started. But then again, this was big. Not like the time he stole the thing that Mrs. Campbell uses to line the football field.
“Uh, come quick!” I finished, and hung up.
Yes, I had done the right thing, I decided ... Maybe. But then I wondered if Casper would ever find out that I was the one who turned him in.
I worried about it all night. Whether I should have done it and what would happen when Casper was arrested and how mad he would be if he found out it had been me.
I never really got to sleep. I kept listening for police sirens racing toward Casper’s house. Maybe even a police helicopter. At five A.M. I got dressed and went downstairs and turned on Happy Weekend Hairsprinkle. The anchorwoman was saying:
“Hairsprinkle breathes more easily after a quiet night. No arrest has been made, but no more banks have been robbed. We have FBI director Marcie Dropbag with us live from Hairsprinkle. You must be relieved, Director Dropbag.”
“Relieved but frustrated, Angie. We spent the evening following up on false tips from our tip line.”
“False tips? What sort of sick person would phone in a false tip at a time like this?”
“I don’t know, Angie, but it makes our job harder. Can you believe that one caller tried to turn in a seventh grader?”
“A seventh-grade teacher?”