Pinkbeard's Revenge Page 2

  Dr. Dastardly grinned. “Follow me.”

  Poof!

  Jo Schmo had no idea that Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull were now on the loose, and that they were out to get her and Raymond. Nor did she know that time-traveling pirates were in town. She was too busy perfecting the Tasmanian Chop.

  “Put your face over here, Raymond.”

  CHOP!

  “Ouch!” Raymond’s look said. “Can we stop now? I think you have it down.”

  Jo thought so too. Time to work on other superhero skills, she said to herself. “Break out the Superhero Instruction Manual, Gramps.”

  Grandpa Joe grabbed the manual from the bookshelf and flipped it open. “What’s your pleasure, Jo?”

  Jo wasn’t sure. She made a list of the powers she already had:

  Train stopping.

  Flying.

  Shape-shifting.

  Various combat moves, like the Russian Toe Hold and the Tasmanian Chop.

  “How about invisibility?” she said. Jo had once shape-shifted into a frog, jumped into her grandfather’s shirt pocket, and gotten into the movies for free. But walking into the theater on her own because she was invisible sounded even better. Plus, invisibility would help her catch bad guys.

  “Does it say anything about invisibility?” Jo asked again.

  Grandpa Joe scanned the table of contents. Then he flipped to the appropriate chapter. “Hmm . . . It says that turning invisible is all about thinking invisible thoughts.”

  “Not again,” Jo grumbled. This was one strange Superhero Instruction Manual. Flying was all about thinking lofty thoughts. Shape-shifting was all about thinking shape-shifting thoughts. And now this. “What’s an invisible thought, Gramps?”

  “Beats me. Thoughts that aren’t there? Try thinking of nothing, Jo.”

  Jo tried, but it didn’t work. Every time she tried to think of nothing, it felt like something. After all, a nonthought is still a thought. “This is impossible,” she said. “There’s no such thing as nonthinking.”

  “Keep trying,” Grandpa Jo said.

  All afternoon Jo kept at it. Invisible thoughts, she muttered to herself as she paced back and forth. How can you think of something that’s not there? The only time she had ever seen anything vanish was when a magician came to her school. And it didn’t really vanish. It was just a card trick. One second the card was there, and the next second—poof!—it was gone. Vanished. Invisible.

  “That’s it!” Jo said.

  “What’s it?” Grandpa Joe asked.

  “Yeah, what’s it?” Raymond’s look said.

  “We just need the right sound effects, Gramps. Watch this.” Jo snapped her fingers and said, “Poof!”

  She vanished into thin air.

  At least she didn’t say “SPROINK.”

  “Where’d you go, Jo?”

  “I’m right here, Grandpa.”

  Grandpa Joe stared at the empty space where his granddaughter had been standing. “I don’t see you, Jo.”

  “You’re not supposed to. That’s why they call it invisibility,” Jo said proudly, and if she had been visible, you could have seen her smiling from ear to ear. “It’s all in the poof, Gramps.”

  Grandpa Joe got up from his chair. It wasn’t every day your granddaughter turned invisible. He had to celebrate. Right in the middle of his little shack, he did the dance-of-the-retired-sheriff-whose-granddaughter-just-went-poof! Then he said, “Time to catch bad guys, Jo?”

  Jo shook her invisible head. “Time to go to the movies.”

  Is This Seat Taken?

  The movie was that one you’ve heard of. You know, with the handsome actor and the glamorous actress that involves a crime? That one.

  Before heading to the movie theater, Jo unpoofed herself. She would be driving her Schmomobile, and if she did so while invisible, people would notice. This way it was just superhero Jo Schmo, speeding through the streets of San Francisco, probably in pursuit of some sort of villain.

  Jo parked outside the theater, said, “Poof!” and went inside. She found an empty seat and sat down. It was a great movie. Jo couldn’t take her eyes off the handsome actor . . . Even the bad guys were cute.

  But Jo was still invisible. The seat she occupied looked like it was unoccupied. That’s what the fat lady thought, anyway. She came late to the movie, looked at the seat where the invisible Jo Schmo was sitting, and said to herself, “I think I’ll sit there.”

  So she did.

  “Squawk!” went Jo.

  “Squawk!” went the fat lady.

  “Get off of me!” yelled Jo.

  “Who said that?” said the fat lady. She tried to get comfortable. “Boy, this seat is lumpy.”

  And right in the middle of the squawking and the complaining about the lumpy seat, Jo’s phone vibrated in her pocket—a text message from Grandpa Joe. Only Jo didn’t realize it was a text message. She thought something bad was happening to her leg because she was being squashed by a fat lady. This caused Jo to squawk even louder.

  Finally, the lady decided to find a less lumpy seat (and one that didn’t talk so much), and Jo ran out of the theater. Getting into the movies for free was not all it was cracked up to be.

  Once outside, Jo unpoofed herself. Only then did she realize that her leg was vibrating not because it was about to fall off from being sat on by an enormous person, but because her grandfather had been trying to reach her.

  And here’s what he said:

  Pirates are attacking a fashion show.

  Go get ’em, Jo.

  Jo sprinted across the parking lot to her Schmomobile, where the faithful Raymond was waiting. “Ready to catch bad guys, Raymond?”

  Raymond gave her a look that said, “Is the sky blue? Do I like bacon? Is my jaw still sore from your Tasmanian Chop?”

  Well, you get the idea.

  “Sorry about the chop,” Jo said as she hit the gas.

  The fashion show was indeed a triple whammy. Lots of rich people to rob, plenty of grog to drink, and all sorts of pretty women to chase.

  “I love triple whammies,” Pinkbeard said to himself. He stood and watched as his crew of interesting fellows split up. Some of them went for the grog, some of them robbed the rich people, and some of them chased the beautiful fashion models.

  Then they rotated. The pirates who had been models, and the pirates who had been chasing the fashion models went after the grog.

  The grog in question was wine, and Pinkbeard preferred lemonade. So right in the middle of the grog drinking, and the robbing of the rich people, and the chasing of fashion models, Pinkbeard wandered off in search of his drink of choice.

  Lemonade. The pinker the better.

  Revenge

  Pinkbeard had no idea where to look for pink lemonade. He was hundreds of years in the future. Maybe they didn’t make it anymore. Maybe they didn’t even grow lemons. And now that he thought of it, why was pink lemonade pink? There was no such thing as a pink lemon.

  The world was just a complicated place, Pinkbeard decided.

  He wandered down Fisherman’s Wharf and kept his eyes peeled for someplace where they might sell his favorite grog. He tried several bars, but none of them sold pink lemonade. Finally, Pinkbeard gave up and headed back to the fashion show to see how his crew was doing.

  They were still equally divided between grog drinking, fashion-model chasing, and the robbing of rich people. Every now and then Bart would call out, “Rotate!” And the pirates who had been chasing fashion models would start robbing rich people, and the ones who had been drinking grog would start chasing fashion models.

  Pinkbeard stood back and watched it all like a proud dad.

  That is, until a little girl in a red cape arrived.

  She had a dog with her who also wore a cape. And he drooled way more than any dog ever drooled in the long history of drooling. Pinkbeard couldn’t believe his eyes. The little girl started tweaking the pirates’ ears and twisting their toes until they cried out, “Ow, o
w, ow,” and “ow.” Some of them tried to run away, but they slipped on the dog drool.

  The fashion models and the rich people cheered, “Hooray for Jo Schmo!”

  “Jo Schmo,” Pinkbeard said to himself. “Her name is Jo Schmo.” He couldn’t stand seeing his men getting their ears tweaked and their toes twisted. He was just about to jump in and help when the police showed up.

  “Curse you, Jo Schmo,” Pinkbeard muttered. “And your little dog, too.” He usually didn’t have anything against little girls, but this one with the cape was a different matter.

  While the police started arresting his men, Pinkbeard slipped out the back. He’d have to find a way to rescue his men, but right now he had to run and hide. And maybe find some lemonade while he was at it.

  Yes, that was it—find some pink lemonade and think things over.

  Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull were also in think-things-over mode. They had just escaped from prison, and now they wanted to get revenge on Jo Schmo and her slobbering sidekick.

  “What’s the plan, Dr. Dastardly?” Numb Skull asked. As you know, Numb Skull had spent way too many years getting knocked around inside the boxing ring to be any good at thinking, let alone plotting revenge against a fourth grade superhero. He needed help. Fortunately, he was partners with a doctor.

  And a dastardly doctor at that.

  Only right now this dastardly doctor was all out of ideas. He had spent every ounce of his mental energy on exploding macaroni and an enormous slingshot.

  “No plan?” Numb Skull asked.

  “Not yet,” Dr. Dastardly replied. “But we did escape from prison. That’s a start. Let’s go find something to drink and think things over.”

  And so the two of them wandered along Fisherman’s Wharf in search of something to wet their whistles.

  You would think that a couple of bad guys who just broke out of prison would find a bar or saloon to talk over their evil plan of revenge. Nope. These two went to a lemonade stand. Then they found a long bench and took a seat. At the end of this long bench sat a strange-looking guy with an eye patch and a pink beard.

  “Now,” said Numb Skull, “about Jo Schmo and her slobbering sidekick.”

  “Yes,” said Dr. Dastardly. “Revenge is one of my favorite hobbies. I like it almost as much as taking over the world.”

  “You’re my kind of guy. What’s the plan, Dr. Dastardly?”

  Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull talked it over. And as they discussed their evil plan of revenge against Jo Schmo, the man with the pink beard at the end of the bench kept edging closer.

  And closer . . .

  Until he was practically on top of them.

  “Do you mind?” said Dr. Dastardly to the man with the pink beard. “This is a serious discussion of revenge.”

  “I know,” said the man with the pink beard. “Revenge against Jo Schmo. I would like to offer my assistance to your evil plan.”

  “You’re my kind of guy,” said Numb Skull.

  Three Heads Are Better Than Two

  Jo Schmo had no idea that one of the pirates had slipped away. After she got the best of them—all except one—she and Raymond jumped onto the Schmomobile and headed home. When they arrived, Jo went straight to the backyard and knocked on the door of her grandpa’s shack.

  “Who is it?” asked Grandpa Joe.

  “It’s Jo.”

  “Joe?”

  “No, Jo.”

  “Oh, Jo. Come in, Jo. Thought I was talking to myself for a second there.”

  Jo opened the door and went in, leaving Raymond outside in case he decided to drool. Drooling to keep a bridge from blowing up was all fine and dandy. Drooling and making pirates fall down was also pretty cool. But drooling all over Grandpa Joe’s shoes wasn’t a pretty sight. In fact, it was kind of gross.

  “How’d it go, Jo?” Grandpa Joe asked.

  “The Russian Toe Hold worked perfectly. And you should have seen my Siberian Ear Tweak.”

  “What about the Tasmanian Chop?”

  “I was so busy yanking ears and pulling toes that I forgot to use it.”

  “Maybe next time,” Grandpa Joe said.

  Jo nodded. Yes, next time she’d use nothing but the Tasmanian Chop. It was her newest move. If she didn’t use it, she might forget how.

  Across town, Dr. Dastardly and Numb Skull were getting to know their new partner and fellow revenge-seeker.

  “If I didn’t know better,” Dr. Dastardly said, eyeing Pinkbeard’s eye patch, “I’d say you are a pirate. Who are you?”

  “Pinkbeard.” Pinkbeard held up his glass of pink lemonade. “You are what you drink.”

  “I guess so,” Numb Skull said. “How do you know Jo Schmo?”

  “Ah,” Pinkbeard began. “The lass captured my men, with the help of a very slobbery companion.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Dastardly said, “he drools way more than any dog ever drooled.”

  “In the long history of drooling,” added Numb Skull.

  “Which is a very long history,” said Pinkbeard. He should have known, since he’d been around for a couple of hundred years. And right then he told them his whole story. All about traveling forward in time from 17—, which is code for sometime that century.

  “Whoa. Not only a pirate, but a time-traveling pirate.” Dr. Dastardly was impressed. He held out his hand. “Mr. Pinkbeard, you’re in the club.”

  “Your evil-bad-guy club?” Pinkbeard asked, shaking his hand.

  “My get-back-at-Jo-Schmo club.”

  “That’s my kind of club,” Numb Skull said.

  The problem was that Jo Schmo was a superhero with superpowers and super moves. Just by using her fingers, she could capture a band of pirates and make them say “Ow, ow, ow,” and “ow.”

  They needed a super plan.

  “Let’s go have dinner and talk it over,” Dr. Dastardly said. “Pink Lemonade is not enough.”

  Pinkbeard agreed that they would need a super plan to deal with Jo Schmo, and grog drinking was not enough.

  But it was close.

  Ask the Google

  And so Dr. Dastardly, Numb Skull, and Pinkbeard went to a restaurant to talk seriously about getting back at Jo Schmo.

  It was a pretty crowded restaurant. You would think that a pirate with a pink beard would be embarrassed to go out in public. Fortunately, there was a man at the bar with a blue beard, eating blueberries, and a guy eating a banana who had yellow hair.

  Hold on a second. Only the banana peel is yellow, so why would he have yellow hair? Hmm . . . go figure.

  In any case, Pinkbeard fit right in. “You are what you eat,” he said, gesturing to the men at the bar.

  “I guess so,” said Numb Skull.

  They ordered their food and got down to business. “Okay,” Dr. Dastardly began, “Jo Schmo is a superhero, and all superheroes have a weakness, right?”

  Numb Skull nodded.

  Pinkbeard said, “Arrrgh!” which is pirate talk for “What the heck are you talking about?” He continued, “Superhero? What’s a superhero?”

  Dr. Dastardly had forgotten that Pinkbeard was from a different century. How do you explain about superheroes to a person who has never heard of them?

  Dr. Dastardly scratched his chin and thought it over. Then he looked across the table at Pinkbeard and said, “Ever hear of Achilles or Samson? Achilles had a weak heel, and when they cut Samson’s hair, he lost his strength.”

  “Got it,” said Pinkbeard. “The young lass has a weakness. What is it?”

  “When in doubt, Google it,” said Dr. Dastardly with a smile.

  “Yes, Google it,” Numb Skull agreed.

  Pinkbeard looked confused. “What is this Google?” One of his men owned a bugle. But what the heck was a Google?

  Life sure was complicated in the future.

  Jo Schmo was pretty obsessed about turning invisible and getting into the movies for free. And doing so without getting sat on by a huge person. I wonder if I would have enjoyed the mov
ie if someone wasn’t sitting on me, she thought.

  She didn’t know. But that night, as she lay in bed, every time she closed her eyes, she saw the fat lady coming her way. Talk about a nightmare!

  Nightmare or not, she had to try again. She had to go to the movies and not get squashed. She was pretty sure it could be done.

  So after school the next day, she went to the movie theater and—

  Poof!

  Just like that, Jo Schmo was invisible. Then she went inside, found a seat, and scanned the room for large people.

  “So far, so good,” she said to herself. It was that movie you’ve heard of. You know, the one with the handsome actor and the glamorous actress who are in love, only they don’t realize it until the very end? That one.

  It was pretty distracting to try to follow the movie while keeping an eye out for people who might sit on her. But she made it through without being squashed. She had no idea what the movie was about, but a least she didn’t get sat upon.

  Across town, a mad scientist, an ex-boxer, and a pirate with a pink beard entered the library. The librarian had green hair and was eating a green apple. Pinkbeard felt right at home.

  “Show me this Google,” Pinkbeard said. He wondered if it was anything like a bugle.

  Dr. Dastardly walked up to a computer and typed Jo Schmo’s weaknesses into Google. “Aha!” he said, which is code for “Looky here.”

  Numb Skull and Pinkbeard moved closer.

  Dr. Dastardly stepped back and pointed to the screen. “Jo Schmo’s weaknesses.”

  Superhero Jo Schmo’s weaknesses are the three boys in her class at Prairie Street Elementary School—Kevin, Mitch, and David.

  Kevin has the best hair.