The World's Greatest Underachiever and the Crunchy Pickle Disaster Page 6

  I put my coat on quickly. I was worried that I was going to be late. Then I grabbed Cheerio and opened the door to leave. I turned to say goodbye to my dad. Suddenly, Katherine, who must have fallen in love with my coat, jumped off Emily and ran across the living room after me. She grabbed on to my trousers and crawled up my leg and on to the coat, digging her claws into the fabric as if it was her long-lost mother or something. I got scared and yelled so loudly that Mrs Fink came running out of her flat into the hall. She was in her big pink dressing gown, and she didn’t have her teeth in.

  I spun around like a madman, trying to unhitch Katherine from my back. It must have worked, because the next thing I knew, Katherine had jumped to the floor. She looked around for a place to go and saw somewhere she liked. Unfortunately, that place was Mrs Fink. Katherine leapt on to the bottom of her big pink bathrobe and crawled all the way up Mrs Fink until she stopped about three inches from her face.

  “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!” Mrs Fink shrieked in a voice that sounded like a wild hyena I once heard on a National Geographic special.

  “Someone heeeeeeeeeeeeeelp me!”

  My mum was the first one out in the hall.

  “Emily!” she screamed when she saw Katherine hanging off Mrs Fink’s chest. “Come out here right now.”

  “I’m painting my nails,” Emily called back.

  “Now!” shouted my father, who had joined the group in the hall.

  The doors of the other two flats on our floor flew open. Little Tyler King stuck his head out from behind his mother. He was wearing his Spider-Man pyjamas.

  “Mummy! Mummy!” he screamed, when he saw what was going on. “There’s a big rat on Mrs Fink’s boobies.”

  Mr Park from Flat 10D came out and tried to help. He reached out for Katherine, but when she saw him coming, Katherine whipped out her tongue and waved it in front of him. He jumped back, like any sane person would if they saw that long, ugly tongue.

  “Call the police!” cried Mrs Fink.

  “Call the fire brigade!” called Mr Park.

  “Please be calm, everyone!” said my mother. “Katherine won’t hurt you.”

  By now, Emily had arrived on the scene. “Ohhh, she likes you,” Emily said to Mrs Fink.

  “Well, I don’t like her!” screamed Mrs Fink.

  “She doesn’t go to anyone she doesn’t like,” Emily said.

  Emily came over to Mrs Fink and slowly reached out for Katherine. But Katherine liked it there on Mrs Fink’s chest, and she refused to go to Emily. She dug her claws into the dressing gown and hung on. It was a pathetic sight. Poor Mrs Fink was pressed up against the wall, her arms spread out like giant eagle wings. She was too scared to move. The only things she moved were her eyeballs, and they were popping out of her head like something you’d see in a cartoon. She looked down at Katherine and whimpered.

  “Nice lizard. Go away now.”

  Katherine stared at Mrs Fink with her beady eyes, then suddenly stuck her tongue out. Then Mrs Fink, for some unknown reason, stuck her tongue out at Katherine. Katherine did it back to her. Mrs Fink stuck her tongue out again, this time a little further. Katherine waited a second, then shot her tongue right back at Mrs Fink.

  “Look,” Emily whispered to me. “They’re communicating. It’s like a dance.”

  “The tongue tango,” I moaned. “That’s so gross, Emily.”

  “I think it’s sweet,” Emily said, “and if you didn’t have a brain the size of a pea, you’d think so too.”

  “I have to go,” I said to Emily. “I’m meeting Papa Pete downstairs and I can’t be late.”

  “You can’t go now,” Emily answered, grabbing on to my sleeve to stop me. “Look! They’re having a breakthrough.”

  I couldn’t believe what I saw. Katherine stuck out her tongue and actually licked Mrs Fink on the cheek. Mrs Fink touched Katherine’s head with her index finger and smiled, showing her pink gums. I guess that’s something that appeals to iguanas, because Katherine’s tongue shot out and licked Mrs Fink again.

  “Look, Mummy! They’re kissing,” said Tyler King. “Eeewww, that’s so yucky!”

  “I think it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Emily. She sounded like she was going to cry.

  This was too much for me.

  “Bill, please,” I said.

  “Where are you going?” Emily asked.

  “Listen, I’d love to stay and get all mushy with you reptiles, but Cheerio and I have important business with Papa Pete.” I looked at my watch. “Got to run!”

  I really was late. Katherine’s little hallway adventure had cost us ten minutes. I grabbed Cheerio and ran as fast as I could down the stairs.

  I’ve known Mrs Fink all my life, and I think she’s a nice lady. But watching her and Katherine doing the tongue tango was just more than any guy should ever have to see.

  Ashley, Frankie and Robert had already met up with Papa Pete outside. The four of them were waiting for me under the awning of our building.

  “You’re late, Zip,” Frankie said. “What happened to you?”

  “Our iguana fell in love with Mrs Fink,” I answered, knowing that would shut him up, and it did. He just grabbed his stomach and pretended he was going to throw up.

  “Let’s go,” said Ashley. “We’re late.”

  “Excuse me, lady and gentlemen. May I ask what it is we’re late for?” asked Papa Pete.

  “We have to go to the deli,” I told Papa Pete. “I don’t have time to explain now, because we have to get there before Carlos leaves on his delivery run.”

  “He leaves at ten,” said Papa Pete. “That gives us exactly five minutes.”

  We took off down 78th Street towards Broadway. Cheerio tried to keep up with us. His four short legs moved as fast as they could, but they didn’t cover much ground. He looked like he was on one of those treadmills people use at the gym. When we came to our first red light, I picked up Cheerio and tucked him under my arm. We waited. It was the longest red light in the history of electricity.

  “Don’t look at it,” Ashley said. “I swear it makes it stay red longer.”

  We all turned away. When we looked back, it was still red.

  I turned to Frankie in desperation.

  “Say your magic words,” I begged.

  Frankie faced the light, put his hands in the air and said, “Zengawii”. The light changed from red to green.

  “I am all-powerful,” said Frankie, half believing it.

  “Actually,” said Robert, “the light is set for a minute and twenty-two seconds depending on traffic flow.”

  “Shut up, Robert,” we all said, as we always do.

  We crossed Broadway and ran the last block to The Crunchy Pickle. It was one of those crisp, cool New York mornings, a perfect morning for running. In summer in New York, you don’t feel like running because it’s hot and you get all sweaty before you even start. In winter, it’s so cold that when you run and breathe hard, the air stings the inside of your nose. But when you run on an autumn morning, well, it feels just right.

  We got to the deli, and I pushed the glass door open. Carlos wasn’t there, but Vladimir was working behind the counter, putting toothpicks into cheese squares. Vladimir Olefski is our weekend cook and sandwich man. He’s from Russia, and he speaks English with a thick accent. I was scared of Vlady at first, because he never smiles and also because he has a lot of reddish-blondish hair growing out of his ears. It’s not actually that much hair, but as far as I’m concerned, any hair growing out of your ears is a lot. I remember thinking that Vlady reminded me of a werewolf I saw once on a late-night movie when I slept over at Frankie’s. Papa Pete tells me not to look at his ears. He says that when a man can stuff a cabbage like Vlady can stuff a cabbage, what’s a little ear hair?

  Vlady had his back to us, and he was singing this Russian song he always sings. It is the saddest song you’ve ever heard. Once I asked Vlady what it was about.

  “A man looks for fish in Volga River,” he
said. “No fish there, so he must eat only snow and stale bread. My family sings this song at parties, and we cry like babies.” Those Olefskis must be some really fun party animals.

  “Hi, Vlady,” I said. “Where’s Carlos?”

  “He is left,” Vlady said.

  Oh no! “How long ago?”

  “Many minutes before,” Vlady answered in his thick Russian accent.

  We had counted on following Carlos. How else could we get to Mr Gristediano’s? We didn’t even have his address.

  “This is bad,” said Ashley. “A real fly in the ointment.”

  “No flies here,” Vlady snapped. “I keep place clean.”

  “Vlady,” said Frankie, saying every syllable very clearly. “Do you know the address where Carlos went?”

  “He write on paper,” Vlady said, pointing to a pad of paper we keep by the phone to write down deliveries.

  Ashley grabbed the pad. The top sheet was blank. Obviously, Carlos had taken Mr Gristediano’s address with him.

  “Another fly in the ointment,” Ashley muttered.

  “Pardon, missy,” Vlady said, his blue eyes squinting at Ashley from under his big red eyebrows. “I say NO FLIES.”

  Frankie looked at the blank pad.

  “Carlos must go through a lot of pencils,” he said. “He writes hard. Look, every word leaves an impression on the paper underneath.”

  That was all I needed to hear.

  “Vlady,” I said, “can I borrow your pencil?”

  He took the pencil from behind his ear and handed it to me. I wiped it off quickly, to make sure it didn’t have any loose ear hair on it. Then I laid it on its side and began rubbing the lead back and forth over the blank piece of paper. The paper turned grey, except the parts on which Carlos’s pencil had written the address, which stayed white. As I shaded over the whole page, little by little the address popped out.

  “I’ve got it,” I yelled, looking at the piece of paper. “Five-forty-one Riverside Drive, Flat 4B.”

  I ripped the page off the pad.

  “Let’s jet,” I said. I looked around for Papa Pete. He had slid into one of the booths with a cup of coffee. “Come on, Papa Pete. We’ve got to hurry.”

  “I just got myself a Danish,” he said.

  “Can you take it to go?” Frankie asked.

  “Is it absolutely necessary?” asked Papa Pete.

  “Abso-one-hundred-per-cent-lutely,” said Frankie.

  “In that case, I think I can,” said Papa Pete. He wrapped the Danish in a napkin and shoved it into his pocket.

  “Papa Pete, you are the greatest,” I said, dashing to the door and holding it open for him.

  “Is someone going to tell me what all this is about?” he asked.

  “No time now,” I said. “Later.”

  “OK, Hankie,” said Papa Pete. “The mystery continues.”

  “Close door,” Vlady called after us. “No flies.”

  I tucked Cheerio under my arm and we tore out on to the street and headed down towards Riverside Drive. It was about four blocks to Mr Gristediano’s flat.

  “We’ll never get there before Carlos does,” Frankie said.

  “I think we have a chance,” I said. I happen to know that Carlos is not the fastest delivery guy in town. He is the nicest and the best dressed, but not the fastest.

  “I hope I don’t get an asthma attack,” said Robert, panting hard.

  Ashley turned to him and said, “You don’t have time, Robert.”

  “Oh, right,” he said.

  It may sound amazing to you, but Papa Pete had no trouble keeping up with us. He’s in great shape. He’s big, but he’s solid muscle.

  “It’s from the bowling,” he always says. “Keeps a man fit.” I’m sure that walking up and down the stairs to McKelty’s Roll ’N Bowl doesn’t hurt, either.

  We reached 541 Riverside Drive. It was a fancy building with two carved lions at the front. The doorman was leaning on one of them, picking his teeth with a toothpick. He didn’t look friendly.

  I walked up to him, but before I could open my mouth, old Robert butted in. “Excuse me, Mr Riverside,” he said.

  Frankie whipped around and stared at Robert.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered.

  “I’m calling the man by his name,” said Robert. “It’s good manners.”

  “That’s not his name, numbskull,” said Frankie. “That’s the name of the building embroidered on his coat.”

  “How was I supposed to know?” asked Robert. “I’m only in third grade.”

  Right. Now he was in the third grade. When he wants to bore you with the name of every mountain range in Asia, he’s a college professor, but when he screws up, he’s just a third-grader.

  I turned to the doorman.

  “Has the delivery from The Crunchy Pickle arrived yet for apartment 4B?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Just as I had thought. Carlos was late. Do I know my delivery guys or what?

  “That’s excellent,” I said, “because we have a very important matter to discuss with the delivery person who’s bringing Mr Gristediano’s platters.”

  “Good for you,” the doorman said, adjusting the toothpick in his mouth. “Who’s Mr Gristediano?”

  “He lives in Flat 4B,” I said.

  “Says you,” he answered.

  “No, really,” I said. “Take a look.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper from the pad at the deli.

  “See,” I said, pointing to the address. “It’s right there in black and white. Five-forty-one Riverside Drive.”

  He glanced down at the paper, then back at me.

  “Funny,” he said. “Looks to me like that says four-fifty-one Riverside Drive.”

  I looked down at the paper and stared at it for a minute. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It did say 451. I must have flipped the numbers around. How could I have been so stupid? I can’t even read three numbers the right way round.

  The truth is, I flip numbers around a lot. Sometimes I flip letters around too. Most of the time, I don’t even know I’m doing it.

  I hit my hand on the side of my head, as if I could knock some sense into my stupid brain.

  “What is wrong with me?” I asked.

  Papa Pete put his hand on mine. He has big hands, and when he touches you, it makes you feel safe.

  “What’s with the hitting yourself in the head?” he asked.

  “I’m the stupidest person in the world,” was all I could answer.

  “This isn’t a tragedy, champ,” he said. “You just mixed up a couple of numbers. Worse things could happen.”

  “You don’t understand, Papa Pete,” I said. “Now we’ll never catch up with Carlos. In fact, he’s probably already delivered the salami platter to Mr Gristediano.”

  “So?” asked Papa Pete. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Everything. Once Mr Gristediano tastes that salami, it’s over for us.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “The salami is delicious. I made it myself.”

  “No,” I tried to explain. “You made another batch, not that one. There’s something terribly wrong with the salami Carlos is taking to Mr Gristediano. I ruined it. And now I’ve ruined Mum’s business and her whole future too. It’s all my fault.”

  I could feel the tears welling up at the corners of my eyes. Papa Pete looked from Frankie to Ashley to Robert, then back to me.

  “Does everyone here know what’s going on but me?” he asked.

  They nodded.

  “Then I think we have to talk,” said Papa Pete. “It’s time for this mystery to end.”

  We sat down on a bench in Riverside Park. A couple of little kids were playing near by. They held hands and spun around in a circle until they got so dizzy that they fell down on the grass. Then they laughed like maniacs, got up, spun around and fell down again. I love to hear little kids laugh. They sound like they don’t have a
problem in the world. I watched them for a minute, wishing I were that little again.

  “Now, suppose you tell me exactly what is going on,” Papa Pete began.

  “I don’t know where to start,” I said.

  “Try the beginning,” said Papa Pete.

  I took a deep breath. Once I’d started talking, it felt so good to have the truth all come tumbling out. I told Papa Pete about my school report and the three Ds. I explained that I was too ashamed to show that report to my parents, so I had pretended to lose it. When I got to the part about the deli and said that we hadn’t planned to throw my report in the meat grinder, Papa Pete held up his hand.

  “Are you about to tell me that your school report card is ground up in the salami that went to Mr Gristediano?”

  I nodded.

  “Actually, there’s a letter from Ms Adolf and a large manila envelope in there too,” Robert added.

  “So that’s the big rush to get to Mr Gristediano’s – to get the salami back.”

  Papa Pete had certainly figured it out fast. I wondered if he had ever done anything this bad when he was younger.

  “We all feel terrible,” Ashley said, “because we were part of this too.”

  Papa Pete gathered us around him.

  “I want you to listen to me, grandkids,” he said. “People are just people. They make mistakes. A guy orders a tuna on rye, and you bring him a roast beef on wheat. It happens.”

  Papa Pete turned to me.

  “But this I know, grandson of mine. You can’t lie to cover up your mistakes. You start with one little lie and it gets bigger and bigger, and before you know it, it’s taken over everything. It’s like dropping one little piece of herring in a tub of macaroni cheese. Before long, the whole tub smells like fish. You follow what I’m saying?”

  Actually, he’d kind of lost me on the herring in the macaroni story, but I think I got the general idea. He was saying that once you tell a lie, you just create more and more trouble for yourself. And boy, was he ever right.

  “So we’re going to fix this right now,” he said. “Hank, you’re going to go to Mr Gristediano’s and get the salami back. We don’t want anyone to be ill. Then you’re going to tell your parents the truth.”