Benjamin Franklinstein Meets the Fright Brothers Page 4

  “After Scott turned on his radio, you went crazy—like you were supercharged.”

  “And when I turned off my radio,” Scott continued, “you stopped going crazy.”

  Franklin reached for a stool. “Let me sit down and think this through.” He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “All I recall is that I had an unstoppable urge to tear the radio from your hands and smash it to pieces.”

  They all looked at Scott’s radio. “Remarkable,” Franklin said.

  “See?” Scott said. “I told you it was broken.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Strangers at the Door

  Victor and Scott did their best to straighten up the lab. Most of it could be easily repaired, but the electrophone was severely damaged. It would take considerable effort to get it working again.

  As they cleaned up, Franklin sat slumped on a stool, recuperating.

  “You don’t look well,” said Victor. “Maybe you should lie down.”

  Franklin mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “Perhaps just something to drink. And a morsel of food might be good. I’m still feeling a bit unsteady.”

  Victor and Scott helped Franklin up the ladder to his apartment. They took special care to close the secret bookcase behind them.

  “Victor,” Franklin asked, “what is that smell?”

  A tantalizing aroma drifted down from Victor’s apartment. The three of them headed upstairs to investigate. Mrs. Godwin was in the kitchen, baking.

  “Hey, Mom,” said Victor. “That smells delicious. What is it?”

  “It’s for tomorrow’s breakfast is what it is. Don’t get any ideas.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You’ll spoil your dinner.” She opened the oven and pulled out a tray of blueberry muffins. “Oh, Mr. Benjamin! I didn’t see you there.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Godwin. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Victor’s mom smiled warmly at the old man. “Don’t be silly. You know you’re always welcome here. Please, sit down and have a muffin. You too, Scott. They’re fresh from the oven.”

  Franklin winked at Victor. “Eat to live, and not live to eat, I always say. Except where muffins are concerned!”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Godwin,” said Scott. He sat down at the table next to Franklin and took a bite. “My mom makes muffins too. She says hers are healthy, but I like yours better.”

  “Thank you, Scott . . . I think.” Mrs. Godwin handed a muffin to Victor. “So what are you boys up to?”

  “Just working on some new projects,” said Victor.

  “Naturally.” She shook her head. “Mr. Benjamin, I hope the boys aren’t bothering you.”

  “Not in the least, Mrs. Godwin. In fact, Victor and Scott both have quite a talent for inventing. It is all I can do to keep up with them.”

  Mrs. Godwin pulled up a chair and sat down at the table. “So were you in the inventing business before you retired?”

  “I dabbled,” said Franklin. “I also worked with the public library, the post office, and the fire department. I was a printer for a while. I also worked in government.”

  “It sounds like a fascinating life,” said Mrs. Godwin. “Can I get you another muffin?”

  “I would be most obliged,” said Franklin. “They are magnificent.”

  “You too, Scott?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Mom, can I—”

  “You can have your second one for breakfast tomorrow.” She took the plate of muffins to the counter and covered them. “Now I have some work to do in the study. While I’m in there, those muffins are off-limits. Understood?”

  Victor sighed.

  Mrs. Godwin walked down the hallway and closed a door behind her.

  “Hey,” Scott said, peering out the window, “it’s those guys from the parade—they’re in your yard. See?”

  Victor joined Scott at the window. The brothers from the Right Cycle Company were slinking around the yard, peeking in the downstairs windows, opening the mailbox, lifting up a flowerpot.

  “It’s like they’re searching for something,” Victor said. “But what? Let’s get a closer look, Scott.”

  “A closer look? But—but they’re vampires!”

  “Victor has assured me that there are no such things as vampires,” Franklin said. “Assuming this is true, I’d say further investigation is an excellent idea.” He stood to join them.

  “No, Ben,” Victor insisted. “The voice from the electrophone told us that you need to stay out of sight. If those guys have some connection with the Great Emergency, we can’t let them know that you’ve been awakened.”

  Franklin frowned. “I suppose you’re right, Victor. I shall watch from up here. Do be careful.”

  Victor raced down the stairs, dragging Scott behind him.

  They peered out the window beside the front door.

  “We’ll go about it scientifically,” said Victor, trying not to sound afraid. “First, we have to gather data. Let’s see if we can figure out what they’re up to.”

  The brothers darted back and forth across the yard, picking up random objects, examining them briefly, and then dropping them. They pressed their ears against the ground, the car, and the walls of the house.

  “Now it looks like they’re listening for something,” said Victor. “But what?”

  “Vampires are bats, right?” said Scott. “And bats have super hearing. That’s how they see!”

  “Actually, bats have pretty good eyesight,” said Victor. “And if these two were vampires, they wouldn’t be running around in the middle of the day. In the movies, vampires vaporize in sunlight.”

  “That’s why they’re wearing hats and sunglasses. Hey, where are they?”

  Victor looked out the window. “I think they’re gone.” He pulled the door open a crack.

  The brothers were standing on the doorstep. He tried to slam the door ...

  Fwooooooooosh!

  . . . but somehow the brothers were already inside!

  “Where is it?” the older brother growled.

  “Wh-what?” Scott stammered.

  “Where . . . is . . . it?” he repeated. The two men advanced toward the boys.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Victor’s voice trembled. “Where’s what?”

  “The noise!” demanded the younger brother. “What made the noise? It hurt! It hurt so much! We must . . .”

  “. . . DESTROY IT!” the older brother finished, creeping closer.

  Their ashen faces were now only inches away, their breath cold and musty. Victor squeezed his eyes shut. Scott guarded his neck with his hands.

  The door at the top of the stairs swung open.

  “Is everything all right?” Franklin boomed. He glared down at the brothers. “Gentlemen, it is time for you to take your leave.”

  The air crackled with static. Victor felt an electric shock run up his spine.

  The two men reeled back, and Franklin’s knees buckled. He stumbled down the stairs, clutching the banister for support. Scott rushed up to help.

  The brothers staggered backward out the door and down the porch. Victor slammed the door shut and locked it. Through the window, he watched the two men teetering blindly down the street.

  “Ben, are you okay?” said Victor.

  Franklin shivered and slumped back against the stairs.

  “What just happened?” asked Franklin.

  “I’m not sure,” said Victor, “but I have a bad feeling about those two.”

  “What two?” asked Franklin.

  “The brothers from the bike shop,” said Scott. “Don’t you remember anything?”

  “I remember some muffins. They were delicious.”

  “Let’s get you back to your place,” said Victor.

  The two boys steadied the old man as he hobbled into his apartment and settled onto the couch. They explained to him everything that had just happened.

  VAMPIRE IDENTIFICATION CHECKLIST

/>   ✀ Has very sharp fangs

  ✀ Drinks human blood

  ✀ Bites can turn normal people into vampires

  ✀ Possesses superhuman strength and speed

  ✀ Can hypnotize people with its eyes

  ✀ Pale complexion

  ✀ Must stay out of direct sunlight

  ✀ Can vanish into a mist, only to reappear elsewhere

  ✀ Cannot see its own reflection in a mirror

  “That was too close,” said Victor. “If you hadn’t come along when you did—”

  “Yeah, what was that all about?” said Scott. “As soon as Ben showed up, it felt just like when I touch the electric fence at the zoo. I forget, does electricity repel vampires?”

  “They’re not vampires,” said Victor. “But I have to admit, there is something very strange about them.”

  Franklin held his hands in front of him, wiggling his fingers as if to make sure they still worked. “Why do you suppose they came here? What were they looking for?”

  “Some kind of sound,” said Victor. “They wanted to destroy it. But we didn’t make any sound.”

  “I did, remember?”

  Victor and Franklin turned to Scott.

  “I mean, I was just thinking,” said Scott, “when my grandfather’s radio made that noise, Ben tried to destroy it. Maybe they heard it too.”

  Victor shook his head. “I don’t think so. When the radio fell into the harmonic fluid, it must have been changed somehow. Ben is affected by the radio because of his unique biology. He’s powered by harmonic fluid.”

  “Unless,” said Franklin, “my biology is not so unique.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps the brothers are also powered by harmonic fluid. That might explain the strange reaction in the stairway.”

  Scott scratched his head. “But I thought only people in the Modern Order of Prometheus had that stuff inside them.”

  “So did I,” said Franklin. “I think it’s our turn to pay the brothers a visit.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Right Cycle Company

  The next morning, Victor, Scott, and Franklin set off for the bike shop. Scott pedaled ahead as Franklin struggled to remain upright on his bike. The oversized training wheels Victor had installed on both front and back axles were the only things keeping him anywhere close to vertical. Was it possible he was actually getting worse with practice?

  Yet Franklin refused to give up—he was determined to conquer what he called “the devil’s contraption.” Victor brought up the rear, walking and pushing his own mangled bike.

  “It is unfortunate that you crashed your bicycle in your rush to reach the electrophone,” Franklin said, “but you must admit, it provides a perfect excuse for visiting the repair shop.”

  At the corner, Victor called for Scott to wait while he checked his map. The bike shop was close, and he wanted to get his bearings before they arrived.

  “Look, there’s my dad,” said Scott. He waved his arms. “Dad! Over here!”

  Victor groaned. Across the street, an enormous foam bicycle seat was handing out pamphlets to passersby. The seat had arms, legs, and Skip Weaver’s face smack-dab in the middle, where a giant biker’s butt would sit. This was WURP’s chief meteorologist?

  “Hey, buddy!” said the seat. “How’s it going?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Victor whispered to Ben. “We’re on a mission.”

  “Mister Weaver!” Franklin called. “Good morning to you!”

  Franklin and Scott wheeled their bikes across the street. Reluctantly, Victor followed.

  “Dad, you remember my friends Victor and Mr. Frank—er, Mr. Benjamin? Mr. Frank Benjamin?”

  “Sure do,” said Skip, handing each of them a pamphlet. “How are you fellas doing today? Interested in a free tune-up for those bikes? Special deal, one day only.”

  “As a matter of fact, we are,” said Victor. “Are you working for the Right Cycle Company?”

  “Just some temporary promo work to help the guys get the business off the ground. Standard celebrity stuff.”

  Victor couldn’t help thinking that dressed as a giant seat, Skip Weaver didn’t look much like a celebrity.

  “Also, the station’s making me pay them back for the camera I broke a few days ago.”

  “I remember—when you made the sun chase the clouds away!” Franklin chuckled. “That was most entertaining.”

  “Then it was all worth it!”

  “Tell me, Mr. Weaver,” asked Franklin. “Are cameras expensive?”

  Skip Weaver’s smile disappeared. “You have no idea.” He slumped down onto a step, but his foam rubber suit bounced him back up.

  “Stupid costume!” Skip complained. “I can’t even sit down.”

  There was an awkward silence. Finally, Victor said, “Well, we really should be going now.”

  “Of course,” Skip said. “Enjoy your day, boys. Nice seeing you again, Mr. Benjamin.”

  Around the corner, Victor paused.

  “The bike shop is on the next block. It’s unlikely the brothers remember any more about their visit to our house than you do, Ben. Just the same, we’d better play it safe. Scott, do you have the disguises?”

  “Right here.” He pulled two wigs from a brown paper bag and held them up for inspection. “Do you want long hair or curly?”

  “I’ll take curly.” Victor carefully pulled the wig over his own hair. “Technically, it’s the most dissimilar to my own hair. Plus, since I’m wearing my old glasses, it will—hey, what’s so funny?”

  “Nothing, my boy,” said Franklin, struggling to maintain his composure. “You look fine, just like . . . like . . .”

  “Like an old lady!” finished Scott. At that, both he and Franklin burst into howls of laughter.

  “Very funny,” said Victor dryly. “All right, Scott. Let’s see what you look like.”

  Scott pulled his wig over his head, and Franklin stopped laughing almost immediately.

  “Oh, my. Scott, that does make you look distinguished. Bravo.”

  “Whatever,” grumbled Victor. “Ben, remember to keep your distance from the brothers.”

  “I’ll wait for you across the street,” Franklin said. “Be careful, boys.”

  It was easy to spot the Right Cycle Company. Dozens of customers with bikes snaked out the door and down the block. Victor and Scott joined the back of the line.

  “I don’t get it,” said Scott. “How are they going to make any money fixing all these bikes for free? It’ll take them forever.”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” said Victor. “It doesn’t add up.”

  RIGHT CYCLE COMPANY PROMOTIONAL PAMPHLET

  The line moved much more quickly than they expected, and before long, they were inside. Aside from all the people, the store was strangely empty. There were no helmets, bike pumps, or even bicycles for sale. Only a long counter at the back, behind which the brothers rapidly checked in customers.

  Something was wrong. The brothers weren’t just fast, they were too fast, moving with the precision of robots. The younger brother handled the paperwork, filling out forms with his left hand while simultaneously sorting and filing with his right. Meanwhile, the older brother collected the bikes and wheeled them through a door to a room in the back. Victor did a quick estimate. In just one morning, they would easily take in hundreds, maybe a thousand bikes. But why?

  Victor adjusted his wig and tried to look manly. At home, the disguises had seemed like a good idea. But now, so close to the brothers, it all just felt foolish. These men were dangerous.

  “Next!”

  The sound of the younger brother’s voice snapped Victor back to reality. He stepped forward and handed over his bike.

  “Name?”

  Victor froze. Why hadn’t he thought to prepare a fake name? Of course they would ask. “John,” he sputtered. “John, uh . . . uh . . .”

  “Johnson!” added Scott.

  “Teleph
one number?”

  Automatically, Victor rattled off the digits of his cell phone number. By the time he realized his mistake, the brother had moved on to the next customer.

  Outside, the boys paused to discuss what had just happened.

  “Why’d you give them your real phone number?” asked Scott. “Do you want them to call us?”

  Victor winced. “Of course not. I just ... I panicked.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t think they recognized us.”

  “If they did, they hid it well,” Victor agreed. “Where do you think they’re taking all the bikes?”

  “Let’s find out.” Scott disappeared around the corner, down an alley. Victor trailed behind. He was surprised to see that the small Right Cycle Company storefront was connected to an enormous warehouse at the back.

  “Wow,” said Victor. “They could put a million bikes in there if they wanted to.”

  “Help me with these garbage cans,” said Scott. He dragged one under a high window. “I want to look inside.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Trust me,” said Scott. Together, he and Victor lifted another garbage can onto the stack and balanced it between two others. “I climb up stuff all the time. This will work.”

  It did work, although Victor wasn’t entirely sure how. Like most of Scott’s projects, this one had all the signs of an impending disaster. Scott climbed up first, and reluctantly, Victor followed. Side by side, they balanced on their toes and held tight to the windowsill. Scott’s tower wobbled, but it held.

  “I don’t believe it,” whispered Victor, peering through the dusty window. “There are a million bikes in there.”

  Inside, the door banged open. Scott and Victor ducked as the older brother wheeled another bicycle into the room. They watched him grip it tightly and tear the wheels off with his bare hands. He threw the tires onto one heaping pile, the handlebars onto another, then effortlessly flung the bicycle frame on top of a third. It bounced off the high ceiling and tumbled down the side. The whole process took less than ten seconds.

  “He’s strong,” whispered Scott. “And not very nice to those bikes.”

  The brother tipped his head, then suddenly spun toward the window. He stared directly at Scott and Victor, his eyes glowing red.