Beware the Fisj Read Online Free PDF Page B

sizes, one high-powered microscope with a stack of slides and countless little bottles containing chemicals. There were also beakers, eyedroppers, applicator sticks, stirring rods and a scale.
    “Elmer, what’s going on?” asked Bruno in amazement. “My cure for the common cold,” explained Elmer. “I think I’m on the right track.”
    “But we have to live here!” Boots protested. “There’s no room!”
    “Do you know the kind of publicity a cure for the common cold would bring to Macdonald Hall?” cried Bruno enthusiastically. “You go ahead and work, Elm. Take all the room you need!”
    “Thank you,” mumbled Elmer.
    Bruno climbed across Boots’s bed and carefully picked his way over to his favourite gadget. He switched it on and waited for the fish image to appear on the screen.
    “This is the Fish Patrol,” he announced loudly. “We bring you salutations from the fishbowl.” He laughed diabolically. “Beware the Fish! You never know where he may strike next.” Bruno switched the device off. “Marvellous,” he exclaimed. “It’s so good for my morale.”
    “The Fish would kill you if he heard all that,” observed Boots.
    “How can he hear it?” scoffed Bruno. “We’re our own little TV station — one camera, one set” — he pointed to the salmon poster — “and one superstar.”
    In the Headmaster’s residence an annoyed Mrs. Sturgeon, her favourite soap opera rudely interrupted by yet another fish broadcast, was dialling station CHUT.
    * * *
    At RCMP Headquarters in Ottawa, Deputy Chief Bullock sifted through a pile of memos and reports before leaving for the day. One in particular caught his attention.
    Request received from Board of Broadcast Governors to investigate unexplained interruption of TV broadcasts in Chutney, Ontario, Station CHUT. Picture of fish, accompanied by veiled threats and unrelated commentary, blocking regular broadcasts at irregular intervals. Special Division suspects possible development of terrorist activity. Local residents becoming alarmed.
    “A picture of a fish?” Deputy Chief Bullock muttered in disbelief. He swivelled in his chair, found Chutney on his map, then sat back in perplexity. Why Chutney?
    “Probably a joke,” he decided. Still, if it was something serious and he ignored it … A smile spread across his face. Sergeant Harold P. Featherstone, assigned to his division just two weeks before, was young, eager and in need of field experience. And he had twice stolen his superior’s parking space at Headquarters. Deputy Chief Bullock flipped on the intercom.
    “Send Sergeant Featherstone to my office,” he told his secretary. “I have an assignment for him.”
    * * *
    “Okay, you guys,” announced Bruno, consulting his watch, “it’s after midnight. Time to go to Scrimmage’s.”
    “Bruno, are you crazy?” Boots protested. “The Fish said —”
    “The Fish said he never wants to catch us over there again,” finished Bruno. “If anyone catches us, which isn’t due for another million years, it’ll be Miss Scrimmage. So let’s go.”
    Their discussion was interrupted by loud, angry voices from down the hall. Boots crawled across his bed and opened the door just in time to see Sidney Rampulsky tearing towards him, trying to outrun a broken lamp that Larry Wilson had thrown at him. Sidney hit the bed and catapulted into the room. He came to rest in a tangle of TV wires and cables.
    “And don’t come back!” bellowed Larry from 204.
    The door of room 200 burst open and Housemaster Alex Flynn, the school’s athletic director, rushed out into the hall in his underwear. “Pipe down out here!” he hollered. “It’s the middle of the night!” He stormed back into his room and slammed the door.
    Bruno helped Sidney up off the floor. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “Larry threw me out,” complained Sidney. “Gee, he’s crabby. It was just an accident.”
    “Another accident?” said Boots. “What did you