Fish Finelli Book 1: Seagulls Don't Eat Pickles Read Online Free PDF

hear the mower in my yard, which meant my mom and dad were still gardening.
    I sure hoped Mystery Man and his partner would be punctual. If I wasn’t home by dark, I would be grounded for sure. Fortunately, sunset would be at 8:07 tonight. That meant it wouldn’t be dark till close to nine.
    “Don’t you have to tell Summer you’re leaving?” T. J. asked, blowing a big pink bubble. T. J. can demolish a Blow Pop faster than an octopus can suck up a clam.
    “Summer!” shouted Roger.
    “Not so loud!” I grabbed Roger’s arm and pointed toward my yard.
    “Carmine!” we heard my mother. “The petunias!”
    My dad loves to pretend he’s going to mow over my mom’s flowers. Even though he never does, my mom falls for it every time.
    Roger picked up a pebble and tossed it at Summer’s window. He missed. He threw another rock. This one hit the glass. PLINK!
    Seconds later, Summer stuck her head out the window. “Roger, is that you?” she yelled.
    Roger put his finger to his lips.
    “Roger?!” Summer was staring straight down at us, but it was like we were invisible.
    “Whatever!!!” With a disgusted sigh, she banged the window shut.
    “I told you this camo would work,” said Roger. He bumped one shoulder into me and the other into T. J. “It’s the perfect cover.”
    The duck pond is only a few blocks from our houses. We got there just as the sun was beginning to set. The place was full of quiet shadows from the tall, old trees.
    Now that it’s summertime, the geese have moved in. Geese aren’t the nicest waterfowl, so you don’t want to make them mad. But what you really have to remember is to watch your step, so you don’t wind up with slimy, disgusting goose poop stuck to your shoes.
    You also have to beware of the mutants. They’re these weird creatures that are part duck, part goose, part swan, and totally mean. No one knows where they came from. They say a mutant can bite off a kid’s hand with just one chomp of its razor-sharp beak.
    “Now what?” asked Roger.
    I stared around at all the trees and the darkened trails leading off in different directions. We would have to spread out. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my compass.
    “Roger, you go east,” I said. “T. J., you go west, and I’ll go north.”
    T. J. chomped on a handful of Cracker Jack. “Hey, you forgot south.”
    “No, I didn’t. The entrance to the duck pond is our point of origin, so the only thing south of us is Main Street.”
    “Better stay in radio contact,” added Roger. “Right, Marco Polo, O great explorer who discovered India—”
    “That was Vasco da Gama,” I cut in.
    “Fish!”
    “I can’t help it if Marco Polo went to China, not India.”
    MACRO POLO
(c. 1254–1324)
    Marco Polo was an Italian merchant and explorer. He was one of the first travelers to go all the way from Europe to China. When he returned to Venice 24 years later, he wrote about what he had seen
and learned.
    “The point is,” continued Roger, “whoever spots the suspects should alert the other members of the team.”
    We pulled out our walkie-talkies and flipped the switches to ON.
    “Hey, what about me?” said T. J., pieces of Cracker Jack shooting out of his mouth.
    Roger’s eyes lit up. “I know. Blow the duck whistle. You’ve got it, right?”
    T. J. nodded and pulled out the yellow plastic whistle. It looked kinda like a kazoo.
    “Just blow it if you see Mystery Man and we’ll come,” I said. Then I handed T. J. my clipboard and pen. “Here. Write down everything you hear. It’s important, okay?”
    T. J. nodded. He bent his head over the clipboard and started to write.
    “What are you writing?” I asked.
    “Everything you said,” said T. J.
    “You’re not supposed to write what
I
say.”
    “But you said to write everything important. And what you said is important, right?”
    “No,” I began.
    “But you said it was.”
    “Yes, it is, but that’s not . . . ”
    Roger and T. J. laughed. “T. J. got