Typo Squad, page 6
part #1 of Typo Squad Series
“Which means we need to find him fast,” Anna said.
“Shouldn’t be too extreme of a challenge,” Ewan said. “A gentleman in an all-black suit with a leather mask bearing a silver asterisk tends to stand out.”
“All right,” Tanka said. “Everyone go home and get some rest, will you? We’ll start on this case first thing in the morning.”
“What, we don’t get to sleep in after all this?” Big said.
“Fine, sleep in! We’ll start it first thing after lunch!” Tanka growled. “Why do you constantly have to bust my balls, Big?”
“You have to play to your strengths, boss,” Big said innocently.
Dick jerked his head toward the still-handcuffed girl. “What about her?”
“Let her go,” Tanka said. “But keep her information handy, will you? If the typo didn’t kill her, there are better things for her to be doing than making kale smoothies.”
Dick nodded. He crossed over to the girl and sat down again.
“Okay,” Dick said. “We’re gonna let you go. But first I need you to do something for me. I need you to raise your right hand.”
The girl moved her hands to the side to indicate the handcuffs.
“Oh. Right,” Dick said. “Okay then, just repeat after me: ‘I solemnly swear that I will never intentionally misspell a word again as long as I live.’”
The girl sighed. “Really?”
“Do you want to wrap this up or not?”
“Fine,” she hissed. “I solemnly swear that I will never intentionally misspell a word again as long as I live.”
“Good,” Dick said. “See that you don’t.”
He circled around her and unlocked the handcuffs. She rolled her shoulders a few times and massaged her wrists.
“Here’s my contact information,” Dick said, handing her a card. “If you remember anything else about the man in the mask, you call me, okay?”
Dick joined his team as they began shuffling toward the door when the girl said suddenly, “Don’t you even want to know the guy’s name?”
Everyone stopped in their tracks and turned back to her.
“He told you his name?” Dick said incredulously.
“Yeah,” the girl said. “His name is Anton. Anton Nym.”
CHAPTER SIX
The next day, Dick crowded with Thea, Big, Ewan, and Anna around a wobbly table in a tiny conference room. An ancient whiteboard with the ghosts of words that would never totally come off sat in a corner, under ceiling tiles that were browning with water damage.
Tanka came into the room and closed the door behind him. Under his arm was a beat-up old laptop. He looked dour.
“Well, Dick,” he said without preamble, setting up the laptop so that the screen faced the others, “it seems you’ve got a fan.”
He pressed the play button on an open video. Black-and-white static filled the screen for a moment, and then a figure replaced it. It was a man in a black suit wearing a leather mask with a silver asterisk in the middle of his forehead.
“Hello, Richard,” Nym said in a gravelly, digitally distorted voice, and all eyes turned toward Dick. “My name is Anton Nym. And I have a proposition I wish to present for your consideration.”
Nym ran a gloved hand over the top of his mask and took a deep breath.
“Return to the mountain. And no one need suffer.” He stared for a long time at the camera, as though awaiting a response from Dick.
“I’m only here because you are,” Nym continued. “Do you understand?”
Dick stared at the computer blankly.
Nym leaned forward, his whole face filling the screen. “If you return from whence you came, I will do so as well. But if you remain here with Typo Squad, I’ll have no other recourse than to unleash hell upon the citizens of Las Palabras.”
Nym leaned back in his chair and put his hands casually on top of his head. “It’s entirely in your hands, Richard. I leave it to you,” Nym said. “Knowing your penchant for playing the hero, I can imagine that you are not afraid of me. You’re probably already thinking that you’ll find me and slide the noose on me. It’s your duty to bring villains like me to justice, after all, and you will.”
Nym leaned forward again. “No you won’t, Richard. No you won’t. If you remain, I’m going to thin out your fan club, a million people at a time. You can’t stop me. I know you’ll feel compelled to try. But I shall drown this city in typos. I shall drown this country in typos. And just as God did in Noah’s time . . . I shall drown the world.”
Nym stood up, walking out of the shot, but his voice called out from beyond the frame: “Lapsus calami!” Dick felt goosebumps rise on his forearms.
The screen cut back to the black-and-white static before fading to black. The conference room was silent.
“Well,” Dick said at last. “At least he’s well spoken.”
“Yep,” Big said. “Snappy dresser, too.”
“He may be threatening innocent civilians, and we certainly must make every effort to find and apprehend him,” Ewan said, “but I must say, it’s a bit of a thrill to have a legitimate villain again. We haven’t had one of those since that fellow a few years back, the one with the pregnancy pun for a name. What was it again?”
“Mister Period!” Big cried out.
“Yes, that’s the one!” Ewan said, delighted.
They looked to Tanka, who was stone-faced. “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt,” Tanka said. “Please, keep making jokes while a lunatic is on the loose.”
“Sorry boss,” said Big.
“My apologies, Lieutenant,” Ewan added.
Tanka turned to Dick. “Do we need to discuss Nym’s ultimatum? Are you considering going back to the mountain?”
“Run away?” Dick asked incredulously. “From that bondage-mask-wearing nut job? I thought you knew me better than that.”
“I’m glad that I do,” Tanka replied. “Any idea how this guy might know you?”
Dick shook his head. “No.”
“Well, then,” Thea said. “It looks like we need a plan.”
“We already have a plan,” Tanka snapped. “We’ve got every cop in the city looking for this wacko. In the meantime—”
He was cut off when a frantic officer slammed the door open. “Lieutenant! They need the team down at Strunk Field right away.”
“Why?”
The officer shook his head. “I dunno. Some guy named Nym called in, said he’s gonna try something.”
Tanka looked from the officer to his team. “Why are you all sitting there? Move!” and everyone scrambled to their feet.
The SUV carrying the team squealed into the parking lot of Strunk Field with siren wailing and lights whirling. The side door was open before they’d even come to a full stop and Dick, Thea, Big, Ewan, and Anna piled out and headed straight for the main gates.
A group of regular cops was milling around near the entrance, looking calm and relaxed. Dick approached them. “What’s the situation?” he asked the nearest officer.
“Well I’ll be damned,” the cop said. He was tall, with graying temples and a deeply lined, tanned face. His teeth were dazzling against his bronze skin.
“Why will you be damned?” Dick asked.
“Because Shonnary has finally come out of retirement,” the cop said excitedly, and before he had time to react, Dick was pulled into a tight bear hug.
“Okay,” Dick squeaked, his lungs suddenly empty. The cop let go and pulled off his cap. The graying temples gave way to a perfectly smooth, bald head. The cop smiled and offered Dick his profile.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Dick laughed in spite of himself. “Cody. How are you doing? Goddamn, I didn’t even recognize you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a while,” Cody said, offering his hand, which Dick shook. “Where the hell have you been all this time?”
“Oh, you know, hiding out in the woods,” Dick replied. “Like you do.”
Cody’s smile faltered. “Well. Nobody can blame you for that. I imagine you had a lot to think about.”
“Yeah,” Dick said. “Yeah, I did.”
“So, anyway, what brings Typo Squad down here?” Cody returned to his businesslike demeanor. “Tanka spring for tickets to the game?”
Big barked out a laugh. “Oh, that’ll be the day.”
Anna stepped forward. “We were told there was a situation down here.”
Cody looked at his fellow officers, who merely shrugged. “If there is, we haven’t heard about it.”
Dick turned to the rest of his team. “What do you think?”
“Wouldn’t hurt to have a look around,” Big said. “Grab a hot dog, a couple of beers. Maybe some Cracker Jacks.”
“Can you focus for me?” Dick said. “Please?”
“What? I am focused,” Big said innocently. “Just on different things than you are.”
“Come on,” Dick said to the team.
“Good seeing you, Dick,” Cody called after him. “Give me a call. I’ll buy you a drink.”
They passed under the sign that read WELCOME TO STRUNK FIELD! HOME OF THE LAS PALABRAS SEMICOLONS, and below that, PROUD AAA AFFILIATE OF THE LAS PALABRAS COLONS. They moved onto the concourse, then down a long concrete tunnel as the bright green of the field slowly revealed itself.
Everything looked perfectly normal. The stands were filled with fans dressed in purple, the home color of the Semicolons, and the low buzz of conversation was cut by a few whistles, shouts of encouragement directed at the players, and vendors hawking their wares.
The team lined up on the walkway between the lower and upper sections.
“See anything?” Dick asked, surveying the field.
“Yeah.” Thea pointed up at the scoreboard. “We’re getting our asses kicked.”
Dick looked up. The scoreboard over right field showed SEMICOLONS 2, ELLIPSES 13.
“Oof,” Dick said. “That’s . . .” his voice trailed off as he saw the animated screen at the top of the board flicker for a moment, and the message WELCOME FANS! suddenly became WELLCOME FANS!
He looked away just in time; a wave of dizziness hit him, but not as hard as it might have.
“Dick?” Ewan said, and he heard the concern in the old man’s voice. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Scoreboard,” Dick managed, his eyes tight shut, and a few seconds later he heard a cacophony of sounds: Ewan giggling helplessly, Anna being violently ill, Big shouting “Nut sacks!” and Thea making odd gasping noises. He made a quick mental note to ask her what her tic was, but at the moment there were more pressing issues.
Dick opened his eyes and grabbed Thea, who was closest to him, pulling her up out of a crouch.
“Find a fire alarm and pull it,” Dick instructed. She stood up straight, took a deep breath, and vanished down the tunnel they’d come through.
“Ewan,” Dick said, and Ewan covered his mouth to hold in the giggles he was wracked with. “Find someone who can cut the power.” Ewan nodded, his eyes spilling over with hysterical tears, and he disappeared as well.
Dick turned to Big and Anna, who was wiping vomit from her chin with the back of her glove.
“We’ve got to keep these people from looking up at the scoreboard,” Dick said. “Any ideas?”
Anna and Big looked at one another, and Big said firmly, “Yeah, I’ve got this.”
Before Dick or Anna could say another word, Big yanked off his vest and pulled his uniform shirt over his head. His giant belly quivered.
“Uh,” Dick said, but that was all he had time for. Big bounded down the nearest flight of stairs, vaulted the barrier, and ran out onto the field.
The low hum of the crowd grew louder as people spotted him. Soon they were pointing and standing, whistling and hollering as Big made his way to the middle of the outfield. He stopped right in front of the Semicolons’ center fielder, put his hands on his hips, and began to gyrate in what could only charitably be called a dance. The crowd didn’t seem to care, and their egging him on only drove him to more complex and crazed movements.
Dick watched transfixed as Big’s body swayed and shimmied, ripples dancing up and down his belly. He heard Anna retch and puke hard next to him.
“I told you not to look at the scoreboard,” Dick said.
“I didn’t.” Anna spat the last of it from her mouth.
Security guards in bright yellow polo shirts had joined Big on the field, but Big was deceptively quick and agile for a big man. As they tried to restrain him, he made a break for the infield. The players, who had stopped the game when Big arrived, now backed away and headed to the relative safety of their respective dugouts.
Just as Big reached home plate, the power in the stadium cut out and everything went dark. A few seconds later, a fire alarm began to whoop and a recorded voice came over the PA, saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way to the emergency exits in a calm and orderly fashion. Thank you.”
The statement continued on a loop as the people in the stands began shuffling toward the exits. Thea and Ewan rejoined Dick and Anna.
“Mission accomplished,” Thea said with a small salute. She glanced down at the field. “Oh dear God.”
The security officers had a hold of the shirtless Big and were frog-marching him off the grass.
“Hey,” Dick called, moving down to the field to meet them. He produced his Typo Squad badge and ID. “He’s with us. Believe it or not, he was saving lives.”
“With my sick dance moves,” Big added.
The security officers released Big. Anna handed him his shirt and uniform gear, and he dressed.
The stadium had nearly emptied and Dick and the rest of the team stood on the dirt near the Semicolons’ dugout, keeping an eye on the stands. Dick couldn’t suppress a smile.
“This is actually pretty cool,” he confided to the others. “Standing down here on the field? I feel like a kid again.”
“I suppose, if you’re a fan of baseball,” Ewan said. “Now if you want a real sport, you truly can’t beat football.”
“You mean soccer?” Big asked.
“I mean football,” Ewan replied.
“English football,” Big clarified.
“Yes, English football.” Ewan sounded nettled.
“So soccer,” Big said with a mischievous grin.
“Big,” Ewan said, drawing a deep breath, “your mother—”
He was interrupted by a loud bray of static from the scoreboard, which had inexplicably come back to life. The rest of the power in the stadium remained off.
The impossibly large face of Anton Nym filled the screen.
“You,” he said, his digitally altered voice booming and echoing. “You ruined my day at the ball game.”
He moved in closer to the camera. The light source at his end accented the grain of his leather mask, and the silver asterisk at his forehead glinted evilly. “I see you’ve made your decision, Richard,” he said. “I shall enjoy forcing you to jump through hoops for my amusement. You’ll be hearing from me.”
The scoreboard went dark once again. No one said a word for a few moments.
“You were saying about my mother?” said Big.
The next day, Dick arrived at headquarters to a flurry of activity. Nym’s attempt at attacking a large crowd seemed to have lit a fire under everyone, and the buzz of conversation and the sound of ringing phones were louder than usual.
The team gathered around Dick’s desk, but before anyone even had a chance to wish each other good morning, Tanka approached. He held a folder in his hand, which he slapped down on the desktop.
“Nothing!” he exclaimed. “Not a goddamn thing. The forensics team swept Whey Cool and the stadium, and didn’t come up with so much as a single fiber or fingerprint. They ran facial recognition software on the video and came up empty.”
“They ran facial recognition on a mask?” Big asked earnestly.
“There are things you can learn,” Tanka snapped.
“Are you sure?” Dick asked. “If they didn’t find anything?”
“Shut your holes, the both of you,” Tanka growled. “I talked to the mayor this morning. Catching Anton Nym is now our number-one priority.”
Tanka turned to Anna. “I want you to start profiling all the former errorists we have in the database. See if one of them might be Nym.”
“You got it, boss,” Anna said, and headed off.
“You two,” Tanka said to Big and Ewan. “Seeing as she’s the only one who’s ever met him, find that girl from Whey Cool, get her in here, see if she remembers anything else about Nym.”
“Jolly good,” Ewan said, and he and Big left.
“And you two,” Tanka said to Dick and Thea. “Head over to the Grammatica. See if they know anything about this guy.”
“The what?” Thea asked blankly.
“You’ll see,” said Dick. “C’mon, I’ll drive.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Twenty minutes later, Dick and Thea pulled up in front of a huge, austere-looking building. With its brick facade, white columns, and wide front steps that ran the entire length of the portico, it could have been any of a dozen government buildings. The only thing missing was some sort of sign or indicator of what purpose the building served, of which there were none.
“This is it?” Thea asked, as they both got out of the SUV.
“It is,” Dick said.
“What’s inside?”
“The Grammatica houses all the CLITs in Las Palabras.”
Clear excitement crossed Thea’s face. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Wow,” she said as they moved toward the first set of steps. Before they’d even made three stairs, a voice called out to them.
“Yo, Richard!”
They both turned and spotted a young man standing in a small grassy area adjacent to the Grammatica. He was short and skinny, with a prominent nose and beard that looked like it couldn’t decide whether or not to grow. He was dressed in a hoodie that was two sizes too big, baggy jeans, and work boots.
