Super Schnoz and the Booger Blaster Breakdown (9 page)

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't crush you like an
insecte
right now!” Pierre barked in my face.

“Because of this,” I said, and then laid the poop wrapped in paper towels on the table.

“You filthy pig!” Pierre roared. “Get this
excrément
away from me!”

Arnaud attempted to grab the camel caca from the table, but I stopped him. “Don't touch it!” I hollered. “This is Bactrian camel dung. It's the secret of Strange! Jean Paul Puanteur uses it to make the subtle, vanilla-like scent that drives people crazy. But in a good way!”

“You have insulted
Monsieur
du Voleur for the last time,” Arnaud said. “You will pay a heavy price for—”

Pierre raised his hand, cutting Arnaud off in mid-sentence. “Let le Nez speak. I want to hear more.”

I told him everything. Running to the Central Park Zoo after I couldn't figure out the smell, illegally entering the camel enclosure, and finally figuring out that the Bactrian camel's backdoor bricks were the elusive last ingredient that made Strange the world's greatest perfume.

“I am confused,” Pierre said, scratching his head. “How does Jean Paul turn common
chameau merde
into a powerful ingredient that smells like vanilla?”

“What's
chameau merde?”
I asked.

“Camel droppings,” Arnaud answered.

“The main chemical compounds of camel poop are carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, phosphorous, and various other minerals,” I explained. “Jean Paul must use a machine of some kind to separate the different chemicals.”

“He most certainly uses a centrifugal separator,” Pierre added.

I nodded. “You would know better than me. Anyway, he splits up the chemicals and then processes their different aromas at a very high heat with lots of pressure. What he ends up with is a natural, pleasing, and spectacular vanilla-like fragrance. The man's a genius. He actually created a brand-new smell!”

Pierre held his hands over his face in disbelief. “I should have known! Human beings have used various forms of
merde
to make fragrances for centuries. It was common from Roman times all the way to Napoléon III.”

“Jean Paul claims he uses only natural ingredients for his fragrances,” I said. “You can't get much more natural than good old-fashioned poop. I read a sign at the zoo that says the wild Bactrian camel is only found in Mongolia.”

“This will be bigger than the fortune you made off of the Venezuelan bloated toad,” Arnaud said. “I will call your private jet and put them on standby. We can assemble our men and fly to Mongolia immediately.”

I was just about to ask what a toad had to do with anything when a Boathouse server entered the room. He carried a platter of food with one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Just in time,” I said. “I'm starving!”

I reached to grab a hunk of cheese and Pierre slapped my hand.

“Get away from my
déjeuner!”
he snapped. “Your work with me is
fini,
ended, over. Leave immediately.”

“When will I get my million dollars?”

Arnaud laughed. “I don't remember you signing a contract for anything.”

“But you told me I couldn't sign the contract until I figured out all the ingredients in Strange. Well, I figured it out, and now I'm ready to sign. I want to be a
nez professionnel!”

“You will never be a
nez professionnel,
and you will not receive payment,” Pierre said coldly. “I told you to get out!”

I couldn't believe this was happening. A camel had nearly killed me and the cops had almost arrested me—all to get Pierre the secret ingredient. Now he was trying to cheat me out of my money!

“Not until you pay me!” I yelled.

“Call the police!” Pierre shouted to Arnaud.

Arnaud whipped out his cell phone. “Hello, 911? The boy wanted for causing a disturbance at the Central Park Zoo this morning is now attempting to rob patrons at the Boathouse restaurant on the lake. Please, hurry!”

“You're lying!” I cried. “You pulled the poop over my eyes and used my nose just to get the ingredient!”

Police sirens wailed in the distance. They were coming for me. I grabbed a fistful of cheese from the platter, angrily hurled the chunks at Pierre and Arnaud, and then fled the restaurant.

CHAPTER 18

SUPER-VILLAIN

I was so furious that my nose spewed red-hot snot bubbles. How could I have been so stupid? Pierre du Voleur had just been using my gift of smell the whole time. All he wanted was the secret of Strange, and I'd handed it to him on a poopy paper towel filled with camel dung.

Jean Paul Puanteur was right.

Pierre was nothing but a thief and an untalented
insecte.

Two New York City policemen on horseback galloped toward me. I dove into the bushes and watched them pass. They were heading straight for the Boathouse. Soon, the whole place was swarming with men in blue. The cops would bust me for sure if I didn't get out of the park right away.

A familiar scent drifted in the wind, and it wasn't Strange. Novelty fart spray from an aerosol can. Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and Dr. Wackjöb were signaling me! I leaped from my hiding place and dodged the police as I made my way down the busy New York streets. My nose followed the fake flatulence like a bloodhound. I sniffed over twenty blocks until I came to the same building where I had landed the gondola when we first arrived in New York.

After running up twenty flights of stairs, I pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped onto the roof. What I saw made my nostrils bug out of my nose.

“Jean Paul Puanteur,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

The master perfumer, the legendary creator of Strange, was standing less than five yards from me. He was still wearing a black tuxedo with bright red Converse sneakers. Directly behind him were Vivian, the Not-Right Brothers, and Dr. Wackjöb.

Mumps shot a blast of fart spray into the air. “Nothing attracts Schnoz like a funky butt explosion,” he said.

“Thank goodness you made it,” Vivian said. “We were so worried about you.”

“Way to get in trouble big time at the zoo,” Jimmy joked. “You have the whole New York City Police Department looking for you.”

A police helicopter buzzed overhead.

“Gríöarstór Nef, hide your nose!” Dr. Wackjöb shouted. “They have deployed helicopters in the search for your enormous proboscis!”

I dashed behind the water tower. The helicopter hovered over the building for a moment and then flew away, whining like a giant prehistoric mosquito.

“That was a close one,” TJ said. “The news reports are saying that you tried to steal a camel in the zoo and then rob people in a restaurant.”

“None of it's true,” I said, stepping from behind the water tower.

“Of course it's not true,” Vivian agreed. “You're a superhero, not a super-villain.”

“There is only one super-villain,” Jean Paul said bitterly. “And his name is Pierre du Voleur,”

I still couldn't believe Jean Paul was standing on the rooftop with the rest of the gang. “How … why … what?” I stuttered.

“Jean Paul came looking for us,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “He got our names from the French restaurant last night.”

“Pierre du Voleur is a notorious thief,” Vivian said. “Jean Paul told us all about how he tries to steal more talented perfumer's creations.”

“I researched it on the Internet,” TJ added. “Everything he says about Pierre du Voleur is true. The man's no good and rotten to the core.”

TJ didn't have to tell me that. I already knew firsthand that Pierre was a lying dirty rat. And so was his weasel lackey, Arnaud.

“He is after your
nez,”
Jean Paul said to me. “From what
Monsieur
Wackjöb says, you have the greatest
nez
and the most spectacular sense of
odeur
in the history of mankind.”

“Schnoz can sniff out dog poop from over a hundred yards away!” Mumps chimed.

“And can sniff out minute fragrances as well,” Jean Paul added. “Pierre wants nothing more than to steal my special ingredient in Strange. May I call you Schnoz?”

“You can call me anything but le Nez,” I said. “That's what that rat Pierre calls me.”

“Very well, Schnoz. If Voleur tries to trick you into revealing my ingredients, I implore you not to oblige him. It will not only ruin me, but destroy the livelihoods of many people around the world, as well as an endangered wild animal.”

My heart dropped into my chest. I had done something very bad and now felt like a pile of maggoty garbage. How could I tell Jean Paul that I had already revealed the secret of Strange to Pierre?

“I'm afraid this is my fault,” Dr. Wackjöb said. “I knew Pierre du Voleur as a college student over thirty years ago. He contacted me a few days ago and invited us to New York as his guest. I'm the one who made the introduction.”

“It's not your fault,” Vivian said. “You had no idea your old college friend was a scumbag.”

“She is right,” Jean Paul added. “The only person at fault is Voleur. A man so devoid of morals that he tried to use a boy for his dirty work.”

Jimmy slapped me on the back. “Well, thankfully my big-nosed friend here would never fall for something like that. Right, Schnoz?”

All eyes fell upon me. I quickly looked away.

“Right, Schnoz?” Jimmy repeated a little louder.

Jean Paul's face grew ashen. “You have been tricked into revealing the ingredient, haven't you?”

“Yes!” I cried out. “It's Bactrian camel poop! I'm sorry, but I didn't know Pierre was a fake!”

I rested my nose on Vivian's shoulder. A master manipulator had fooled me, and I felt horrible. My insides felt like I had just swallowed a hunk of moldy tofu. I wanted to crawl inside my own nose and die.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Schnoz,” Vivian snapped at me. “You've been tricked by a sleazy criminal. It's happened to a lot of people. We need to focus our attention on what we can do
now.”

“What did you mean that uncovering the secret of Strange would destroy the livelihoods of people around the world and hurt endangered wild animals?” TJ asked.

A lump formed in Jean Paul's throat. His eyes grew watery; a single tear dripped down his cheek. “Gather around,” he choked. “I will tell you the story of Camel Pee Shampoo.”

CHAPTER 19

CAMEL PEE SHAMPOO

We all sat cross-legged on the black tar rooftop and listened to Jean Paul's tale of Camel Pee Shampoo.

“Many years ago when I was a
jeune homme
starting out in the
parfum et de la beauté
business,” Jean Paul said, “I worked exclusively in hair care. Specifically, on how women could have fuller, thicker-looking hair, and how bald men could regrow the hair they had lost.”

Jimmy patted Dr. Wackjöb's thinning scalp. “Listen closely. Maybe you can learn how to grow your hair back.”

Dr. Wackjöb laughed. “Male pattern baldness is a sign of strength and virility!”

“Back then, my company sent me on a fact-finding mission,” Jean Paul continued. “They wanted me to bring back to France the hair care secrets of Mongolian
femmes.
At the time, the women of the Gobi Desert were known to have the lushest, most beautiful hair in the world.”

“Where are Mongolia and the Gobi Dessert?” Mumps asked.

“Mongolia is a country in northeast Asia bordering China in the south and Russia in the north,” TJ answered. “The Gobi Desert covers parts of northern China and southern Mongolia. I didn't win the James F. Durante Geography Bee three years running with just my good looks.”

Vivian rolled her eyes and then pressed a finger to her lips. “Shush. I want to hear this story.”

The sound of a helicopter passing overhead caught everyone's attention. I quickly ducked behind the water tower and hid like before. Even though I hadn't done anything wrong (except enter the camel enclosure illegally), the New York City police were pulling out all the stops trying to catch me. The helicopter buzzed the building for a couple minutes and then flew off. When the sky was clear, Jean Paul picked up his story.

“After landing in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia's largest city, I became entranced by the culture and people,” he said with a glint in his eye. “I hired a guide to take me deep into the desert. That's when I met a band of nomadic cattle herders and fell absolutely in
amour.”

“What's ‘a … more' mean?” Mumps asked.

“Love,” Vivian said. “Jean Paul fell in love.”

TJ, Mumps, and Jimmy looked at each with the same
That's so gross
grimaces on their faces.

“In
amour
with a
femme
to be precise,” Jean Paul mused. “Her name was Sarantstral, and she had the most beautiful, flowing, midnight black hair I had ever seen. With her stunning, exotic face, she could have easily been a
Vogue
cover model.”