Chapter 7

7 KLINK ROLLS UP NEXT TO A BENT BICYCLE, AN OLD RADIATOR, AND a rusted riding mower. He crooks his vacuum-hose arm over his head and freezes, now disguised as a broken Shop-Vac. "Hide?" says Klank. "What is 'hide'?" "Pretend you are some kind of broken machine," answers Klink without moving.

Klank stomps over to the garage wall. He karate-chops a fifty-gallon drum in half and crams one of the halves over his head. He sits down next to a busted washing machine. Frank and Watson stop at the back doorway of the shop. "What are you doing?" Frank asks. "I am a clothes dryer," says Klank, his voice echoing inside the drum. Watson checks out what looks pretty much like a robot with a fifty-gallon drum on its head. "Nice try." "WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!" calls the cuckoo one last time. It disappears back into its carved wooden house, and the little wooden doors flap shut. Frank and Watson hustle into Grampa Al's Fix It! shop. "Hello," Frank calls into the dimly lit shop. "Can I help you?"

Nobody answers. Frank and Watson scan the shelves and aisles. The rows of old clocks and cameras and saxophones and typewriters and space heaters and tape recorders all seem to move on their own under the swaying repair-shop light. But no one is there. Frank silently motions to Watson to check the front door. Frank crouches and sneaks behind the counter. Nothing. Watson looks out the storefront window. The sidewalks of downtown Midville are nearly empty, like they always are now, ever since someone started buying up buildings and kicking out businesses. Watson scans the street for every detail, as he knows Einstein would. He sees an old man in a long black coat waiting at the bus stop, a blond woman with a stylish fur hunting cap

walking a small long-haired dog, an empty blue plastic water bottle in the gutter. Nothing suspicious. "All clear," Watson calls to Frank. Then, "Yikes!" as he turns to find Frank standing right next to him. "I hate when you do that!" "Nothing?" "Nothing," says Watson. "Must be something weird with your motion detector. Nobody in here." Frank scans the clutter of ancient televisions and radios and record players that Grampa Al collects like old friends. He spots one detail that is out of place: a pair of size-five wing-tip shoes, just visible under the old phonograph. "My motion detector is fine," says Frank. "Because the person who triggered it is right behind that gramophone. Come on out, Edison." A kid with a scowly look and hair plastered

down over his forehead steps from behind the phonograph's big metal horn. "T. Edison!" says Watson. "What are you doing sneaking into Grampa Al's shop?" "Calm down, Inspector Gadget," says Edison. "I was in the neighborhood. The sign said OPEN. And I just stopped by... to... uh... get my watch fixed. Yeah, that's it. My watch." "Oh," says Watson. "I also wanted to wish you braniacs good luck in the competition tomorrow. What have you got? No, wait—let me guess. A baking-soda model of a volcano?" "Ha!" says Watson.

"That's a terrible guess." "A car powered by cow farts?" "You wish! You think you're so smart—" "I know I'm so smart," says Edison. "I am a genius." "You won't think you're such a genius," Watson fumes, "when you see Frank Einstein's supersmart—" Frank quickly covers Watson's mouth to stop him from blurting out the next word. "What are you really doing here, Edison?" asks Frank. "You don't even wear a watch."