“Caramel.”
“Just wait,” said Don Dellasandro, smiling.
Jupe chewed some more and then said, “Oh, very clever. It’s caramel apple. Now I can taste the apple.”
“Mr. Sweetness — that’s what I’ll call that flavor,” Dellasandro said. “I’ll flash on you every time someone says it.”
“You’re a brilliant scientist, a clever marketing man, but a terrible killer,” said Jupe.
“In this new age we can’t always do what we like, but we have to do what’s important,” Dellasandro replied. “In my mind I can image myself wasting you three.”
“Not with the safety catch locked on your gun,” said Jupe.
“It is?” Dellasandro said, looking down.
Pete didn’t wait. He moved instinctively into a flying yoko-tobi-geri side kick, connecting with Dellasandro’s hand. The gun flew into the air and clattered on the ground.
Then Pete and Bob both charged Dellasandro, but the older man was strong and quick. He seemed to know some karate moves too. He gave Bob a quick kick in the knee, which sent Bob down. Then Dellasandro spun and arced a ridge hand at Pete. Pete blocked the blow and gave Dellasandro a gyaku-tsuki reverse punch to the ribs. The scientist winced and staggered backward. Pete leaped into the air, twisting and lifting his feet high.
“Miiya” Pete screamed, knocking Dellasandro down.
But Dellasandro rolled and stood up. He looked around. Then he saw the gun on the floor a second before Jupe did. He rushed to grab it. “I’m terminating this meeting!” he shouted.
Dellasandro dove for the revolver. Jupe grabbed frantically for it at the same time, but he was just a moment too late. Dellasandro actually laughed when he picked up the gun. Then he stood up to face the Three Investigators.
It wasn’t until then that Dellasandro realized he had paid too much attention to the gun — and too little attention to the three guys he was fighting. Because just then a heavy drum marked brominated pseudo phosphates, but actually filled with Multisorbitane, came flying through the air.
Pete and Bob had lifted it together and heaved it at Dellasandro. The drum hit him like a wrecking ball, knocking him down and out. It burst open when it struck the floor, dumping hundreds of pounds of Multisorbitane over everything, even on the chemist who had invented it.
“Talk about getting a taste of your own medicine,” Bob said with a whistle.
Pete and Jupe quickly tied up Dellasandro with extension cords. Shortly Dellasandro began to regain consciousness.
“What happened?” Dellasandro asked groggily.
“You didn’t miss much,” Jupe replied. “You gave us a full confession and then there was a fight and you lost. Now you’re tied up.”
“There’s no time to call the police,” Bob said. “We’ll have to catch them later tonight.”
“Police?” Dellasandro echoed.
“Yes,” Jupe said. “We’re pressing charges for your small indiscretion in hiring someone to follow us, trying to market an illegal food additive, and threatening to kill us. I think at least one of those charges will stick. But first we’ve got to get to the Beverly Hilton Hotel. Come on, you guys.”
It was a half-hour drive, cut shorter by the fact that Pete drove. They pulled up in front of the hotel and ran through the lobby. The press party, a sign said, was about to begin in the Empire Ballroom.
The Investigators ran past the ballroom entrances and headed right for the kitchen. There they found Big Barney in a yellow jogging suit covered with orange and red feathers. Juliet and Pandro Mishkin were standing by him. And almost every inch of kitchen counter space was covered with steaming trays of Drippin’ Chicken.
“Hey, guy,” Big Barney said as soon as he saw Jupe. He wrapped his arm around Jupe’s shoulder. “Tell me the truth, even though I may never speak to you again and will probably try to ruin your life if I don’t like the answer — is this outfit too conservative?”
“Big Barney, forget about your outfit. You can’t go out there,” Jupe said. “Drippin’ Chicken is deadly. It’s filled with a dangerous carcinogen. You’ve got to cancel this party and withdraw the product — or millions of people will die.”
Big Barney stared at Jupe and the noisy, clattering kitchen fell silent. Then suddenly Big Barney burst into laughter. “Hahahaha! You almost had me. I’m telling you I’ve got to have this guy for my son.”
“Look! Mishkin’s getting away!” Bob shouted.
Everyone did look. And what they saw was Pandro Mishkin trying to sprint out of the kitchen.
Pete and Bob and Jupe immediately grabbed the first thing they could get their hands on. It was a long baker’s tray piled high with Drippin’ Chicken. They heaved it at the fleeing man, hitting him in the back. Drippin’ Chicken splattered everywhere. Then Pete made a diving leap, grabbed Pandro Mishkin at the shoulders, and brought him down in a smear of gravy, like a wide receiver in the mud.
“Complete and utter insubordination!” Mishkin yelled, struggling with Pete. “You could be court-martialed for this.”
“It’s you who will be going to court, Mr. Mishkin,” Jupe said, “for poisoning the Drippin’ Chicken.”
“Torture me if you want but all you’ll get is my name, rank, and serial number. I won’t talk,” Mishkin said proudly.
“You don’t really have to,” Jupe said. “Don Dellasandro told us just about everything we need to know — including how you paid him to poison Big Barney’s chicken.”
“The lying traitor!” cried Mishkin. “He paid me!”
Jupe couldn’t help smiling. “You’re right,” he said. “My mistake.”
“What are you talking about, Mishkin?” Big Barney asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Give me your report!”
“General,” Pandro answered, “your Drippin’ Chicken is filled with an additive the FDA outlawed a few years ago. How do you like them apples?”
“You betrayed me?” Big Barney boomed.
“You didn’t pay me a million dollars. And Don Dellasandro did,” Mishkin replied.
“And all you had to do was falsify the ingredients of Drippin’ Chicken,” said Jupe.
“A million bucks buys a lot of loyalty from this soldier,” Mishkin said. “I should have gone mercenary a long time ago.”
Big Barney rushed over to Mishkin and tore the chicken medals off his jacket. “I’d like to wring your neck!” Big Barney shouted.
Jupe stepped between them and asked one more question. “You were the one chasing Juliet Coop the night of her accident, weren’t you?”
“Correct,” Mishkin said.
