The Adventures of the Flash Gang: Episode Two: Treasonous Tycoon

By S.J. Waugh and M.M. Downing

Where is the Flash Gang? Pittsburgh' s most notorious thieves haven' t struck for a year, not since a devastating fire resulted in the supposed death of two streeters. Pearl and Lewis— along with their pals, Duck and Mac— are alive and well, just in hiding. But now, their hideout is crumbling under the relentless rain. It' s been a winter of bitter winds and slim pickings, and their friendship is starting to fray. To make matters worse, streeters are disappearing. Are they skipping town or is something more nefarious afoot? When one of their own vanishes, the gang goes all out to unravel the mystery, which once again points to enemy #1: the steel tycoon who had Lewis' s father killed. But Pittsburgh is flooding and the tycoon' s plans are in motion. If they want to save their friends, they' re running out of time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fitzroy Books
• Release date: Mar 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9781646034048

Book preview

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Contents

The Adventures of the Flash Gang

Copyright © 2024 M. M. Downing & S. J. Waugh. All rights reserved.

Dedication

The News

Squish Dinner

A Riot

A Meal with Osgood Boone

Where the Wind Don’t Blow

Lost Boy

Greta Vogel

North Dithridge Debacle

Forgotten

Gabbler Gossip

Unwelcome Discovery

Eugenia Clump’s Ledger

Crashing the Party

Worse and Worse

Steel Souls

The Recruits

Dramatic Departure

Stranded in the Stockyard

Across the Allegheny

All is Lost

All is Found

High-Water Mark

Pickering’s Gambit

Desperate Measures

Double-Cross

The Flash Gang, Again

We’re going to Germany.

The Adventures of the Flash Gang Episode Three: Reichstag Rescue

Praise for The Adventures of the Flash Gang

A tale with plenty of humor and suspense, memorable characters, and a plot that’s vividly informed by a challenging time in US history.

—Kirkus, STARRED REVIEW

The underlying themes about community, acceptance, and friendship make this book far more than your average adventure story…The book also excels at balancing thrilling action sequences with humor and deeply felt emotion…Young readers will be swept up in this whirlwind of a story and long to join the Flash Gang too. This is a fun read with an inspiring message about how a community can come together to be courageous and surmount enormous obstacles. The relatable characters, gripping mystery, and rich historical locale make it quite the series debut and an excellent gateway for kids curious to learn about life in depression-era America.

—Independentbookreview.com

"Packed with clever twists and ever-rising stakes, The Adventures of the Flash Gang is a bright flare of fun, a throwback gangster caper with irresistible kid sleuths and loads of page-turning action."

—Ben Guterson, author of the award-winning Winterhouse series and The Einsteins of Vista Point

Lewis and Pearl form an unlikely pair but their colorful relationship is extremely entertaining. The mystery surrounding the Recipe will intrigue readers and the chases and skirmishes with dangerous criminals add to the excitement. I highly recommend you give this book a shot.

—Mark Buxton, YABooksCentral.com

Delightfully Dickensian in spirit. Period events are woven seamlessly into this rollicking tale of friendship and fortitude. I challenge any reader not to fall in love with the histrionics and devil-may-care verve of Pearl Alice Clavell and her grease-smeared partner in crime, Lewis Carter.

—J.R. Potter, author of Thomas Creeper and the Gloomsbury Secret

Clever, catchy dialogue and non-stop action catapult the reader from page to page till we land breathless, intrigued, and anxiously awaiting the Flash Gang’s next adventures.

—Kimberly Behre Kenna, author of Artemis Sparke and the Sound Seekers Brigade

The Adventures of the Flash Gang

Episode Two: Treasonous Tycoon

M. M. Downing & S. J. Waugh

Fitzroy Books

Copyright © 2024 M. M. Downing & S. J. Waugh. All rights reserved.

Published by Fitzroy Books

An imprint of

Regal House Publishing, LLC

Raleigh, NC 27605

All rights reserved

https://fitzroybooks.com

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN -13 (paperback): 9781646034031

ISBN -13 (epub): 9781646034048

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023935476

All efforts were made to determine the copyright holders and obtain their permissions in any circumstance where copyrighted material was used. The publisher apologizes if any errors were made during this process, or if any omissions occurred. If noted, please contact the publisher and all efforts will be made to incorporate permissions in future editions.

Cover images and design by © C. B. Royal

Regal House Publishing, LLC

https://regalhousepublishing.com

The following is a work of fiction created by the author. All names, individuals, characters, places, items, brands, events, etc. were either the product of the author or were used fictitiously. Any name, place, event, person, brand, or item, current or past, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Regal House Publishing.

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For our favorite gangs,

Daniel, Dylan, Owen, Andrew, Ezra & Ava

and

Samantha, Amanda, Brandon, Caitlin & Anya

1

The News

Lewis Carter was about to steal something.

Of course, to a Pittsburgh streeter, it was considered pinching, not stealing. And for any twelve-year-old who survived on the streets during this terrible Depression, pinching didn’t seem like a crime. After all, a meal could not be conjured out of thin air and it wasn’t as if Lewis could saunter into a shop, pick out a tin of sardines and a loaf of bread, then count out the fifteen cents from his pants pocket to give the grocer. He had no spending money. Few orphans did.

Still, for Lewis, pinching or stealing or whatever anyone else wanted to call it was a big deal. Which is why he wasn’t doing it alone.

Ya ready, Brain? asked his friend Duck. He stood behind Lewis, his hands on Lewis’s shoulders, aiming him at the target: the kitchen door of Polini’s, a diner that was popular with the local mob. Duck knew the cooking schedules of most restaurants. Each afternoon at five Polini’s pulled a tray of fresh rolls from their oven.

Lewis swallowed and nodded. So, you go in and I’m at the door behind the step.

Yep, Duck said. Count to three and be ready to catch ’em when I whistle.

Oh sure. Lewis grinned.

Truth be told, Lewis was a terrible thief, but he had gotten pretty good at the catching part. He adjusted his glasses and squared his shoulders. Okay. Ready when you are.

They crossed the street to the restaurant and made their way to the grubby back entrance, keeping under the windowsills. Duck winked at Lewis, then hopped to the top step at the kitchen door. He carefully opened it, peeked in, then disappeared. Lewis got a heavenly whiff of fresh bread and his stomach growled appreciatively.

One, two, he counted. There was Duck’s piercing whistle—and a simultaneous THIEVES!

Duck was out the door, tossing rolls to Lewis who caught them and stuffed them down his sweater. They bolted in opposite directions, oversized boots slapping the pavement. Lewis’s lungs fizzed with exertion. He catapulted across the street and collided with a lady riding a bicycle who’d just turned the corner.

Eeek! shrieked the lady as the bicycle brakes screeched. Lewis went down. A tomato went flying from the sack of groceries in the handlebar basket and splatted onto the pavement.

Sorry! Lewis shouted.

The lady honked her bike horn. You reckless hooligan! Running wild and wasting my hard-earned money!

I said I was sorry! panted Lewis, picking himself up. His eyeglasses were missing.

More honking. A good swat across your backside is what you deserve! I’m calling Child Services! The lady pedaled away, sending a last glare over her shoulder.

Lewis bent to search for his glasses, but a hand grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him onto the sidewalk. Stinkin’ crust, Duck muttered. Don’t mind her.

What are you doing? hissed Lewis, looking around. We’re supposed to meet two blocks from here!

It’s okay, they ain’t chasin’ us. Duck handed Lewis his eyeglasses. C’mon.

Together they walked to their designated meeting spot, a small parking lot beneath a Beech-Nut Gum billboard. They plunked down on the short barricade and Lewis pulled out the squashed rolls.

Only two, he sighed, passing them to Duck.

Yeah. Duck pushed one roll back at Lewis. Eat it. Ain’t worth sharin’. He scratched his chin, looking faintly sheepish. Polini surprised me. Must be losin’ my touch.

Lewis tucked the roll back under his sweater. You? Never. They’re just extra vigilant. Everyone’s got it out for streeters nowadays.

Maybe, but Mac’ll be sour if I don’t get us a proper dinner. Duck tore a piece of his roll and tossed it in the air, catching it cleanly in his mouth, and swallowing in one gulp. He thought for a moment. Could try Diamond Market, even if it’s late. The meat’ll stink though.

Okay. We’ll hold our noses.

Nah, said Duck standing. Jes’ me. I’ll be quicker alone. He popped the rest of the roll in his mouth. See ya at home then, he said cheerfully between chews. Don’t get hit by any more o’ them bikes! He zipped out of the lot and disappeared around the corner.

Lewis watched Duck go, his smile fading. He sat in the gray and chill of the empty lot trying not to feel useless, even though it was true Duck was quicker on his own. Lewis’s lungs went fizzy under stress and he couldn’t see his own fingers without his glasses and…okay, so he was pretty much useless.

It hadn’t always been like that.

He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets to touch the small pouches that were tucked there, what had made him, only a year before, the most notorious and mysterious food thief in all of Pittsburgh. For a moment he imagined the small whoosh and soft POP and that dazzling, consuming light…

Lewis pulled his hands from his pockets. Useless was safer, he reminded himself.

He stood and headed up Smallman Street, practicing whistles, listening for police sirens, and sticking to the shadows of the buildings like all streeters did (though shadows were few in smoggy Pittsburgh). He passed a little boy who was trying to coax a stray dog to play and handed him the roll, telling him, Use this. At Twenty-Seventh, he crossed the street to where a makeshift newsstand leaned against a rickety fence. The fence was plastered with useful information: ads, wanted posters, a copy of the day’s newspaper, and scrawls of chalk marks that were mostly codes for hobos. Lewis gave the fence a cursory glance and continued, only to freeze a moment later.

The news. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

He approached the fence to get a closer look. St. Patrick’s Arsonist Given Early Release, the headline read. Early release! murmured Lewis, a curl of dread seeping into his stomach. How is that even possible?

Hey, Brain!

Lewis nearly jumped out of his boots. He spun around. PB, the streeter who managed the makeshift newsstand with his pal Seamus, was waving a Post-Gazette evening edition. Did ya forget your paper?

No, no. Just running behind is all. Lewis gave a relieved smile and walked over. Thanks. He dug in his trouser pocket and pulled out the three cents he’d set aside for this. Where’s Seamus?

Quit, I guess. PB snagged the pennies, then peered at Lewis. What’s got y’all bugged?

Nothing. Just, Lewis gestured at the fence, disbelieving, that headline.

Can ya believe that guy? hooted PB. He goes and burns down a church—St. Patty’s, no less!—and gets a slap on the wrist. Streeters loot one measly train car an’ we get shoveled off quicker ’n you can say Mayor McNair! Sheesh. PB tapped the newspaper he was holding with a grimy finger, pointing to the headline and the arsonist’s photo below it: a fat-faced man with a gold tooth and a nasty leer. That leer still gave Lewis nightmares.

Maybe the Flash Gang will come back, though, once this guy is outta jail, PB said, jabbing his finger at Floyd Scrugg’s picture. Ya think?

Lewis snapped out of his fog. Flash Gang! What are you talking about?

I hear this guy’s their leader. PB paused to hand the newspaper to a passerby and pocket the change before turning back to Lewis. Ya know how the Flash Gang ain’t struck for a year? It’s cuz he’s been in jail.

Lewis said innocently, I thought their leader was Fat Joe.

Fat Joe! PB scoffed. Flash Gang ain’t the mob!

Well, it sure isn’t Floyd Scrugg. Lewis didn’t mind the Flash Gang fame being passed around, but he would not allow that bulldog to get any credit.

PB shrugged. I also heard they was streeters.

This was new and a little too close for comfort. Streeters? Lewis laughed. No way.

Could be, said PB, quite serious. I mean, after all o’ that mess on them train tracks last year, maybe the Flash Gang got sent to one of them orphan houses or somethin’.

Maybe. Lewis sounded dubious.

Well, whoever they are, I miss ’em! PB said wistfully. Boy, oh boy, that Flash Gang sold a lot o’ papers. Everyone clamoring to hear about ’em. He shrugged. Now, it’s jes’ stories ’bout other places.

Yeah, agreed Lewis.

PB looked around. Well, anyways, here ya go. He tipped the crate he used for a seat and withdrew a folded newspaper from underneath. Tell Lola she’ll like this edition. Real good ‘Gabbler Gossip’!

With that, PB carefully handed him the paper with both hands and Lewis took it just as carefully. Thanks, as usual, PB.

PB looked up and down the empty street then sighed. That’s it fer tonight, I guess. He stuffed the unsold papers in the crate and hefted it on one hip. Gonna find some supper. See ya, Brain. He limped off.

Sure. See you. Lewis watched until PB was halfway down the block before exhaling.

Scrugg and the Flash Gang, together! Dark memories from last year were suddenly surging up, which was terrible because Flash Gang rumors usually made him happy.

The infamous Flash Gang, a supposed group of thieves who stole food by setting off a harmless but brilliant flash of light that momentarily blinded everybody and left just a blue smudge and lingering stink in its wake. The police called them the worst of criminals, but some of that food made its way to St. Patrick’s soup kitchen, which made the Flash Gang extremely popular.

It also made them hunted. Besides the police, that bulldog Scrugg and his evil boss spent much of last winter scheming to get their hands on the Flash Gang’s secret Recipe.

What would Scrugg do now that he was out?

Lewis looked at the newspaper in his hands; it was shaking slightly. You’re no Flash Gang, he told Scrugg’s photo. Then he tucked the paper safely inside his jacket, looked once over his shoulder, and continued up Smallman Street. Just past Thirtieth Street, Lewis turned onto a weed-trampled lot crisscrossed with abandoned railroad tracks and headed to an eight-foot-tall chain-link fence that ran along the far end. A crumbling brick factory sat inside the fence, perched above the Allegheny River. It was blackened from soot, with a single smokestack and banks of shattered windows facing the river. Barely legible lettering spelled GRUB FITTINGS & SPECIAL… The company that once owned the building was long gone, as faded as their name.

Lewis followed the fence to the river’s edge, then skidded a few feet down the bank to where the mouth of a large drain tunnel jutted from the dirt. He removed the cinderblock put there to keep out trespassers, wormed his way into the tunnel, and replaced the block. Then he crawled through the tunnel straight into the basement of the Grub Factory. Inside wasn’t much better than the exterior. It was an unlit, unheated, and leaky cavern, where bits of brick and plaster fell from the walls and ceiling at the most inopportune times.

But none of that mattered to Lewis. Because the Flash Gang wasn’t a pack of mobsters or Floyd Scrugg or any streeter shipped off to Child Services. The Flash Gang was Lewis and his friends and this was their hideout.

And he was safely home.

2

Squish Dinner

Lewis hiked over the refuse littering the factory basement to a stack of metal storage drums positioned below the empty elevator shaft. He climbed the drums to the main floor of the factory and headed to the staircase, checking a few of the rooms for intruders as he went. It was a habit he’d long stopped bothering with, but tonight it seemed a good idea. Then he climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door of the Flash Gang’s actual hideout. Technically this was his hideout—at least it was before he had invited Pearl, Mac, and Duck to join him—and it seemed silly to knock. But Pearl insisted the Flash Gang needed a secret code and anyone who knew Pearl knew it was useless to argue.

Lewis dutifully rapped out this week’s code: tap, tap—tap—tap, tap on the old wood. Immediately, a tremulous and highly dramatic voice responded: Halt! Who goes there?

Me, said Lewis.

Define me.

Lewis rolled his eyes. Lewis.

What’s the password?

At that Lewis opened the door himself. There isn’t any password, he told the girl waiting there.

Pearl Alice Clavell stood in a circle of lit candle stubs fixed in empty sardine tins. Her bright blond curls were tied up with one shoestring; two more served as a belt for the knickers she’d dug from a trash bin. She wore a threadbare pink sweater and woolen mittens with the tips snipped off, and she held a scavenged dinner fork, which she now pointed at Lewis.

"Now here is the death