The Crims #3 Read online

  Imogen knew she should be happy. And she knew she loved her family, really. But at the moment, she couldn’t seem to be around them without wanting to smother them in their sleep. She had to make a change.

  She took a deep breath. Big Nana would be furious with her for what she was about to do, but if she didn’t get out of Dullport, Imogen would become even more bitter and mean. She had hated watching herself on the terrible TV show and hearing how horrible she was to her cousins. Big Nana was right—the camera crew hadn’t invented the snarky things she had said. . . . I want to be a villain, Imogen thought. But not at the expense of my own family. So I might as well team up with Ava and become a supervillain, instead of taking my villainy out on the people I love. . . . She nodded to herself. This was for the benefit of her whole family. Just like the Crims Aid concert she had staged one Christmas, to trick people into giving money to them instead of to a real charity. Plus, I really need a proper vacation, she thought. One that isn’t in a place advertised as Britain’s Cheapest Seaside Resort . . . for a Reason!

  Imogen tore a page out of the gratitude journal and scribbled a note to Big Nana. She didn’t want anyone to think she’d been kidnapped, which would have been a reasonable assumption to make, seeing as the Kruks had recently managed to kidnap her entire family and force them to listen to the world’s worst bedtime story in the presence of too many sharks. She slipped the note under the caravan door; she didn’t risk going back inside, in case her mother forced her to appear in another terrible reality show, or Sam introduced her to one of his awful pets, or Henry set fire to her ponytail. She took out her phone again and walked along the beach in the rain, until she reached Dullport Pier. Maybe if she walked to the very end, she’d be able to get a signal. . . .

  It worked! One bar! She texted Ava: Hey, loser. You in the Caribbean yet? Can you swing by Dullport and pick me up? You’ll know you’re going the right way because all the fish will be swimming as fast as they can in the other direction.

  She sat down at the end of the pier, her legs dangling off the edge, waiting for Ava to reply. The sun started to go down. A lonely-looking clown came out of the arcade and started to tap dance. Imogen made a mental note to tell Isabella about it. At last, when Imogen wasn’t sure how much longer she could watch a man in a red nose doing step-ball-changes, her phone buzzed with a message from Ava: THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK. SEE YOU IN TEN.

  4

  IMOGEN DIDN’T HAVE to wait long for Ava. Exactly ten minutes after her text, Ava surfaced in a submarine. The Kruks might be mass murderers, but they were very punctual.

  Imogen climbed aboard the submarine. She would never have admitted it to Ava (admitting things to Kruks often ended painfully), but she was quite disappointed. She wasn’t going to get much of a suntan if she had to sunbathe indoors on a boat that traveled underwater. “I thought you said you’d stolen a cruise ship,” she said.

  “I said I was going to steal a cruise ship,” said Ava, handing Imogen a delicious, fruity drink with a cocktail umbrella in it. “But I need you to help me do it.”

  Imogen couldn’t help feeling flattered. Someone needed her help with something other than cheating on their biology homework. “All right,” she said. “Let’s do it.” It would be worth hanging out in another dark, damp vehicle for a while if it meant she’d feel like she was good at crime again.

  But when Ava led Imogen into the submarine, it turned out it wasn’t dark and damp at all. It was huge and luxurious—the most luxurious submarine Imogen had ever seen (and she’d seen a surprisingly large number of them. When she was younger, Big Nana had taken her along on training missions for the Underwater Submarine Heist). The boat looked as though it had been recently decorated by the world’s best interior designer, which it had—Ava had kidnapped him from the World Interior Design championships, where he had won first prize. There were velvet sofas and ornamental fountains and a man-made beach with real sand and a hammock hanging over it.

  The world’s best interior designer was cowering by the hammock, wearing a very fetching lime-green tuxedo, holding a fabric swatch and a measuring tape. “Can I go now? Please?” he begged.

  “Whatever,” said Ava, waving her hand at him.

  He climbed out of the hatch as fast as he could, tuxedo flapping, without looking back.

  “I’ve been working my way up to the cruise ship, refining my boat-stealing technique,” Ava said. “First I stole a dinghy, then a fishing boat, then a yacht, then a ferry. I’m getting better with each boat, if I do say so myself.” She beckoned Imogen over to the hammock. “Here, try it out! There’s a sensor on it, so as soon as you lie down, a UV light shines in your face and relaxing beach noises start playing.”

  Imogen lay back in the hammock and closed her eyes. She smiled as she felt the fake sun on her face, and heard the sound of fake waves and seagulls in her ears. She sipped a fruity drink and felt herself relax. As long as she didn’t open her eyes, she could pretend she was really on vacation.

  “You hang out and chill for a bit,” said Ava. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “No worries!” said Imogen, taking another sip of her drink. She was beginning to feel drowsy. The hammock was rocking gently, and the birds were singing softly, and the sun was shining on her artificially. . . .

  Imogen jerked awake. How long had she been asleep for? And where had Ava gone?

  “Ava?” Imogen called.

  Nothing.

  She hopped down from the hammock. The seagull noises stopped, and the sun disappeared. “Where are you?” called Imogen.

  “Sorry!” said Ava, hurrying back into the cabin. “I was just . . . in the control room. This submarine doesn’t steer itself, you know!”

  But something about the way she said it stopped Imogen from believing her. Ava looked . . . suspicious. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” asked Imogen.

  “Fine,” said Ava, holding her hands up. “I had some dodgy clams for dinner last night. Happy?”

  That explains it, thought Imogen. Diarrhea always makes people act suspiciously. “Where is the rest of your family?” asked Imogen. “How come you didn’t just get one of them to help you steal a cruise ship?”

  Ava sat down on the hammock. “Would you want to go on vacation with any of my relatives?” she asked.

  “Good point,” said Imogen.

  “Anyway,” said Ava, “I was getting tired of them. They were holding me back—they kept threatening one another with machetes when we could have been stealing the gross national profit of Portugal and things like that.”

  “Same!” said Imogen, sitting down on the hammock next to Ava. “I am so over my family!” And she told Ava about the terrible TV show and the humiliating Mega Deals heist and the donkey. Then Ava told her about the fingernail pulling and dismembering that went on in her family, and things didn’t seem so bad.

  “Listen, though,” said Ava. “We don’t have to be completely alone—we could help each other. Together, we could take over the world!” And with that, she threw her head back and gave an impressive evil laugh—so impressive that the hairs on Imogen’s arms stood up, as if they were trying to get as far away from Ava as they could.

  Imogen gave Ava and her laugh a round of applause.

  “Thanks,” said Ava, smoothing down her already very smooth hair (evil laughing tends to mess it up). She smiled at Imogen. “I trust you, as much as any supervillain can trust another supervillain.”

  Ava thinks I’m a supervillain? Imogen felt her face flush with pleasure at the compliment. These days, what with only being able to steal electronics because the store clerks were playing along, she felt like she barely even counted as a villain, let alone a supervillain. She smiled back at Ava, and said, “I trust you too.” Which was true, sort of. Ava was much more reliable than her family . . . crime-wise, at least.

  Imogen and Ava spent the rest of the morning planning the cruise ship takeover. Imogen felt like herself again—the best, most talented, least v
irtuous version of herself. She and Ava were the perfect team; Imogen was more of a details person, and Ava was good at the big picture. Literally, Imogen had never met anyone so good at drawing giant diagrams of crime scenes.

  “First I’ll hypnotize the captain,” said Ava, drawing on a monogrammed whiteboard.

  “With a watch?” asked Imogen.

  “Exactly,” said Ava. “I stole this one from my uncle.” She took a gold pocket watch on a chain out of her pocket and dangled it in front of Imogen’s eyes. “After I nicked it, I found out it was worth only a couple of million. So I might as well get some use out of it.” Imogen felt her eyes closing. She was feeling sleepy. . . .

  “Imogen,” said Ava, snapping her fingers. “Wake up.”

  Imogen blinked. “You’re good at that,” she said.

  Ava shrugged. “I’m good at everything.”

  Which reminded Imogen why she had hated Ava when she first arrived in Blandington. She tensed slightly, but then she shook off the jealous feeling. She and Ava were friends now, and no one was perfect.

  After lunch (a delicious asparagus risotto), they practiced their evil monologues.

  “Yours is missing a mustache-twirling moment,” Ava said after Imogen had delivered hers.

  “I don’t have a mustache,” said Imogen.

  “You need to imagine you have one,” said Ava.

  “But everyone knows eyebrow twirling is the new mustache twirling,” said Imogen, demonstrating.

  “Interesting,” said Ava, nodding. “Is that part of your personal brand?”

  “I don’t really have a personal brand,” said Imogen. At least, she didn’t think she had one, although the TV producer had labeled her as the family villain. . . . Maybe she ought to embrace that?

  Ava looked horrified—as horrified as if Imogen had said, I’m going to move to the suburbs and become a high school teacher. “You’ve got to have a brand!” she said.

  “Okay,” said Imogen. “My personal brand is ‘being a villain.’”

  Ava rolled her eyes. “Well, duh,” she said. “Of course you’re a villain. But you need something that sets you apart from everyone else! Something memorable! And you need a good catchphrase, too. Staying on-brand is the essential skill of any supervillain! There are so many people committing crimes these days—if you want media coverage, you’ve got to have a unique selling point. Something that will make superheroes want to fight you, and other supervillains want to be you. Having a strong brand is the only way to make sure your name goes down in history!”

  Imogen felt hot with humiliation. Of course every villain needed a brand. Why had she never thought of that? No wonder the Crims were struggling. If they did have a brand, it was probably “world’s most incompetent crime family.” She felt as though Ava had found her out: She wasn’t a supervillain after all. She was just a mediocre-villain.

  Shake it off, Imogen, she told herself. She didn’t believe in low self-confidence any more than she believed in Santa Claus or giving money to charity. She was Ava’s equal. Except in terms of height and hair glossiness and the number of tiaras she owned. “Whatever,” she said. “It’s time to work on our disguises.”

  By late that afternoon, the plan was in place. Ava and Imogen put on their service personnel overalls and steered the submarine to a nearby, slightly less depressing seaside town called Mildlyinterestingport. They surfaced at the pier, where a huge cruise ship was being serviced.

  Imogen and Ava climbed out of the submarine and stood on the pier, staring up at the cruise ship. Imogen’s breath caught as she looked up at it. It was huge. Practically a skyscraper. There must have been thousands of people on board. How were she and Ava ever going to overpower them all? She was out of her depth, like Isabella in the shallow end of a swimming pool.

  “First of all,” said Ava, shielding her eyes against the sun and looking around. “We need to find the captain. . . .”

  Finding the captain was easier than they had expected. They practically tripped over him as they walked along the pier: He was lying down on a towel in the sun with his captain’s hat shading his eyes. He wasn’t sunbathing so much as sunburning—his hat wasn’t covering his nose, and it had turned a radioactive shade of pink.

  Ava walked up to the captain and cleared her throat. “Hello,” she said. “Lovely sunshine we’re having, isn’t it?”

  Before he even opened his eyes, Ava whipped out her pocket watch, and she was swinging it back and forth in front of the captain’s gaze. “You are feeling sleepy,” Ava said, in her deep, hypnotizing voice.

  “Sleepy,” said the captain, his eyelids drooping.

  “You are under my power,” said Ava.

  “I’m under your cow,” said the captain.

  “‘Power’ not ‘cow,’ you idiot!”

  “Idiot,” said the captain, nodding.

  “Now,” said Ava. “You’re going to get back onto the ship and make an announcement. . . .”

  Ten minutes later, Imogen and Ava were standing on the upper deck of the cruise ship, listening to the captain’s voice crackle over the loudspeaker.

  “Attention, crew, passengers, stowaways, and any pigeons hoping for a free holiday to Norway. I’m sorry to have to tell you that a rare digestive virus has been discovered on the ship—”

  And just as Imogen had hoped they would, the passengers and crew members ran screaming from the ship as soon as they heard the words “rare,” “digestive,” and “virus.”

  Ava marched up to the captain, who was looking around, clearly wondering why his ship was empty, and waved her pocket watch in front of his eyes again. “Set sail for the Caribbean!” she said in her hypnotizing voice. “I hear Aruba is lovely this time of year.”

  The captain nodded, a glazed look in his eyes, and hoisted the anchor.

  “How did you learn how to hypnotize people?” asked Imogen.

  Ava shrugged. “Took an online course,” she said. “The only side effect is that every time he hears the word ‘and,’ he’ll think he’s a chicken.”

  The captain immediately stopped sailing the ship and attempted to lay an egg.

  “Darn,” said Ava. “I should have thought that one through.”

  “You think they could have chosen a different word,” said Imogen as they watched the captain preen his nonexistent feathers. “One that’s less likely to come up in conversation. ‘Onomatopoeia,’ or something.”

  Ava shrugged again. “You get what you pay for,” she said.

  Once the captain realized he was human, they sailed out of the port into the open ocean. Imogen and Ava made themselves virgin daiquiris and settled into loungers on the top deck. The sun was shining, and Imogen felt good. She was committing a crime while taking a vacation. She had killed two birds with one stone (ducks—she was going to serve them with pancakes for dinner that night). Everything was going to plan.

  And that’s when her phone buzzed with a text from Big Nana.

  Where are you, my small but delicious macaroon? Why did you leave? Come back!

  Imogen felt guilty at first, but then she shrugged it off. Sure, she had disappeared without saying anything, but at least she’d left a note. Big Nana would find it eventually. And anyway, Big Nana had disappeared without saying anything and pretended to be dead for two years. Imogen didn’t owe her anything.

  “So,” said Ava, “I say we spend the first few days in Aruba chilling out on the beach—”

  “Hang on a sec,” said Imogen. She stood up, walked to the railing at the edge of the boat, and threw her phone into the sea. It disappeared with a satisfying splosh. She settled back onto her lounger and took another sip of her drink. “You were saying?”

  “We could steal a couple of surfboards,” said Ava, “eat blue gelato just because it exists, listen to Justin Bieber. . . .”

  Imogen sat up. “You actually choose to listen to Justin Bieber?”

  “What?” said Ava. “He’s got a great voice, and he’s served time in jail! What’
s not to love?”

  Imogen couldn’t argue with that. She smiled and closed her eyes. She was experiencing an unfamiliar emotion—a strange lightness, a sense of contentment, that all was right with the world.

  Was this what it felt like to be happy?

  5

  IMOGEN AND AVA got up early the next day to do all the things supervillains like to do on vacation: read books, go paddleboarding, and commit white-collar cybercrime. They needed money to fund their vacation—cruise liner fuel is horribly expensive—so after breakfast in the well-stocked cruise ship buffet, Imogen settled onto her favorite lounger and used one of the laptops they’d found in an office on the cruise ship to hack into a bank’s database.

  “Let’s steal money from a corporation so rich that they won’t even notice,” said Ava, looking at the laptop screen over Imogen’s shoulder.

  “I know just the one,” said Imogen, hacking into the WoosterLoo account.

  Ava pulled a face. “Ew. A firm that makes portable toilets? Why?”

  “No reason,” said Imogen, as she started to siphon money from WoosterLoo into her bank account. WoosterLoo was the company owned by Jack Wooster, her uncle Clyde’s number one enemy, who had tried to frame the Crims and send them to jail earlier this year.

  They lay back and sipped their smoothies, watching the numbers in their account creep slowly upward.

  “It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” said Ava. “We make a good team.”

  Imogen nodded. “We’re practically Manchester United.”

  “Oh, no, we’re better than them,” said Ava. “Luka held them hostage a couple of months ago and forced them to play a five-a-side match against the Kruk soccer team.”

  “And the Kruks beat them?” Was there nothing the Kruks weren’t world champions at?

  “No,” said Ava. “Manchester United won. But then Luka set the tigers on them, so now they’ve slipped down the league. It’s hard to kick a ball when you’re missing most of your . . .” Ava trailed off. She looked a little uncomfortable for some reason. Which was odd, because the loungers had memory foam cushions on them.