Kid Clever & the Lair of Secrets.: The Legend of Jeremiah Baltimore, #1

Dedication.

To my sons, Adeniyi and Olufemi.

The world needs your super powers, boys. 

So find your super power. Level up. And change the world.

Let no one outwork you. Ever.

I love you. Always and forever. No matter what.

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To my wife, Tamara Lazier Oyejide.

Thank you for believing in me.  I love you.

To my parents, Prof. Dr. Adelekan Oyejide,

and Prof. Dr. Mrs. Catherine Oyenike Oyejide.

Thank you for the examples you laid before me.

You gave me the courage to write my own story.

I love you.

To my mentor, Dr. Eric Thomas.

They will not outwork me!

I’m trusting the process.

Not rushing the process.

Contents

Chapter 1: Don’t Be Cruel ..................................... 1

Chapter 2: You Will Not Outwork Me ................ 19

Chapter 3: Feel the Burn ..................................... 31

Chapter 4: Markie & Naima ................................ 43

Chapter 5: Junkyard ............................................ 53

Chapter 6: The Professor .................................... 61

Chapter 7: The Beast ........................................... 69

How Much Do You Know About Detroit? .......... 77

Sneak Peek: El Valente Book 1 ........................... 81

Sneak Peek: Sandstorm Book 1 .......................... 97

Sneak Peek: Malandria Book 1 .......................... 106

About the Author ............................................... 118

Chapter 1: Don’t Be Cruel.

Electrical currents shot in disco tech frenzy around the junkyard. It bounced off trashcans and came back down on Jeremiah Baltimore’s head. His hair stood up on end like an Einstein afro. The boy jittered, like a hamster jacked up on caffeine. He knocked himself away from the control board with a rubber baseball bat.

Whoop-ah! Okay. Yeah, still got some bugs to work out of that one!

Jeremiah’s hair prickled into an afro after using his latest creation. He’d taken a tiny matchbox car and inserted a real motor into its underbelly.

He’d then attached several electric toothbrushes where the wheels were, making them move in carousel motions along their axles. The idea was to bathe the tips in soapy water and carpet shampooer to clean his room faster.

Somebody had to do the work. Uncle Jasper was too lazy, and Aunt Melanie was never home.

Jeremiah had built his laboratory in an abandoned garden. The Ghost Gardens of Detroit was the perfect place to kick it. He didn’t have to worry about annoying street gangs or over-zealous cops busting it down out here in the solitude of broken fences and wayward roses. 

Every morning, he was up at 3:00 am, struggling through homework then working on his inventions.  A sign on the wall said in red: YOU WILL NOT OUTWORK ME.

Ah, man. There’s a jumby now if I ever heard of one! Tubman, Jeremiah’s talking robot that had been made from a Jukebox, was hysterical. She whizzed around the lab, steam puffing from her many little engine pipes that had been constructed out of broken tea kettles.

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, giggling under his breath at the Jamaican android’s terror.

Hold on, little buddy! I don’t think you should give up on the younger robot just yet. He might be a little clunky on his wheels, but our little brother here will be up and running in no time.

Jeremiah pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. It would be an understatement to say that an inventor’s life was hard work.

He admired Tubman for a moment as she wheeled against the wall, trying to hide her repurposed boom-box head from the sight of the Matchbox Frankenstein. 

A clunky old car’s engine rattled through the neighborhood. Jeremiah didn’t pay much attention to it at first. All sorts of interesting people drove through here looking for junk they could make some new use of. Jeremiah’s ears pricked up, though, when he heard shouting.

When I find you, boy, you ain’t never going to see anything but the inside of your bookcase dork-cave!

Uncle Jasper’s voice rattled off several trash cans Jeremiah had lined up to make a wall for the lab. He’d lit the trash in it on fire for extra protection from bullies.

It was a good way to keep things clean too, and he’d made an automatic fire suppressor out of super-soaking water blasters. Better activate that thing quick before Uncle Jasper saw the smoke and busted him! 

Whoop-ah-load of cranberries! It’s Uncle Jazz! Jeremiah twisted in mini-cyclones, tripping the switch on the fire suppressor and scooping batteries and wires into a series of lunchboxes he’d stacked in stair-step piles to act as filing cabinets.

Tubman wheeled about spastically, picking up Jeremiah’s mess with her plastic crane arms. 

Does this mean I have to go back in your backpack? Tubman tripped past Jeremiah on her many wheels. Her boom-box button eyes flashed bright red to show that she was experiencing some artificial equivalent of panic.

I’m sorry, Tubs. There're no leftover tacos in there this time! Promise. Jeremiah unzipped his school bag, scooped a massive stack of sword-worthy pencils out of the center, and put them in a different compartment. Tubman’s head rolled and steamed, playing an old 1980s tune called Don’t Be Cruel. Jeremiah shook his head in disbelief. He’d wrapped Tubman’s synthetic brain in several layers of cassette tapes. She played off-the-wall music all the time, sometimes at the worst possible times. He’d need to change that.

Do we have to? Huh? It’s not like he can find us what wit’ da new security system you’ve got up in there. Tubman’s head rotated faster. Hysterical now, her head began to play a tune from the 90s that Jeremiah found to be annoying called What Is Love? by Haddaway.

Jeremiah groaned, mortified that this song had ended up in Tubman’s brain. He scooped her up and tapped her head, trying to free her from her horrible musical seizure. 

Believe me, it takes more than the Electro-Zone Super-Saver to stop Uncle Jazz. Jeremiah looked up at the huge lab security system he’d made by strapping a series of old street lights around a disco ball and a merry-go-round.

The machine triggered several lights and electric generators to send out thick walls of light in a person’s path, setting up a temporary and impossible maze around the lab. Uncle Jazzy, dingy as he was, would probably try to drive through it and smash all his equipment.

Jeremiah opened the lid of the cassette player that controlled Tubman’s brain and stopped the tape. He’d have to take that unbelievably irritating song out of her and never speak of it again. Sure, other people liked it, but not Jeremiah Baltimore.

Jeremiah looked over his shoulder, clenching his teeth.