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    The Scab Wilson Omnibus!
    The Scab Wilson Omnibus!
    The Scab Wilson Omnibus!
    Ebook98 pages1 hour

    The Scab Wilson Omnibus!

    By Vince Iuliano

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Small town America. Andy Hardy, Homer Price. This is the contemporary story of an earlier and nicer time. 

    If you've never read a Scab Wilson adventure, you're in for a treat! Here for the first time ever are the first four! Scab Wilson and the Amazing Bicycle, Scab Wilson and the Theater of Doom, and a new bonus NOT AVAILABLE anywhere else but in this exclusive collection -- Scab Wilson and the Screaming Meemies! (first two books sold separately)... Scab, his best friend Spliff, his girl Julie, Biff, and a whole cast of characters set off in the woods to find adventure! And they do!
    Not only that, but we've also included Scab Wilson and the Amazing Mr. Bobbo! Magic and laughs never felt so good together! 

    Scab Wilson and his friends are off on another adventure, this time into the heart of the dark forest in search of pygmies! Please join Scab, Spliff, Julie, Biff and a whole cast of zany assorted classmates as they search for secrets and turn the hiking world inside out! Join the adventure that more than one fan described as "heartwarming"!!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherVince Iuliano
    Release dateNov 12, 2015
    ISBN9781519910707
    The Scab Wilson Omnibus!
    Author

    Vince Iuliano

    Freelance writer. Staunch crusader for truth, justice and the American Way..(writes under various names. You could be reading me right now, and not know it!)

    Read more from Vince Iuliano

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      Book preview

      The Scab Wilson Omnibus! - Vince Iuliano

      Copyright 2014-2020 by Vince Iuliano. E-book Edition

      ––––––––

      SCAB WILSON AND THE AMAZING NEW BICYCLE!

      An original novel by Vince Iuliano

      © copyright 2014-2020 VinceIuliano

      1.

      He didn’t start out with the name Scab Wilson. 

      His real name was Paul.

      Scab  was a creation of  that  big, lunky  kid  called Biff  over on the next block; created on that terrible last day of  summer when Paul fell from his skateboard and left pieces of skin all along Route 7 . 

      Biff Ballaroo (who did, in fact, start out life as a Biff) thought it a funny name when  Paul hobbled into home-room -  broken and battered and bandaged -  the

      very next day.  Look, it’s a walking scab! Biff pointed and cried, much to the delight of the other kids.

      The name stuck.

      Biff Ballaroo : rival in life, opponent in 9th grade and  - as was shaping out to be – competitor in love as well.

      It all centered around a bicycle. Well, not just ANY  bicycle.

      A 10  speed gleaming Red Rocket with an old-style sissy bar and sleek banana seat.

      A bicycle that caused jaws to drop wide open as it passed on the street!

      A chrome and aluminum beauty that shone in the sun like a diamond under glass!

      ‘Scab" Wilson wanted to own – no, HAD to have - that bicycle. And why not? All of his friends had cool bikes (well, some of them did). A cool bike was as important to a boy as a puppy or a baseball mitt!

      With a cool bike, he could get a job as a newsboy and make extra income for the family. Why, with a bike like that, Scab could run errands and –

      Ok, he was fooling no one. Mostly he was making dry run arguments for what he would tell his parents when they said they couldn’t afford a new bicycle.

      What’s wrong with your old bike? his mother would counter.

      It’s broken, Scab would tell her, putting on his most pitiful pout. The wheels have dry-rot, and the chain rusted off it –

      -when you haphazardly left it in the rain that night, his father would finish the sentence.

      His mother would shrug benignly. Perhaps you’ll take better care of it when you earn the money yourself.

      He didn’t understand the value of a buck. Scab heard that one all the time.

      Of course I do, he muttered to himself. 100 pennies in a buck.

      What was that, Mr. Wilson?

      Scab woke from his daydream to see the entire class looking at him. Even Julie Fentonbruter, who (truth to tell) was the real reason he wanted a new bicycle.

      His other classmates were all staring at him too, some with their mouth’s agape.

      Nothing, Mr. Hickendorp, said Scab. I was just thinking about the value of a dollar.

      Oh, Mr. Hickendorp seemed genuinely pleased. That’s very good, very good indeed. More young people should reflect on the value of a dollar.

      Some of the kids snickered. Biff just clenched his fists.

      Even in moments that would make normal kids deliriously happy, Biff would just clench his fists and make a face like a simmering pot. .

      Julie had gotten a new bike for Christmas, thought Scab, continuing in his reverie. . If he had one too, they could go on long, romantic rides together. Wouldn’t that be nice?

      He shot a quick look at the  cute little blonde in the 2nd row. She had turned back to the blackboard at the front of the class. Scab noticed that while she had  looked at him when old Hickendorper had diverted everyone’s attention, she hadn’t laughed at him.

      That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

      Of course if Biff got a new bike – or stole one , as was more his style – he might take Julie for romantic rides too. And since he had a vested interest in Scab’s misery and a crush on Julie Fentonbruter at least as big as his melon-sized head, Scab resolved not to tell the world that he had designs on the new bike in Delacroix’s Bike Shop window.

      And he would start by making a very conscious effort to stop talking his thoughts out loud in class! 

      ––––––––

      2.

      Mr. Delacroix (pronounced Della-croy)  was a crusty man with the pudgy body and sausage-fingers of a giant baby. His dark eyebrows threatened to eat the rest of his face, while a fat cigar  always dangled from his bottom lip. A long grey ash clung to the cigar,  threatening to spill on anything and everything foolish enough to get under it.

      He didn’t like to be disturbed, which was funny because he never seemed to be busy.

      Once in a blue moon, Scab would find him tinkering with the spokes of a bicycle or trying to tighten a loose chain. Usually, on these occasions, Mr. Delacroix  was holding his wrench from the wrong end.

      On this day – like everyday after school since winter recess – Scab could be found in front of the store, admiring the sleek Red Rocket bicycle  like a cat watching an active fishbowl. The sign at the foot of its front wheel read Special 200 Dollars which Scab found neither special nor especially inviting.

      In fact that small hand-lettered sign acted as a deterrent to keep him from opening the heavy bike shop front door.

      On this afternoon, old Delacroix himself – spoiling to do battle with  some fresh air – pulled open the front door and leaned against its frame. The ash that dangled from his old wet cigar dipped in the middle, like the letter u.

      Take the plunge, he said without looking at Scab directly. You ain’t getting’ any younger, kiddo.

      Scab looked around. Are you talking to me? he said, pointing to his neck for emphasis.

      "No, I’m talking to my newborn ‘Herbert Hoover’. Yeah,  you. You’re

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