Read Brother Against Brother Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Brother Against Brother (9 page)
***
Frank couldn't believe his luck. No one had found him yet. Higgins had to have called the highway patrol. They were probably searching the major highways. No one would believe he'd stay in the area on a small road. Frank was pretty tired though. He'd spent the past hour playing any game to stay awake. He did complicated math problems. He named, in order, every element in the periodic table. He sang the lyrics to every song he could remember. He tried to recall the name of every kid in his classes from elementary school. He began to recite the fifty states: Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado — Colorado!"
Frank couldn't believe his eyes. Pulling into the highway just ahead of him was a familiar car. His rental model—with Joe in the driver's seat!
No one would believe him, Frank thought to himself.
He slowed the pickup—not a difficult task— and allowed the rental car to gather some speed. The big problem was figuring out a way to approach Joe without turning him into a madman again.
I'll never catch up to him if he tries to pull away, Frank thought. My one advantage is that he won't recognize this truck. Maybe I can lure him back.
With that, Frank honked the horn a few times, drawing Joe's attention. When the rental car's brake lights went on, Frank whipped the pickup's steering wheel to the right. His idea was to fake a blowout and hope Joe would respond.
Frank held on, as the pickup skidded off the road. Quickly he looked up. Joe had gone for the bait! The rental car was turning around and approaching the pickup.
Frank opened the door and climbed out. Ready to take on Joe, if necessary.
The rental car stopped, catching Frank in its headlights.
Frank took a few steps toward the car. Good, it looked as if Joe would be reasonable.
Joe's suspicion turned to horror as he stared at the dark-haired guy appearing out of the predawn mist. "Oh, no!" he shouted, waking Rita.
He spun the steering wheel and floored the accelerator.
Frank leapt aside as the car swerved right through the area where he'd been standing. "Not this again!" he groaned, pulling himself up and rushing back to the pickup.
His tires screamed as he threw the truck into motion. The chase was on!
By the time Frank had his pickup back on the road, the rental car had zoomed ahead. Frank chugged slowly behind.
"I'll never catch him," Frank told himself miserably. Still, what choice did he have?
Frank watched the taillights of the rental car disappear over a hill. All the tiredness that his momentary excitement had burnt away fell back onto him. What had gotten into Joe? he wondered.
If he were trying to warn Frank off, that rockslide was far too deadly. Maybe Joe was somehow being forced to act hostile. But the beating he'd given Frank hadn't been acting. And he could have whispered an explanation during one of the clinches.
The pickup plowed along following the cloud of dust raised by Joe's car. Frank was determined to make some sense out of his brother's weird behavior.
What would make Joe act this way? Frank asked himself.
Brainwashing? But Joe had only disappeared a couple of days. Frank couldn't believe he could have been brainwashed in such a short time.
Hypnotism? That might explain why Joe was so unexpectedly hostile. And it would explain why Joe might attack him but not finish him off. People under hypnosis couldn't be ordered to do things that they believed to be wrong. Frank shook his head. A hit man using hypnosis? That was just too bizarre.
Frank laughed at the image of a thug with a gun in one hand, saying, "You are in my power." He would wear a black mask, and a magician's turban — turban!
Frank's hands clenched the wheel as he remembered creeping up on the cabin in the woods. He'd seen a distant figure walking from the Jeep — a figure that had turned out to be Joe. But the first time he'd seen him, Frank thought the guy was wearing a turban. What if it wasn't a turban—but some kind of bandage on his head?
"Amnesia." Frank exhaled loudly. It made sense. Joe had looked pretty battered. He must have been bumped around a lot when his car was wrecked. What if Joe had bumped his head? Then Frank remembered the bloody tire iron, with the hairs caught on it. What if Joe had been hit on his head? What if he lost his memory? What if he thinks I'm the hit man and I'm trying to kill him?.
Frank gripped the wheel. He had to catch up with Joe.
"Slow down!" Rita shouted, pulling at Joe's arms. "We've lost him! He can't hurt us now!"
Joe glanced in his rear-view mirror. She was right. The dark-haired killer and his pickup had fallen far behind. But Joe still kept the gas pedal down low. It might be irrational, but he swore to himself that he'd take no chances with that guy.
"Slow down! Please!" Rita pleaded as the car screeched around a sharp curve. "Do you want us to go off the road?"
Joe didn't answer her. And he didn't slow down.
"What's the matter with you?" Rita's voice rose. "Have you gone out of your mind?" Joe twisted around to glare at her, wild-eyed. "Look out!" Rita screamed. He turned forward again. He was approaching a hairpin turn that was upon him right then. Slamming on the brakes, Joe twisted the wheel into the turn. The car screeched along a steel guardrail, which alone kept it from spilling down the steep rocky slope. Joe fought to regain control of the car — and succeeded.
"I think we left some of our paint on the guardrail," finally gasped, Joe.
Joe slowed down, and then stopped.
Rita pulled his hands off the steering wheel.
"What happened back there?" she asked.
"Please, Rita," Joe begged, "don't tell me I've gone crazy. I saw him back there. The dark-haired guy. The hit man. He came walking right into our headlights. Smiling. Smiling. I couldn't take it. I had to get away."
He shook his head. "I guess I did go crazy, for a while. That was a foolish stunt I pulled. I could have gotten us killed."
"All the time, I keep getting flashes — pictures of that guy fighting with me, laughing at me. He stopped me from saving Iola ... " Joe's voice broke off.
Then he turned to Rita, whispering fiercely, "But he's not going to keep me from saving you!"
He shook his head. "I haven't been able to stop him yet. But I've just got to outplan him. Every time he's turned up, he's caught us by surprise. So this time we'll have to surprise him. Really surprise him.
"Let's take a look at the map."
Rita spread it out. "I know this stretch of road," she said, pointing at a line snaking through the mountains. "A few more miles and we'll clear these mountains. From there on it's a flat five-mile stretch into Corralville."
Joe examined the map very carefully. "What's this line here?" he asked suddenly, stabbing at the map with his finger.
Rita squinted, then nodded. "That's an old logging road, just at the edge of the mountains," she said. "I don't know if anyone even drives there. You can't really see it, it's hidden by some aspen trees."
"Perfect," said Joe. He started up the engine again and drove off.
Frank, making the best time he could, came wheezing downhill in his stolen pickup. Long before he had lost sight of the rental car.
"At the speed he took off, Joe will be in California before I make it to Corralville," he said, fuming.
"I hope somebody nails that hit man. Because I want first crack at my baby brother. I'll pound some sense into that thick skull of his." That got a laugh out of Frank. "Dr. Hardy's Amnesia Cure."
He eased the truck around a last curve, which provided a fine view of the valley below. Some six or seven miles off were the lights of Corralville.
Frank anxiously scanned the flat expanse of roadway. "Empty," he said. "Not a car out there. Joe must be in the town already—unless he went another way or just passed through."
Then he remembered the all-points bulletin that had been posted for Joe. He also thought that there must be one out for him, too. "There's a sheriff in Corralville. Maybe he got hold of Joe."
Frank tromped the accelerator again, eager to reach Corralville.
The pickup whipped through the final turn, and the road began to flatten.
All of Frank's attention was on the road before him, so he barely noticed a churning sound erupting from a stand of aspens off to one side.
He turned when the sound got louder and saw a car come barreling into view—flashing straight at the pickup!
Frank tried to brake, tried to turn aside. But the onrushing car caught him broadside, smashing him off the road, into the ditch.
The last thing Frank remembered was his own brother, grim-faced at the wheel, ramming him!
Joe Hardy brought his car out of the crash and fishtailed back onto the highway. He didn't even look back at the pickup he'd sent hurtling off the road. He was just happy that his car wasn't so badly damaged that it couldn't be driven. The door on Joe's side was sprung, and the whole front end was bashed in—but still the car drove.
Rita stared out the rear window as the truck landed on its side. "The gas tank didn't explode," she said. "I guess he'll be all right in there."
Joe nodded. "One thing's for sure. He's not going anywhere. The sheriff can pick him up."
Billboards advertising restaurants and motels clustered along the roadside, announcing that they were approaching Corralville. Then came signs announcing a decrease in the speed limit and a school crossing warning. A few minutes later they were stopped by a true sign of civilization — a traffic light.
Joe brought the car to a stop, steam billowing out of the engine, then he turned to Rita. "So what's our plan?" she asked. Joe peered through the spider's web of a windshield to see that night had given Way to dawn. Daylight illuminated the road ahead. "The sheriff should be getting to headquarters soon," he said.
Rita nodded. "Right. Our best hope is to get the coded message to the authorities."
Joe patted his breast pocket, feeling the paper inside. "Yes."
Rita leaned back. "Thank goodness. Imagine, before long I'll be able to stop running. I'll be safe and free." She turned her head toward the window. "I'll look for the sheriff's office," she said.
But before Joe could get the car in gear, he had another memory flashes — a crooked sheriff aiming a gun at Joe's nose. "They pay me good money to take care of problems like you," the sheriff said. He remembered his muscles tensingly for a hopeless spring—and the dark-haired guy warning him back. Then the two of them together had overpowered the corrupt lawman.
"The dark-haired guy helped me!" Joe muttered to himself.
"What?" Rita said. "Did you say something to me?"
Joe shook his head. "No, I was just thinking out loud."
"What about?" Rita asked with concern.
"Maybe going to the sheriff isn't such a good idea," Joe told her. "Maybe the right thing to do is turn back and see if that guy in the pickup is okay."
"Don't start acting crazy again!" Rita warned Joe. "We're so close — can't we just finish this thing and get on with our lives? Please? The sheriff isn't going to hurt us."
Joe forced the disturbing memory into the back of his brain.
"Okay," he said. "We'll go to the law."
Rita nodded in approval.
They topped a rise, and sprawling out before them in the sunrise was the town they'd been struggling to reach. Corralville, the county seat.
Rita looked around the dusty main street. "It's hard to believe Corralville was once one of the richest towns in the world," she said.
"This place?" Joe said in disbelief.
"They found silver in these hills," Rita said. "The whole town sprang up overnight. Hotels and gambling houses, fancy shops and saloons."
Joe looked at a sagging wooden building. "Didn't last, I guess."
Rita nodded. "The mines dried up, and most of the people left. Nobody comes here now— except people who get lost looking for the ski resorts."
"It is almost like a ghost town — especially at dawn," Joe said as they silently rolled along the empty streets.
They passed a few old wooden houses that lined both sides of the road. Then they reached the tiny downtown section. A school filled much of one block, and churches were set on various corners. They passed a gas station and a general store, a coffee shop and a garage. In the middle of the block Joe slowed the car to a crawl.
On one side was an old red brick county courthouse. And, across the street, next to the post office, was an unassuming one-story, yellow brick building with the words County Sheriff stenciled on the window.
Joe rolled to a stop and parked the car outside the sheriff's office. A light inside indicated that someone was on duty. He turned off the engine and glanced at Rita.
"Well," he said, "here we are."
***
Dawn found Frank stumbling over his own feet as he staggered along the road. He was moving as much to stay warm as to find Joe. The second task was surely hopeless — his brother was long gone.
Bruised and bone-weary, Frank challenged himself to keep his feet moving. He was shaken — not just by the physical batterings he had sustained, but by the realization that his brother could attack him so savagely in cold blood. Frank couldn't erase the memory of the look on his brother's face as his car rammed into him. He didn't even check to see what happened to me, Frank thought. It's got to be amnesia. But who does he think I am?
But that didn't matter right then. Joe was in trouble, and somehow, Frank had to catch up with him. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes since he'd pulled himself out of the wreck, and he'd gone only about a mile. At that rate, Frank could expect to hit Corralville in about an hour and a half. Maybe Joe would be there, with the sheriff. Or maybe by then, Joe would be ninety miles away.
Frank forced his legs to move faster, stumbling into an ungainly jog-trot. When he got to the sheriff's he could report what had happened and he could call his dad and maybe get some help for his brother.
He had reached the first set of billboards announcing Corralville when he heard the siren screaming behind him.
Frank dove off the road and lay low in some buffalo grass, out of sight. This is a great time for the Highway Patrol to catch up with me, Frank thought.
Well-hidden, he crawled to a spot which allowed him a clear view of the highway.
Barreling down the road was Highway Patrol Car 28, the one he had sabotaged at the truck stop.
Frank rose up at the exact moment the cruiser came rushing by. What he saw gave him a very bad feeling indeed.
That can't be, Frank thought. The man at the patrol car's wheel did not look like Officer Higgins. This cop had red hair and a sharp, needlelike nose. What was this guy doing in Higgins's car? And why was he breaking the speed limit to get to the county seat?
The image of the driving officer's red hair returned to Frank's mind. What if the guy in the car was an impostor?
Then whatever business he had in Corralville, he couldn't be up to any good.
Frank jumped back on the road, redoubling his pace. Trying to take his mind off the pain in his legs and the burning in his lungs, he tried to imagine how someone else could have ended up in Higgins's car. It was all too simple.
The redhead must have found Higgins right after his cruiser conked out. Catching the cop by surprise, he overpowered Higgins. Then, with the officer either stunned or dead, the guy must have figured out that something was blocking the car's exhaust system.
"Nice work," Frank told himself sarcastically. "I stopped Higgins all right. And in doing it, I may have given the hit man a perfect cover for his next killing."
Yes, the hit man! If his impostor theory were right, who else would be masquerading as a lawman? Frank almost stumbled again as that thought hit him. "If he gets to Joe and murders him, there will be only one person to blame. Me!"
Frank pushed back his horror. He lowered his head and forced more speed out of his oxygen-starved legs. Joe was really in danger now. He had to make Corralville, and right away. He had to!
