Running on Empty (10 page)

Midnight.

Frank and Joe crouched outside the tall chain-link fence on a back section of Paradise Salvage. The full moon showed through a chilling gray mist, causing an uneasy restlessness to surge through the Hardys.

Frank held two heavy-duty dog chains in his left hand and two pounds of hamburger in his right. Emmy had given them a detailed map of the junkyard.

The plan was simple. Either Max or Smith would have to stay at the salvage yard while the other met with Uncle Ed at AutoHaus Emporium. Emmy would be hidden and ambush the kidnapper who showed up for the money; Frank and Joe would surprise the other at Paradise Salvage and rescue Chet.

Frank's only real concern was the two mastiffs, Peace and Love. He hoped they would respond when he gave the Take-it-easy command. If that worked, the hamburger would be a friendly gesture while he and Joe chained the dogs to a stack of cars.

Frank pressed the light button on his watch and nodded to Joe.

Joe began snipping at the chain-link fence with a pair of bolt cutters.

No sooner had they crawled through the opening in the fence, than Peace and Love came rushing toward them, growling furiously.

"Take it easy!" Frank commanded.

The dogs halted and tilted their heads from side to side in confusion. Then they seemed to recognize Frank and wagged their tails and sat.

"Good dogs," Joe said. He took one chain from Frank.

Frank divided the hamburger and tossed it to the dogs. Peace and Love gulped down the meat.

"Good dog, Peace," Frank said. He clipped the chain to the dog's studded collar. Joe did the same to Love. They ran the chains through a smashed grill and around a bumper.

Frank pointed the way, and the Hardys jogged toward the shack. They approached the shack from the back side. It was a small one-room structure located in the middle of the salvage yard. Emmy had said that Max used the shack for extra storage and not much else. It was the most likely place for Chet to be held.

Surrounding the shack were dozens of large wrinkled metal cubes, the remains of cars compressed to two-foot squares by the crusher. In the moonlight, they looked like large square metal prunes.

The shack was dark, quiet. The Hardys moved slowly around to the front, their eyes and ears focused and tuned into the sights and sounds of the night.

Joe slowly rose and peered in through a window. He squinted. Several moments passed before he realized the window was painted black.

Frank put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned. He cringed as the rusted latch creaked. He took a deep breath before opening the door. He hoped that the door's hinges were oiled.

He pushed the door in. He sighed as the hinges remained silent.

Frank and Joe crept inside and stood on either side of the door, away from the moonlit opening.

Joe pulled his penlight from his pocket and clicked it on.

They gasped.

The beam had fallen directly on Chet. He lay unconscious against the wall across the room.

His nose, cheeks, and lips were swollen and bruised.

Frank and Joe started heading for their friend when a sudden burst of light blinded them. Dark spots seemed to be floating in the air before them.

"Welcome to your nightmare," a cold voice said.

Frank recognized it as the voice from the tape. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. The room came into focus as his pupils adjusted to the light. He could once again make out the form of his unconscious friend.

On either side of Chet stood the two assassins from Skyway Parking Garage, Blackie and Red, in gray suits and sunglasses.

Blackie's .45 was aimed at Chet's head. Red's sawed-off semiautomatic shotgun covered the Hardys.

Both Frank and Joe noticed that Red's left pant leg had a small hole, a dark stain surrounding it.

Emmy stood next to Red, her arms crossed in front of her. "Don't move," she ordered.

Frank was too stunned, too angry to speak. Betrayed!

Despite the odds against them, Joe made a move toward Blackie. He wanted to distract the gunman, get him to turn his weapon away from Chet.

Red swung the shotgun on Joe. "Listen to the little lady," he growled in the same voice he used on the tape. He nodded at the floor.

Joe looked down. He and Frank were standing in a thin pool of water. Two bare copper wires ran from the water and were plugged into an electrical wall outlet. Blackie's free hand rested on the switch above the outlet.

"Over there with your friends," Red snarled. Using the barrel of the shortened shotgun, he shoved Emmy toward Frank and Joe.

Emmy slipped as she stepped into the water. She broke her fall by putting her crossed hands on Frank's chest. Frank noticed that her hands were tied.

"Quite the gentleman, huh, Frank Hardy?" Red sneered. "I knew who you were when that chick cop brought you in here." Red's gloating smile spread the width of his face.

He pulled the red wig from his head, his long gray hair falling to his shoulders. He tossed it to the floor, followed by the sunglasses. Max Elburk's smile was venomous.

"You three were becoming real pains in the neck for my partner and me," Blackie said. He pulled off his black wig and sunglasses.

"Butch!" Joe cried out.

Frank questioned Emmy with his eyes.

"Butch was waiting for me when I arrived at AutoHaus," Emmy said.

"Cronkite in on this?" Frank asked.

"Cronkite?" Max laughed. "That loudmouth yahoo wouldn't know how to be dishonest."

"You're not getting away with this," Joe warned.

"Yeah. You expecting the marines to come and rescue you or something?" Max sneered. "I know you three are alone in this."

"How?" Emmy asked.

"You cops don't pay your dispatchers enough," Max explained, grinning.

"The mole is a dispatcher?" Frank asked, staring hard at Emmy.

"I left word with the dispatcher to contact Cronkite, in case something happened," Emmy explained.

"Exactly," Max drawled. "You should have sold Butch the garage when you had the chance, Emmy," Max said. "You would have at least gotten some money out of it. Now it looks as though we'll pick up Royce's Garage at a bargain price."

"How's that?" Emmy asked, hate in her eyes.

"At the estate sale, after your sudden but tragic accident - just like your father's."

"Only the killer would know how my father died."

"Yeah. That's right," Max said, cackling.

"You're dead!" Emmy screamed.

She jumped at Max so quickly that Frank didn't have time to grab her and Max didn't have time to move. Emmy slammed into Max, knocking him against the wall. The shotgun fell to the floor.

Frank and Joe made a move for the shotgun.

"Don't move!" Smith shouted, his hand on the switch.

Emmy hit Max in the stomach with her tied fists, and he doubled over. She raised her hands above her head and was ready to strike down on Max's neck when the sudden roar of a gun being discharged into the roof filled the shack.

Smith then brought his .45 down and leveled it at Chet's head, cocking back the hammer. Smoke still streamed from the barrel.

"Back off or Morton's dead," Smith threatened through clenched teeth.

Emmy stared at Smith, then looked down at Max.

"Emmy," Frank said sternly.

Emmy turned toward Frank, her green eyes flashing. Her face twisted with rage and pain.

Frank was prepared to attack Emmy if she didn't back away from Max. He wasn't going to let her put his friend's life in jeopardy.

"You wouldn't be able to live with Chet's death," Frank said.

Emmy lowered her arms, walked over to Frank, and then stood beside him. Frank could tell she was fighting back tears.

Max picked up the shotgun and stood up. "Seems Emmy's the only brave one among you," he sneered, holding his stomach.

"Let's toast them now," Butch said with a grin.

"What about Chet?" Joe asked.

Max looked down at the unconscious Chet. "He doesn't know who we are or where he's been since Sunday. He's only seen us in these disguises. He's our insurance that good old Uncle Ed doesn't call the cops until we feel it's safe," Max replied. "You three, however, know who we are."

"I still say we get rid of Fat Boy now," Butch growled. He kicked Chet's feet. Chet groaned.

"Try that with me, jerk," Joe threatened.

Max laughed. Then to Butch he said, "That's why you're not the brains. We need Fat Boy, even if he is uncooperative. Now, let's party, partner."

"Show time!" Butch shouted.

He brought his hand down in one grand swooping gesture toward the lethal switch.

Chet Morton suddenly came to life. He lashed out with a vicious kick that connected with Butch's kneecap.

Butch howled in pain as he toppled backward, his hand missing the switch and flipping off the overhead light switch instead, plunging the room into darkness.

Frank, Joe, and Emmy separated as the shotgun erupted, followed quickly by the .45. The room was lit by the red-yellow muzzle flash of both weapons.

Frank scrambled to the opposite side of the room. His plan was to make his way around the edge of the wall and come up on the side of Max.

A sudden wooden crash caused him to freeze. Moonlight streamed in as the rear door burst open. Butch darted through the door, followed by a limping Max.

"I'll get the light!" Frank shouted.

"Wait!" Joe warned. He clicked on his penlight. "You might hit the wrong switch." He aimed his light at the two wall switches. "The one on the right."

"Thanks, Joe." Frank hit the switch and the room was once again washed in the yellowish glow of the low-watt bulb.

Joe knelt next to a groggy Chet. "Welcome back from the dead," he said with a smile.

"Yeah. Thanks," Chet grunted.

Using his pocketknife, Joe cut the cords around Chet's wrists and ankles while Frank loosened the rope holding Emmy's hands.

"How do you feel, buddy?" Frank asked.

Chet stood with Joe's help, his rubbery legs wobbling beneath him. He had to lean on Joe to keep from falling. "I've been tied up like that since Sunday night. They knocked me out again just before they left to meet Uncle Ed, but that gun blast woke me up. I pretended to be passed out. I knew you two would need my help."

"Thanks. I thought we were fried," Frank said, indicating the water and wire.

"Butch and Max are getting away," Joe said, ignoring Frank's comment. He scanned the stacks of flattened cars from the open back door.

"Well, they're not escaping," Emmy announced. "The only gate is the one next to the house and parts barn. They took off in the wrong direction. They're going to have to circle around to escape. You can cut them off before they reach it. I'll call Cronkite for backup."

"Like the man said," Frank began as he dashed to the front door, "it's show time."

The Hardys dashed out into the night. The full moon provided enough light to allow them to see clearly up and down the rows of stacked flattened cars. The stacks provided dark shadowy hiding places for the Hardys - and for Max and Butch.

"They're going to have to circle around to the north side," Frank said, visualizing the map in his mind. "Max's leg wound ought to slow them down."

They stopped and pressed themselves against a stack of cars. Frank poked his head around the corner and then back into the shadows. Nothing, he shook his head at Joe. They crouched and sprinted across the open lane.

"Let's put the odds a little more in our favor," Joe said, looking up.

"What's your plan?"

"Climb up on the next row, ambush them as they walk by."

Frank liked Joe's idea. The last thing they needed to do was meet the two men in the open. They sprinted to the next row of stacked cars and climbed up the fifteen-foot-high stack, avoiding loose chrome, side mirrors, and other car parts that might creak and give away their position.

Once on top, they lay down and leaned over the edge just enough to see down the lane. It was empty.

Frank couldn't have been wrong. This was the only way they could get to the gate. Perhaps they had doubled back, headed for the shack - for Emmy and Chet!

Joe nudged Frank and pointed. Frank strained to see in the direction his brother was pointing. A dark outline limped slowly in the shadows of the stack across from them, a shotgun held waist level. Max.

Where was Butch?

Frank moved forward slightly and leaned over the edge. Butch was directly below him, the .45 held straight in front of him, its hammer locked back.

Frank scooted back from the edge. He nudged Joe, pointed down, then held up one finger.

Joe nodded that he understood.

Frank leaned forward. A rusted chunk of metal gave way and creaked.

A thunderous roar fragmented the silence. Shotgun pellets spattered the edge of the stack in front of Frank and Joe.

The Hardys rolled away from the edge and then dropped to the opposite side of the stacked flattened cars.

"The other side!" they heard Max yell.

A second later Butch appeared at the head of the lane, his .45 spitting fire and lead.

Frank and Joe ducked and sprinted toward the back of the salvage yard, .45 slugs whistling past them. They came to a break in the row, Frank diving to the left, Joe to the right.

"You're dead, Hardys! Dead!" Butch screamed.

"Butch?" Max yelled.

"Yeah, over here," Butch answered. "They're cornered like trapped rats."

Butch was right. Frank and Joe were safe, but only until Max and Butch could walk to the break in the row.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," Max said, cackling.

They were trapped. They could climb over the stacks, but Max and Butch would still be on the loose, hunting them down between the rows of dead cars.

"Hey, Hardys!" Max shouted. "Need any spare parts?"

Joe seized a hubcap lying next to his foot. He held it up for Frank to see and made a throwing motion.

Frank nodded that he understood. He held up three fingers. Joe gave him the okay sign.

Joe stepped away from the stack and held the hubcap like a Frisbee.