The Ghostwriter Secret (2 page)

Shawn and Kevin exchanged a knowing glance. Now they knew where the lawbreakers were stowing the stolen cars! If only they could get free and notify the police. Behind their backs the brothers redoubled their efforts to undo the knots that bound their hands.

“Gin!” shouted the tattooed crook, slapping his cards on the table. “I win again!”

The bearded hood turned to his fellow criminal and frowned. “Go sit on a stalactite, Charlie.”

“I think you mean stalagmite,” interrupted Kevin, who had taken honors in geology. “Stalactites grow from the roof, and stalagmites grow from the ground.”

“An easy way to remember,” Shawn chimed in, “is that the
c
in ‘stalactite' stands for ‘ceiling,' and the
g
in ‘stalagmite' stands for ‘ground.'”

“Enough!” roared the bearded lowlife. “I'm gettin' tired of all this jabberin'. Charlie, gag this pair of Goody Two-shoes until Smokestacks Samuels gets back and tells us what to do with them.”

The man called Charlie stood up and grinned. Gripping two oily rags in his tattooed hand, he limped over to the corner of the cavern where Shawn and Kevin were kept. “This ought to muffle youse two.” He sauntered up to Shawn first and reached for the boy's face.

Just then, Shawn untied the last knot and freed his hands. Quickly, he brought
his fist around in a powerful haymaker punch to Charlie's solar plexus! The goon collapsed on the limestone floor.

“You kayoed him, Shawn!” whooped Kevin. “Coach Biltmore would be proud!”

Shawn grinned and removed the knife from Charlie's belt. He hurried over to his brother, making sure to hold the knife with its blade pointing down while he ran, and quickly sawed through Kevin's bonds.

Meanwhile the big bearded baddie was lumbering toward them, holding a blackjack in his left hand. “It's gonna be fun whackin' you two over the head,” he snarled.

“One, two, three!” counted Kevin, and at once the two brothers bum-rushed their opponent. The large man flew back against the cavern wall and slumped to the floor, unconscious. “Jumping junipers!” Kevin exclaimed, brushing his blond hair aside. “We sure took care of those two!”

“You bet we did,” his younger brother replied. “Now what do you say we tie them up and hide out in this cave? I'll
bet you dollars to doorknobs Smokestacks Samuels will be back any minute.”

“We can surprise him!” Shawn agreed. “Then we'll learn his real identity!”

“I can't wait to find out who the ringleader of the Viper Gang really is,” Kevin remarked.

Suddenly a silhouette appeared on the rocky outcrop near the roof of the cavern. A high, clear voice rang out in the darkness. “You boys will never make it out of here alive. Nobody messes with Smokestacks Samuels!”

Just then, a high, clear voice rang out in the Brixton household. Steve froze.

“S
TEVE, DINNER!”
He put down his book.

Sunday was Taco Night. Steve hated Taco Night—most of the bright yellow shells were broken before they even got out of the box, and the ones that weren't just snapped in your hand when you tried to load them up. Steve got off the couch and trudged into the dining room.

His mom, Carol Brixton, was already sitting at the table. So was a man with a blond mustache, tan uniform, and shiny badge.

Great. It was Rick.

Rick was Steve's mom's boyfriend and Steve's
number one enemy—after lawbreakers and evildoers, that is. (And honestly, Steve hoped that one day he would discover that Rick actually was a lawbreaker—then his mom would have to break up with him—although more and more it seemed like he was probably just a doofus.) Rick always came over for dinner on Sundays. One more reason to hate the day.

Rick wielded his taco like a flick-knife.

“Grab a taco,” said Steve's mom.

“All right!” said Rick. Rick had already taken the only unbroken taco shell and was now rolling up his right sleeve. There, on his bicep, was a tattoo. “Check it out, Steve. I just got it.” The skin on Rick's arm was still a little puffy.

The Bailey Brothers' Detective Handbook
has some interesting things to say on the subject of tattoos:

Shawn and Kevin Bailey size up everyone they meet: You never know who might be a villain in disguise! Remember that fable about the wolf in sheep's clothing? Well, sometimes criminals are like wolves, except instead of sheep's clothing they wear the clothing of normal, law-abiding citizens. But even though you can change your outfit, there's one thing you can't
change: tattoos! Almost all criminals have tattoos, and if you're an expert like the Bailey Brothers, those tattoos tell you what kinds of criminals they are. Here are some common criminal tattoos and what they mean:

Safecracker    

Car Thief    

Smuggler    

Smuggler Who Fakes a Haunted House to Conceal His Hideout    

Cat Burglar    

Forger    

Blackmailer    

Racketeer    
or