The Mark of the Blue Tattoo (11 page)

“We heard something about gangs just a few hours ago,” Frank said. “Two gangs that made peace and then changed their names.”

“Did you hear anything about their having one ringleader?” Callie asked.

“No, nothing like that,” Joe replied. “Why?”

“Because Stephanie let something slip,” Callie said. “When she realized that she'd mentioned the name to me, she got so pale that I was afraid she was about to faint.”

“One superleader?” Frank asked. “You mean like Marlon?”

Callie shook her head. “No. Somebody much nastier and more powerful than him. Somebody they know only as the Lunatic.”

“The Lunatic!” Joe exclaimed. “Sounds pretty
crazy
to me.”

Frank threw a sofa pillow at him. “This is serious,” he said. “Callie, what else did Stephanie tell you?”

Callie shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing, really,” she said. “I think she was sorry she'd agreed to meet me. Deep down, she half-wishes she could make up with Dino. But if he ever found out she talked to me about Starz business, he'd never look at her again.”

“She doesn't know how lucky that makes her,” Joe said.

Frank and Callie pretended not to hear him. “Did she say anything else about this person
named the Lunatic?” Frank asked. “Anything at all?”

“Not a word,” Callie replied. “I'm telling you, she was scared to death that she'd even mentioned the name to me.”

“I guess we know what our next job is,” Frank said. “To uncover the real identity of the Lunatic.”

“Can't it wait until tomorrow?” Joe pleaded. “This has been a long day, and we still have to do the dishes and finish Aunt Gertrude's strawberry-rhubarb pie.”

•   •   •

Gradually Joe became aware that someone was shaking his shoulder. He partly opened his eyes and groggily said, “Wha—?”

“Get up,” Frank said. “We have to be at the Coffee Spot by seven-thirty.”

“Huh? Why?” Joe managed to say through the fog of sleep.

“We need to talk to Con Riley,” Frank explained. “But we don't want him to
know
we need to. So we're going to run into him accidentally while he's having his usual coffee and doughnut before he goes on duty. Get it?”

“Got it,” Joe said, throwing the covers back and sitting up. “But I wish he went on duty at ten instead of eight.”

The Coffee Spot was located in downtown Bayport, just around the corner from police headquarters. At that hour Joe had no trouble finding a parking place right in front. Through the window, he could see Officer Con Riley at his usual table, leafing through the paper. When the Hardys came in, Riley looked up and nodded to them.

“Rising early, aren't you, lads?” he said. “Not up to anything, I hope.”

Joe and Frank got doughnuts and juice at the counter and carried everything over to Riley's table. As Frank and Riley chatted about the latest multimillion-dollar sports contract, Joe kept listening for an angle.

On the drive over, he had agreed with Frank that he would find a way to steer the conversation around to the topic of teen gangs. But how, without being obvious?

Finally jumping into the conversation, Joe said, “Too bad so much money goes to big-time pro sports. What if they used more of it to support local athletics? It would give kids something positive to do, instead of getting involved in gangs and stuff.”

Riley raised his eyebrows. “You think so?” he said. “I'm all for more local sports, mind you. But in my experience, the punks who join gangs don't have the sense of hard work and discipline you need to succeed in team sports.”

“Still,” Frank said, “you have to admit that gangs do attract some kids who could have gone in a better direction.”

Riley paused to dunk his doughnut in his coffee and take a bite. Then he said, “I'm no expert. But it seems to me that once gangs reach a certain size and influence, a lot of kids join just for their own safety. They don't see any other choice. And confidentially, I'm afraid we're getting close to that point right here in Bayport and the whole area.”

“Really?” Joe said. “I know they're a problem, but I didn't realize they were that big a problem.”

“There's a reason for that,” Riley said. “I see the statistics every week, so I know. Gang membership around here is climbing fast, but there hasn't been any increase in gang violence. If anything, it's dropped. You'd think the rumble has gone out of style.”

“Why?” Frank asked.

Riley shrugged. “A lot of the credit should probably go to an outfit called Teen Peace, run by a woman named Hedda Moon. It has a short-term contract with the town to work with teen gangs. I'm not usually a big fan of do-gooders, but whatever she's doing, it seems to work. Word is, the other towns around here and even the county and state are very impressed by the results. I
wouldn't be surprised if they don't pour more money into the program.”

“We've got more gang members lately at our school,” Joe remarked. “Some of them don't seem so peaceful.”

“The Starz, you mean,” Riley said. “Yeah. Don't worry, we've been keeping an eye on them. But the word is, they're not such a bad bunch. They're starting to turn in a more positive direction.”

Joe choked back the words that rose to his lips. Was operating an illegal numbers game a more positive direction? And what about the intimidation and violence against him, Frank, and their friends? What was so positive about that?

“How's your friend Chet doing?” Riley continued. “The one who's driving a Freddy Frost truck? Any more adventures like the other day?”

“Oh, he's okay,” Frank said. “Starting out on a new job's always tough, though. His latest worry is that he doesn't think his boss, Sal Vitello, likes him.”

Riley laughed. “Tell him from me that your boss doesn't have to like you, as long as he's fair.”

He folded his newspaper and pushed his chair back from the table. “Well, I'm off to the salt mines,” he said. “Nice of you guys to drop by.
And whenever you're ready to tell me what's going on between you and the Starz, give me a call.”

Riley dropped a tip on the table and left. Joe looked over at Frank. After a moment they both laughed.

“I guess we didn't put anything over on him,” Joe said. “He knew we came here looking for him, and he had a pretty good idea why.”

“I'm afraid you're right,” Frank said. “But did you notice? When I mentioned Sal Vitello, he didn't react at all. I don't think he even knew the name.”

“But if Vitello is this mysterious crime boss Callie told us about, you wouldn't expect the police to know him,” Joe pointed out.

“The Lunatic . . .” Frank said in a faraway voice. “I wonder. . . .”

“What?” Joe asked.

Frank shook his head. “Think about what Con told us. Gangs are growing fast around here, but they're not battling each other the way you'd expect. Doesn't that sound as if what Callie learned from Stephanie is right? This Lunatic is getting the gangs to join together and become a supergang.”

“You think it's Marlon?” Joe asked.

“I don't know,” Frank admitted. “Marlon's got the leadership abilities, but I don't see members
of other gangs going along with being led by the head of the Starz. There's probably too much bad feeling already built up. Somebody from outside, who doesn't have ties with any particular gang, might have better luck.”

“Someone like Sal, you mean,” Joe said. “Or—I know this may sound crazy—someone like Aaron McCay. After all, his research for this so-called article has put him in touch with all the different gangs in the area. What if the article is just a cover for the Lunatic's work?”

Frank frowned. “I guess it's possible,” he said. “But then why would he have told us about the pact between the Gimps and the Gutfighters?”

Joe grinned. “You mean, the Mad Martians and the—what was it?—the Comets. Maybe he just felt like bragging about his latest success. Or maybe he really
is
a lunatic.”

Frank stood up. “I don't believe it,” he said. “But we'd better see if we can eliminate him. I doubt if we'll be able to reach him until later, but we can use the computer to dig a little deeper.”

The Hardys drove home and went to work.

An hour later Joe straightened up from the computer monitor and said, “So what do we have?”

Frank scanned his notes. “McCay's not married. His driver's license is fairly clean—one
ticket for running a stop sign and one for speeding in the last two years. He has half a dozen credit cards, but he carries a big balance on only one of them and his payments are on time. Ditto his utility bills.”

“One odd thing—his car was registered new just seven months ago, but there's no record of an auto loan. Did he pay cash? And if he did, where did it come from? Most people don't have that kind of lump sum sitting around.”

“Numbers operators do,” Joe said. Then he added, “Face it, we don't have anything here to tie McCay to criminal activity. If only—”

The phone rang. Joe picked it up on the first ring.

“What are you doing home?” It was Chet.

“Answering the phone,” Joe said, then laughed at his own joke.

“Now
I'm
not in the mood,” Chet said. “Listen, remember yesterday, when I told you Iola was feeling left out of the investigation? And you guys promised to find her something to do?”

“Oh, right,” Joe said. “I'm sorry, Chet. I forgot. We'll get on it right away.”

“But that's just it,” Chet said. “Iola went off first thing this morning to check out a lead over at Freddy Frost. I thought she was meeting you there. But if you're home . . .”

Joe felt the first stirring of fear. “I don't know
anything about it, Chet,” he said. “What was this lead she was going to check?”

“She wouldn't say,” Chet replied. “But she did say she'd be back by nine. Joe. That's more than an hour ago, and she's still not here. Something must have happened to her!”

Joe told Frank the shocking news that Iola was missing after going off to the Freddy Frost plant.

“We'd better go over to the plant and check it out,” Frank said, looking worried. “Can Chet meet us there in fifteen minutes?”

Joe passed on the request, and Chet agreed. As soon as he got off the phone, Joe told Frank, “I think we should bring Callie, too.”

“I'll call her,” Frank said, reaching for the phone. After a brief exchange, he hung up and said, “Okay. She'll be waiting in front of her house. Let's roll!”

Fifteen minutes later Joe pulled up behind Chet's car, and they got out. Chet hurried over to
join them. “Iola's car is parked up near the gate,” he blurted. “She must still be inside.”

“Okay, here's the plan,” Frank said. “We go in together. If Sal is there, Chet will distract him while Joe and I sneak inside and search for Iola.”

“And, Callie,” Frank continued, “you're our early warning signal. Stay to one side and keep a sharp lookout. If you spot anything that looks like trouble, yell at the top of your lungs.”

“I think I can handle that,” Callie said. “They'll be able to hear me down at the police station.”

The four friends walked along the chain-link fence surrounding the Freddy Frost parking lot. The gate to the driveway was locked, but the smaller sidewalk gate stood ajar. They pushed through it. Frank motioned to Callie to move off to the left. While Chet walked openly toward the loading dock, Joe and Frank sneaked in, using the parked trucks as cover.

Joe grabbed Frank's arm. Sal had just walked out onto the loading platform and seen Chet. The Hardys ducked behind a truck and listened.

“You're here way too early, Morton,” Sal called. “I can't let you take out a truck for another half hour.”

“Oh, that's okay,” Chet replied. “I wanted to get some help from you about our product line. Sometimes kids ask for stuff and don't call it by
the name we use. I don't always know what to give them. Here, I'll show you what I mean.”

Joe peeped over the hood of the truck. Sal was walking down through the lot to the spot where Chet was standing. His back was to the Hardys. “Now!” Joe whispered. He sprinted between the trucks to the loading dock, then put both palms on the platform and vaulted up. He dashed inside and waited, flat against the inside of the loading-dock door, catching his breath. An instant later Frank ducked through the door.

“I don't think anybody spotted us,” Frank said, panting.

Joe took a hasty look around. Just ahead were parallel rows of stainless steel machines. Pipes and plastic tubes linked them to tall insulated tanks along the side walls. A maze of roller belts led from one bank of machines to another. No one was in sight. Nothing moved.

“Take the left aisle,” Frank breathed. “I'll go right. Meet me at the back.”

Joe nodded. He glanced both ways, then sprinted over to the left aisle and ducked behind a machine that smelled strongly of vanilla. He heard no shouts of discovery, only silence. He was more and more convinced that the plant was empty.

Still keeping a watch to both sides, Joe straightened up and walked toward the far wall. Iola was nowhere in sight. Anger and hopelessness warred
in Joe's mind. If anyone had harmed Iola, he would pay them back with whatever it took. But where was she?

Joe noticed four heavy wooden doors set into the back wall at regular intervals. Racks between every two doors held long, thick coats. Joe gave the wall a puzzled look, then muttered to himself, “Oh, sure. At an ice-cream plant, you have to have cold rooms.”

Joe was starting to look around for Frank when a spot of color drew his attention. At the base of the machine closest to the back was a scrap of material. Joe hurried over and picked it up. It was a filmy scarf. He was certain he had seen it before, on Iola's shoulders.