The Mark of the Blue Tattoo (12 page)

A faint noise made him start. He spun around, his hands raised for combat. Frank was hurrying toward him. “She's here somewhere,” Joe whispered, holding up the scarf. “See?”

Frank scanned the area. “Joe, look,” he said, pointing toward the nearest locker. “The door is wedged shut!”

A triangular piece of wood had been jammed under the handle of the door latch. Joe looked left and right. None of the other locker doors was wedged that way.

“Quick!” Joe said, dashing across to the door. “Iola may be in here!”

Joe grasped the wedge and pulled, but the piece of wood was lodged in place. When he
tried to wiggle it, it wouldn't budge. Desperate, he took a step to the side, balanced on one foot, and kicked it with all his might. The wooden wedge tilted sideways. Another kick, and it clattered to the floor.

Frank grabbed the door handle and pulled. The heavy door began to swing open, but too slowly for Joe. The moment the gap was wide enough, he darted inside, then stopped, stunned by the cold. “Iola?” he called into the pitch-black room. “Iola!”

A shaft of light from the doorway penetrated the space and fell on Iola, huddled on the floor, clutching a blanket.

Joe rushed over. “Iola! Are you okay!?”

Frank was beside him, helping him lift a shivering Iola to her feet. Through chattering teeth, she spoke.
“Joe?
Frank? I was sure no one would come in time.”

The two Hardys carried Iola out into the warmth of the plant. Gradually, the color returned to her face. She glanced from Frank to Joe. “Thanks for saving me from my own crazy scheme,” she said.

“What happened?” Joe asked.

“I thought I could find out something by searching the plant,” Iola said. “So I sneaked in a little while ago. The next thing I knew, somebody threw a blanket over my head and shoved me into this huge freezer. I tried to get out, but the door
must have been jammed. I won't tell you how I felt.”

“I can imagine,” Joe said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “You didn't get a look at whoever did this?”

Iola shook her head. “Sorry. I can't tell you a thing.”

“I can tell you one thing,” Frank said. “We're going to find them and see that they get what they deserve.”

Joe heard a yell from the loading dock.

“That's Callie, warning us,” Frank said. “We have to get out of here fast!”

Joe took Iola's left arm and Frank took the right. They started running toward the doors. But before they were even halfway there, the aisle was blocked by a line of grim foes. One, the grimmest of them all, was Marlon Masters.

“So you thought you could frame us,” Marlon called. “Make out that we're some kind of crooks. That I'm some kind of crime boss. But we're not sitting still for your dirty tricks.”

Joe scanned the area, looking for an escape route. It was then that he noticed, to one side of the Starz, Chet, held firmly by Sal Vitello, and Callie, in the grasp of—Hedda Moon.

“Come on, guys,” Marlon yelled. “Grab them!”

The group of Starz started down the aisle. Joe reached over, grasped the handle of a cart
stacked with steel milk cans, and gave it a shove. The cart careered ten feet, then scraped to a stop against a machine. The milk cans cascaded to the floor and rolled toward the Starz. By the time they had dodged around them, Joe, Frank, and Iola were almost to the back wall of the factory.

Frank dashed into the freezer locker. When he reemerged, he had two big cardboard cartons in his arms.

“Whatever's in these,” he said, gasping, “throw it!”

Joe grabbed a carton and ripped it open. He instantly recognized rows of Freddy Fudgies. Too bad—that was one of his favorite flavors, he thought as he pulled one out. It was frozen as hard as a rock. He launched it in the direction of the Starz. Not waiting to see where it landed or what effect it had, he grabbed another and threw it, too. Next to him, Frank and Iola were doing their part, using Rainbow Ripple cones as their ammunition. From down the aisle came cries of pain and anger as the missiles hit their mark.

Frank shouted, “Hold it. Truce!”

Joe stopped with a Freddy Fudgie in each hand.

“Marlon?” Frank said, taking a step forward. “You think we're trying to frame you and take over the Starz, right?”

“You know it, you creep,” Marlon shouted back.

“Then who is the Lunatic?” Frank countered. Silence.

“Who made the Gutfighters become the Comets, and the Gimps become the Mad Martians?” Frank continued. “That was the Lunatic's work, wasn't it? And who decided that your name was going to be the Starz?”

“We did,” Marlon said, in a voice that now sounded indecisive.

“Oh, sure,” Frank said scornfully. “Don't kid me. That was the Lunatic's work, too. And it's the Lunatic who's been trying to frame you, to push you aside and take over the Starz, not us. Haven't you figured it out yet?”

Marlon strode forward, ahead of his paralyzed troops. He stuck out his chin and stared at Frank. “Prove it—right now,” he said. “Or I'm going to grind you into a new flavor.”

Frank gave a short laugh, then said, “How are you with Romance languages, Marlon? Don't you know what a lunatic is? It's someone who's under the influence of . . .”

Marlon's face changed. In a low voice he said, “The moon.” He stood still for a moment. Then he whirled and pointed at Hedda Moon. “You? This is all your doing!”

In the tense silence that followed, the scene looked to Joe like a still photo in an old album. Then Hedda released her grip on Callie and ran toward the loading dock. Joe was next to break
the spell. He ran after her. He reached the open air just as Hedda jumped into the driver's seat of the nearest Freddy Frost truck. The engine howled as the truck accelerated toward the closed gate.

Joe reached deep inside himself and found a spare bit of energy. Sprinting as never before, elbows high and knees pumping, he dashed after the truck and leaped up onto the rear bumper. He flattened his body against the back of the truck and braced himself. He knew that at any moment the truck was going to crash into the factory gate.

As the Freddy Frost truck picked up speed, Joe groped desperately for a handhold. He saw a narrow gap between the top of the rear door and the truck body. He wedged his fingertips into it—just in time. With a lurch, the truck crashed through the gate, then bottomed on its springs as it swerved onto the street.

At the next rough movement, Joe knew he'd be thrown to the pavement. He had to find a better grip, but where? He craned his neck and saw the frame that encircled the roof and held the Freddy Frost lights and sign. How solid was the frame? he wondered. He knew he had no choice—the only way to find out was to try it.

Tightening his left hand into a claw to strengthen his hold on the top of the door, Joe let go with his right hand and reached up as far as he could. His hand touched the front of the frame, but he couldn't quite make it to the top edge. There was no time to hesitate. He crouched slightly, willed all the power into his legs, then leaped.

Joe felt his feet leave the bumper. He shut his eyes, sure he was about to crash to the street. Then his right hand closed over the frame. For several terrifying seconds, he dangled by one arm. Then, with a grateful thought for every chin-up he had ever done, he pulled himself up far enough to grab hold with his left hand, too. Moments later he was hooking a foot over the frame and scrambling onto the roof of the truck.

Joe took a moment to lie flat, catch his breath, and think through the situation. He was much safer now. Unless the truck rolled over, he was not in danger of being thrown off. But safety wasn't the point. The goal was to stop Hedda Moon before anything more happened. And to do that, he needed to be inside the truck, not perched on the roof like it was a tour bus.

Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the interior as he had seen it when he searched Gus's truck. Along the left wall were the freezers. The plastic service window was in the right wall,
about four feet from the rear of the truck. Was there anything directly under it? Joe thought frantically. He only remembered a narrow shelf and a cash box.

Joe tightened his grip as the truck braked and turned left. Then he wiggled over to the right side of the roof and peered over the edge. The service window was directly below him, the top edge only a foot and a half down. But the window was closed. How strong was the plastic? He was about to find out.

Like the trained athlete he was, Joe visualized each aspect of the move he was about to make. Then he took a deep breath, fastened both hands on the wooden framework, and launched himself over the side of the truck. As his body pivoted in space, he jackknifed at the waist and stiffened his legs. His high-tops hit the glass with enormous force, smashing the window.

Joe let go of the roof, tucked one elbow in front of his face for protection, and straightened out. His body followed his feet and legs through the window and into the truck. But as it did, the back of his head banged against the shelf below the window. Joe slumped to the floor, dazed.

The truck swerved one way, then the other. As he rocked back and forth, Joe tried to figure out what was going on. He struggled to his feet and staggered toward the driver's seat. Hedda was
swinging the wheel to the left, then the right, slaloming down the center of the street. Horns blared as cars coming the other way dodged out of the truck's path.

“You've ruined everything!” Hedda screamed over her shoulder to Joe. “But they won't catch me. I'll kill both of us first!”

Joe saw through the windshield that they were only a block and a half from an intersection with a busy avenue. It looked as if Hedda might carry out her threat. Joe lunged forward and tried to grab the wheel, but Hedda elbowed him in the stomach. With a scream of tortured metal, the truck sideswiped a fire hydrant. Joe lost his balance and fell forward. His hands hit a switch on the dashboard. A moment later he heard a familiar melody start up. The words rang in his mind even while the truck was speeding toward a deadly crash.

Freddy Frost is such a treat

We bring dessert right to your street

There wasn't a moment to lose. Joe lunged again at the steering wheel. This time he changed the direction of his attack at the last moment. Taken by surprise, Hedda swayed off balance, leaving Joe the opening he was hoping for. He reached forward, grabbed the ignition
key, and twisted it to Off. Then, for safety, he pulled out the key and threw it out the window.

The Freddy Frost truck coasted to a stop yards from the crowded intersection. Joe kept a firm grip on Hedda, even while she tried to claw at his face. He was relieved to see three other Freddy Frost trucks and two police cruisers pull up next to him. Frank, Chet, and Sal Vitello ran over to the side of the truck, followed by Con Riley and his partner, Officer Anderson.

Joe handed Hedda over to Riley and Anderson, then stepped down into the street. Frank and Chet crowded around to shake his hand and pound him on the back.

“That was some acrobatic trick you did,” Sal said, with an admiring look. “Did you ever think about joining the circus?”

Frank grinned. “Sure he has . . . as a clown!”

Joe grinned back and aimed a punch at Frank's chin—a very slow punch that ended as a tap.

A familiar red car came speeding up and squealed to a stop. Aaron McCay jumped out, a notebook in his hand.

“This is an outrage!” Hedda proclaimed, as Officer Anderson handcuffed her. “You don't have anything against me!”

Sal rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, lady? How about grand theft auto for a start?”

Anderson and Riley led Hedda to the police car. As Riley opened the back door, she shouted, “I'll have your badges for this!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Con Riley replied. “Please watch your head as you get in.”

The police car pulled away. Sal watched it go. Then he turned to the Hardys and their friends. “Let's get these trucks back. We still have ice cream to sell today.”

•   •   •

At the Freddy Frost plant, Frank was surprised to find Marlon Masters deep in conversation with Callie and Iola. He looked up as Frank and the others came in.

“I think I owe thanks to all of you,” Marlon said. “I couldn't understand why all my plans to make the Starz a real community organization kept failing. I blamed you guys. But all along, it was Hedda and her bunch who were playing me for a chump.”

Frank looked around. “Where's Gus?” he asked.

“He split about ten seconds after Hedda did,” Marlon said with a grim smile. “I'll bet Bayport High will get his transfer papers tomorrow morning.”

“Would you fellows please fill me in?” McCay asked plaintively. “What was Hedda Moon after?”

“Maybe that will come out in court,” Frank said. “Here's what we figured. She was trying to unite all the gangs in the area. You're the one who put us onto that. But she was also building an official city organization to work with gangs. The more important the gangs became, the more funds and grants she planned to get for her work with gangs, and the more of that money she could funnel to the gangs themselves. And of course, at the same time, the gangs were starting to take over rackets like the numbers game. Pretty neat . . . and it almost worked.”

“I feel like such a dope,” Sal said. “She talked me into hiring Starz members as a way of helping them go straight. She even convinced me that my man Chet here was a spy who was out to wreck her program.”

“He was,” Joe said. “In a way.”

When the laughter died down, Callie turned to Iola. “What brought you over to the plant this morning?” she asked. “And who put you in the freezer?”

Iola shook her head. “I never saw who it was,” she said. “As for why I came, I wanted to help. And from what Chet said, I was sure that the solution to the mystery was here. I was right, too.”