The Mark of the Blue Tattoo (8 page)

Hedda climbed out from behind the wheel and joined him. “Marlon's right,” she said. “This is pointless. You're just asking for trouble.”

Dino clambered to his feet, his fists clenched. Joe got ready to defend himself against any blow that came his way. But Dino looked over at Gus, then, seeming to waver, toward Hedda and Marlon.

“Break it off. That's an order,” Marlon said. “Scram this minute, or you'll have to deal with me instead of these dorks.”

Joe didn't like being called a dork, but he was glad to see that Dino and his buddies were moving away, their shoulders slumped. And why not? Twice they had had two-to-one superiority over Joe and Frank, and twice they had come out on the losing end. Not a great record when you liked to think of yourselves as tough guys.

Marlon trotted over to the gang members. Taking Gus and Dino by the elbows, he walked
them to the station wagon, talking in low tones. Then he got in with the four Starz and they drove away. Gus couldn't resist giving Joe a final scowl.

Hedda walked up to Joe, Frank, and Callie. “I'm upset with you,” she said. “Upset, and very disappointed. I thought we could work together, but I'm beginning to realize that you like nothing better than to make trouble.”

Joe was stung by the scorn in her voice. “All we did was defend ourselves when those creeps jumped us,” he said.

“I know why you and your friends came here tonight,” Hedda replied. “More spying and prying. You can't deny it, can you? I thought not,” she added after Joe and Frank did not reply. “You know, until you started interfering, my work with the Starz was going well. I was beginning to turn them around, to get them off a collision course with the authorities. Now look at how they're behaving.”

“You can't keep creeps from acting like creeps,” Frank said. “That's the way they are.”

Hedda's face grew taut. “Very smart, Frank Hardy,” she said. “But I want to tell you this. You and your organization had better get with the program, and do it fast. Otherwise, I am going to see that you have some major headaches.”

Not waiting for Frank's response, she turned and stomped off to her car. Moments later she drove away.

“Where are those cops you called?” Joe asked Callie.

Callie gave a shaky laugh. “I don't have a cell phone,” she said. “I was bluffing. I knew I had to do something. But I was so scared!”

Joe grinned. “So were we,” he told her. “But we came through it okay. Hedda's pretty gutsy, isn't she? I wish she wasn't so down on us.”

“What about that girl you were supposed to meet, Callie?” Frank asked. “She didn't show, did she?”

“No, she didn't,” Callie replied.

“But the Starz did,” Joe pointed out.

“I know what you're thinking,” Callie said. “I thought of it, too. But I really don't think Stephanie would help them set a trap for me. I don't know her well, but she doesn't seem like the type who would send someone into such a dangerous situation.”

“Then how did Gus and Dino know to come here?” Frank asked. “Not to mention Marlon and Hedda Moon. Coincidence?”

“I don't know,” Callie cried. “But I don't believe Stephanie would set me up. Look, I'm going home to call her. Would you mind following me? I'm sure nothing will happen, but . . .”

“No problem,” Joe said. “In fact, Frank's planning to ride shotgun with you. Right, Frank?”

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Frank said solemnly.

The drive to Callie's house was uneventful. Mrs. Shaw met them at the door. “Some girl named Stephanie has called half a dozen times for you. She sounds very distressed,” she said.

Callie gave Joe and Frank a glance, then hurried to the phone in the hall. The conversation that followed was too low for Joe to hear. After a couple of minutes, Callie replaced the receiver and turned to them.

“Dino came over this afternoon to question Stephanie,” she reported. “He said he'd seen her talking to me. She got really scared and ended up telling him about our date at the Starlight Diner. After he left, she called to warn me, but I'd already left the house. She wants to get together with me tomorrow. I said yes.”

“Are you sure that's such a hot idea?” Frank asked.

“I believe her,” Callie insisted. “And I think she needs my help.
Our
help.”

Frank looked troubled, but all he said was “Well, okay . . . but be careful. And keep us posted on everything you do.”

On the drive home, Joe and Frank talked over the question of Stephanie's role. Was she in on it or was she a victim? If she was a victim, what did she know that the Starz were so determined to keep the Hardys from finding out? Interesting questions, they agreed, but there was no way to answer them without more information.

Back home, they found their parents in the living room. The television was tuned to a program about a new crime bill Congress was considering.

“There's a casserole staying warm for you in the oven,” Mrs. Hardy told them. “And a fresh container of chocolate swirl ice cream in the freezer.”

Joe grinned. “After listening to some of Chet's ideas for ice-cream flavors, chocolate swirl sounds so bland,” he said.

“And so normal,” Frank added as the two brothers headed for the kitchen.

Frank served up two portions of tuna noodle casserole while Joe poured two glasses of iced tea, then they sat at the kitchen table to eat. They were halfway through when the phone rang.

“I'll get it,” Frank mumbled through a mouthful.

Joe reached the phone first. “Hello?” he said.

“Joe, listen, it's Biff,” came a frantic voice. “Somebody just smashed the side window of my mom's car. They got away before I could get a look at them. But they spray-painted a blue star on the windshield. What's going on?”

“I'm not sure, but I can guess,” Joe replied. He covered the receiver and relayed Biff's startling news to Frank. Then he said to Biff, “There's nothing you can do tonight, so try not to worry. We'll figure out our next move tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Biff said. “But in the meantime, what do I tell my mom? She's going to kill me!”

“Just chill . . .” Joe began. But before he could get the rest of the words out of his mouth, he heard a sharp impact outside, followed by a rain of glass onto concrete.

Frank ran toward the back door. Joe, who was closer, reached the door first and flung it open. Clearing the steps in one jump, he dashed toward the van. Still on the porch, Frank saw two shadowy figures rising out of the bushes. Both held baseball bats.

“Joe!” Frank shouted. “On your left!”

Joe spun around. Frank jumped up onto the railing of the porch and launched himself at the attacker closer to him. He hit his target at chest height and carried his opponent to the ground. But his opponent twisted as he fell. Frank ended up underneath his assailant, with the boy's bony knee poking Frank under his ribs.

Frank started to push the boy off. He looked up
and saw the butt end of a bat coming straight at him. He twisted his head to the right. The bat hit the ground less than an inch from his ear. Frank clasped his hands together and thrust them up under his attacker's chin. The boy let out a choking sound and fell backward. Frank sprang to his feet, grabbed the bat away from him, and turned to see how Joe was doing.

Joe was doing fine. His opponent was racing down the driveway, leaving his bat on the ground as a trophy. Joe leaned over to pick it up, then decided there was no point in chasing him. I'll know his face next time I see him, he thought to himself.

Let's see what my guy has to say for himself, Frank thought, looking over his shoulder. His opponent seemed to be trying to set a new record for the fifty-meter sprint. He was rounding the corner of the house when the sound of an accelerating car came from the street. He let out a cry of angry despair and ran faster.

Frank looked over at Joe and started laughing. Then he noticed that the side window of the van was broken. The laughter died.

Through clenched teeth, Frank said, “Whatever those worms are up to, we're going to stop them!”

“I'm with you all the way,” Joe said. “But the
first thing we'd better do is warn everybody we know to watch out for acts of vandalism tonight. We don't want these guys to give the auto glass shop any more new business tonight.”

On their way back to the house, Frank asked, “Your guy—was he one of the ones at the diner?”

Joe shook his head. “Nope. I'm definite on that. How about yours?”

“I don't think so,” Frank replied. “Next question—did they have enough time to get here from Biff's house, or are we dealing with more than one platoon?”

Joe gave him a sour smile. “ ‘Platoon' is a big word for two punks,” he said. “But it sure looks like a coordinated assault. And to me that spells Marlon Masters. I doubt if Gus French could manage to mount a coordinated assault on his own shoelaces.”

“Don't underestimate him just because he acts like a creep,” Frank said. “History is full of efficient creeps.”

They went into the house, and Frank dialed Callie's number. She told him that she had put her car in the garage and locked the door. She also promised to turn on the floodlights in the driveway.

Tony Prito was still at Mr. Pizza. His mother, alarmed by Frank's message, said she would be
sure to pass it along. In fact, she said, she was going to call Tony the second she and Frank got off the phone.

“I hope we're not like the boy who cried wolf,” Frank said to Joe when he hung up.

Joe shrugged. “Too bad if we are. Think how we would feel if someone else's car window got smashed and we could have prevented it from happening.”

He took the phone from Frank and dialed the Mortons' number. Chet answered. When Joe told him of the two attacks, his friend sounded alarmed. “Oh, great,” he moaned. “If I've got to pay for a broken windshield, it'll take a few weeks' worth of salary. Joe, what's going on?”

“You're in a better place to know than I am,” Joe replied. “It's clearly got something to do with Freddy Frost and the people who work there. Do you have something at home that shows everybody's routes? Maybe that'll give us some idea.”

“Sure,” Chet said. “I'll drop it by tonight. I can't stay, though. I need to be in good shape for work tomorrow.”

“Well,” Joe said, “if we can't talk tonight, we should sit down tomorrow and hash this whole thing out.”

“Hash!” Chet exclaimed. “Of course—hash ice cream! I never thought of that. Why don't you enter it in the contest?”

“Look, are you going to meet us tomorrow or not?” Joe demanded. Usually he loved trading quips with his friend, but he was in no mood. “I'm sorry, Chet,” he said. “It's been a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” Chet said. He agreed to meet the Hardys at a luncheonette near the Freddy Frost plant around noon. “And if I have time tonight after I get back from your house,” he added, “I'll run up some samples of different flavors of hash ice cream and bring them along tomorrow.”

“Don't go to any bother,” Joe said as he hung up the phone. “Please don't bother,” he added, his mood lightening.

•   •   •

Over breakfast the next morning, Frank studied the chart of Freddy Frost routes. “I have had it up to here with counterpunching,” he said. “It's time to seize the upper hand in this case.”

“Sounds good,” Joe said. He spooned a slice of banana out of his bowl of cereal before adding, “And how will we do that?”

Frank counted on his fingers. “First, we take the van in to have the window replaced. Then we borrow a car. As ordinary as we can find.”

“Custom-made for a tail,” Joe remarked. “And then?”

“Then we follow Gus French on his ice-cream
route,” Frank said. “This whole business started the other day the moment when Chet started driving for Freddy Frost. What we have to do once and for all is find out why.”

“Jealousy?” Joe suggested. “Greed and envy? Power?”

“Or all of the above,” Frank said in a gloomy voice. “The point is, we don't know. And until we do, this mystery is going to stay as murky as the milk in your cereal.”

Joe glanced down, then said, “Do you suppose anybody has made banana-peach-granola ice cream?”

“Don't say it out loud,” Frank replied. “If you do, I know who'll try it—and it'll be your fault.”

An hour later the Hardys were sitting in the front seat of a light blue economy sedan that belonged to their aunt Gertrude. They were parked thirty yards up the road from the gate to the Freddy Frost plant.

“I wish we'd borrowed something with more power,” Frank said. “What'll happen if you have to step on the gas?”

“The car will move in a forward direction,” Joe told him. “Look, stop worrying. High-speed chases are illegal in this state, even if you're in a police cruiser with a wailing siren on the roof. And I guarantee that this crate is at least as peppy as a Freddy Frost truck. Speaking of which . . .” As a familiar-looking truck approached
the gate, Joe reached forward and turned the key in the ignition.

Frank lifted a pair of lightweight binoculars to his eyes. “That's Gus,” he said. “Come on, Joe, let's move!”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Have you ever noticed how slow those guys go?” he demanded. “They must buy those trucks with a special super-low gear. If I don't let him get at least a block-and-a-half lead, we're going to be crawling up his rear bumper!”

For the next forty minutes Joe used all his skill and training to keep Gus's truck in sight without tipping off the Starz second-in-command that he was under surveillance. Sometimes he hung a couple of blocks back, while Frank watched through the binoculars. Other times, he took the risk of passing the stopped truck, then taking a parking slot farther along on Gus's route.