Warehouse Rumble (6 page)

“Where are you going?” Willingham asked.

“Home,” Steve said. “We’re out of here before we end up as casualties on the evening news. Good luck, everyone.” He and his partner left without looking back.

Willingham rolled his eyes and sighed, “Why me?”

“That’s a very good question,” Stacia said. She thrust her microphone into Willingham’s face as her cameraman focused in on the producer. “Do you think the location you’ve chosen for
Warehouse Rumble
is inherently dangerous?”

“Where did you come from?” Willingham asked, clearly exasperated. “How did you get in here?”

“You’ve got lawyers, police, and soon, firefighters crawling all over—and you ask how I got here?” Stacia replied. “I repeat my question: Is this warehouse dangerous?”

“My client refuses to answer that!” interjected Willingham’s lawyer as he and Herman Jackson ran up.

“My warehouse is
not
unsafe,” Jackson added.

“Then why are you tearing it down?” the reporter countered.

“Get out of here, all of you!” Willingham said. “Jackson, have our lawyer get rid of this woman. I have a show to run.”

“Not right now, you don’t,” said Riley as he
strode onto the set. The policeman looked as mad as a swarm of hornets. Hessmann and his lawyer followed right behind the cop.

“Mr. Willingham,” Riley said, “you promised me that your show would run safely if I let you continue until your lawyer and Mr. Jackson arrived.”

“Well,” Jackson said, “now I
am
here—and I’ve got our writ—so the show can continue as scheduled.”

“Not tonight, it can’t!” Riley barked. “I’ve had it up to here with you lawyers and TV people. I’m taking
all
of you, and your court orders, down to the station until we can sort things out.”

“That’s fine with me,” Clark Hessmann said. “I told you something like this would happen.”

“Of course it’s fine with him,” Willingham countered. “That’s what he wanted in the first place.”

“Look,” Riley said, “you’ve had a major accident here. The fire department is on the way. You’re going to have to get their okay before I’ll let you start shooting again.”

By now everyone in the warehouse had gathered to see what the commotion was about. Chet and Daphne sneaked up next to Frank and Joe.

“Quite a show,” Chet whispered.

“Let’s hope it’s not the final curtain—it was kind of fun,” Frank replied.

Willingham sighed theatrically. “Okay, I guess we’re shutting down for today.” He turned to the contestants. “That’s a wrap, everybody! See you all
at nine tomorrow morning.” To the crew, he added, “Get this fixed. Work overtime, if you have to.”

“
After
the fire department finishes their safety check,” Riley added. “Mr. Willingham, Mr. Hessmann, Ms. Allen, and the rest of you, come on. We’ve all got a date downtown.”

“While we’re there, I’d like to make a formal complaint against Mr. Hessmann,” Jackson said. “I have a restraining order on him, and he’s violating it right now.”

Hessmann started to say something, but Riley cut him off. “One thing at a time,” he said, clearly irritated. “Let’s go.”

Eyeing one another warily, Willingham, Jackson, Hessmann, Stacia Allen, and the lawyers all followed Riley out of the building. Willingham left Julie Kendall behind to supervise and coordinate with the fire department.

The Hardys and their friends headed for the parking lot. They got into the van just as the first fire truck arrived.

“Who’d have thought working on a reality show would be so exciting?” Joe said sardonically.

“Since there are TV dollars involved, I’m sure they’ll sort it out by tomorrow morning,” Frank said.

On the way home the brothers filled Chet and Daphne in on Joe’s near-electrocution and Frank’s timely rescue.

“So Todd Sabatine knocked down the lights,” Chet said.

“He claimed he was pushed,” Joe replied. “Frank, did you notice if Bo was around when the accident happened?”

Frank shook his head. “Nope. I was pretty busy saving your life.” He smiled at his brother. “I don’t remember seeing Reid in the crowd after the accident, though.”

“That’s a pretty extreme way to get revenge,” Daphne said. “Even if Bo
is
a jerk.”

“It’s been a pretty extreme couple of days,” Frank said.

“Don’t tell me this is turning into another case,” Chet moaned. “All I wanted was some fun, relaxation, and maybe a prize. Is that too much to ask?”

•  •  •

After several hours of discussion and banter, Willingham’s lawyers prevailed. By the following morning the TV crew was ready to rumble once more. The mock toxic waste pool set was still a mess, though the staff hoped to have it ready for shooting again the following day. After checking the warehouse, fire marshals had given permission to continue shooting.

Despite their victory, the expressions on the faces of Willingham and his staff were grim as the four teens arrived at the set just before nine
A.M.
“We’ve had some trouble with the teams,” Julie
Kendall told them. She forced a cheerful smile.

“What kind of trouble?” Frank asked.

“Well, after the . . . difficulties yesterday, some contestants decided to drop out. But don’t worry, we’ve reconstituted some new teams from the remaining members. The competition will go on.”

One of the renovated teams belonged to Bo. His redheaded partner didn’t show up that morning. Bo was now paired with Lily, though neither of them seemed too pleased about it.

“With their partners out, they’re lucky to be in the contest at all,” Chet noted.

Todd, his ankle wrapped in an Ace bandage, was still hanging around the set to lend his sister moral support. The Hardys, Chet, and Daphne saw a few other gawkers hanging around, but no sign of Stacia Allen.

With the toxic-pool game out of commission, Frank and Joe were reassigned to another morning event. As luck would have it, they ended up paired with Chet and Daphne for a combined “tunnel run” through the bowels of the old warehouses.

“This is a test of cooperation, speed, and the ability to follow directions,” Ward Willingham explained. “The world is in sorry shape in the future, and you’ll be traversing treacherous tunnels in search of clues about where the final treasure is. Concentrate, and watch out for ‘monsters’ and other hazards.” He smiled his patented Hollywood smile. “Your times
through the course will be compared to those of the other teams. This will determine who advances into the next round of
Warehouse Rumble.
Got it?”

The Hardys and their friends nodded.

“All right, on the Klaxon, go!” Willingham said. The cameras rolled, and the four teens stood on the starting line. Joe held one set of directions to follow, and Daphne another. They were forbidden to exchange papers, and needed to work together toward their common goal.

With the blare of the siren, the two teams dashed off the line together. They leaped over several bits of “wreckage” and opened an old steel door. Beyond the door was a staircase leading down. Frank and Chet activated their lightsticks, and all four of them headed into the dark underbelly of the warehouse.

Once they reached the bottom landing they began reading off the directions they’d been given. A remote-control camera at the foot of the stairs tracked their actions as they raced into the darkness.

The tunnels had once supplied power and heating to the huge warehouses above. Long, heavy pipes and electrical conduits ran along the walls and ceiling. Many rooms—storage, maintenance, boiler rooms, furnaces, and water facilities—branched off the main tunnel. The whole structure formed a huge, dismal maze beneath the aging factory complex. Green-gray mold dappled the walls; dark puddles of rancid water dotted the floor.

The TV crew had placed huge fake spiders and other hairy mutant creatures in niches along the walls. Some of these hid cameras; most were only there for shock value. The first few gave the teens a start, but once they realized what the creatures were, they paid no attention to the rest. They couldn’t be sure, though, if the rats prowling around were real, or merely another special effect.

They navigated skillfully through the tunnels, though the oppressive darkness made it difficult to tell how long they’d been in the maze.

“This way!” Frank called from up ahead. They were all tired and sweating, but knew they couldn’t afford rest if they wanted a winning time.

“Right behind you!” Chet called. He and Daphne weren’t as athletic as the brothers, and had fallen behind.

Suddenly, Daphne tripped and landed hard in a slimy puddle. “Oof!”

“Are you okay?” Chet asked. He offered her a hand up.

“Hang on,” she said. A puzzled look drew over her face. “I think I found something.”

She handed Chet her direction sheet while she groped around in the puddle for a second. She pulled her hand up again and held something next to the glowstick. The eerie light reflected off the object’s surface.

In her fingers Daphne held a golden ring.

“I think I found part of the treasure!” Daphne exclaimed.

Joe and Frank stopped and retraced their steps to where Daphne crouched, holding the ring.

“Where?” Joe asked.

“In this puddle,” Daphne replied. She felt around for more, but didn’t turn up anything.

“That’s odd,” Frank said.

“They told us pieces of treasure would be scattered through the courses,” Chet noted.

“Maybe,” Joe said, “or maybe it’s just here to slow us down.”

“Joe’s right,” Frank said. “This event is about time, not treasure.”

“Yeah, okay,” Daphne said. Chet helped her
to her feet, and they all began running again.

It took them nearly five more minutes to navigate the rest of the maze-like course. Even the dim daylight of the old warehouse seemed blinding as they dashed up the final stairs and across the finish line. The finish siren blared, and they stopped, panting, to catch their breaths.

Willingham came over and congratulated them. “You posted a great time.”

“So that bit of treasure we found in the tunnel was just to slow us down,” Frank said.

Willingham looked puzzled. He glanced at his staff. “Did you place some treasure for this game?” he asked. “That wasn’t in the course design.”

All of the crew nearby shrugged. “Not us, boss,” said one.

Willingham scratched his head. “Show me what you found,” he said.

Daphne held out her hand. In her palm rested a wide gold band, studded with emeralds.

Willingham took the ring and turned it over in his hand. “No treasure scheduled for the game looked like this. It’s a really nice piece—if it’s real.” He peered over the edge of his omnipresent sunglasses, his eyes gleaming. “Let me ask Ms. Kendall and see if it belongs to any of the other contestants. Meet us in the refreshment area in a couple minutes. Okay?”

“Sure,” Daphne said.

“You’re the producer,” Chet added.

Willingham grinned, handed the ring back to Daphne, and jogged off on his errand.

“Refreshments sound good,” Joe said. “After that run, I could use a drink.”

“All of us could,” Frank said.

The four teens headed for the break area near the warehouse’s main doors. As they arrived they spotted Stacia Allen and her cameraman poking around.

“I thought you’d been banned from the set,” Frank said.

“Mr. Willingham and I reached an agreement,” Ms. Allen replied. “I get to film any news events—just not the show itself.”

“So you think there’s going to be more news around the shoot?” Joe asked.

“Are you kidding? With the cops and the lawyers poking around, there’s
bound
to be something juicy. Besides, you can’t keep out the press, you know.”

Frank and Joe glanced at each other and frowned. Neither thought much of Ms. Allen’s press credentials. The four teens turned and headed toward a nearby cooler and pulled out some soft drinks. Ms. Allen and her cameraman followed.

“So,” the reporter asked nonchalantly, “how is the game going for you?”

“Why not ask Mr. Willingham?” Joe replied.

Ms. Allen smiled. “So young, so brainwashed.”

“We know which side our bread is buttered on,” Chet said.

“I bet you do,” Ms. Allen replied. She turned to Daphne. “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?”

“Just a trinket from the game,” Frank said.

“Can I see it?” Ms. Allen asked. Her cameraman edged closer to Daphne.

“Check with Mr. Willingham first,” Daphne replied, clenching her fist tight.

“Speaking of whom . . . ,” said Joe.

Willingham and Ms. Kendall had spotted the reporters and were hurrying toward the group.

“Ms. Allen,” Julie Kendall said, “you
know
you’re not supposed to interview contestants.”

“I can if they’re newsworthy,” Ms. Allen replied coolly. “This group was involved in yesterday’s accident.”

“Not all of them,” Willingham said. “Talk to these Hardy brothers if you want. Ms. Kendall and I need Soesbee and Morton for a moment.”

“Fine by me, Ward,” Stacia Allen said. She flashed an insincere smile.

Willingham shot the same smile back. “Be good, Stacia,” he said. He and Ms. Kendall took Daphne and Chet into a corner a short distance away. Ms. Allen spoke to her cameraman briefly, then sat down on a folding chair next to the brothers.

She quizzed the Hardys for about ten minutes, trying to get them to implicate the creator and crew of
Warehouse Rumble
in the previous day’s electrical accident. Frank and Joe didn’t take the bait.
Allen’s cameraman walked all around the trio as they spoke, filming from every angle.

Allen ended the interview abruptly. If she was frustrated by the Hardys’ answers, however, she didn’t let it show. She thanked the brothers and scurried off with her cameraman at the same time Chet and Daphne returned from their conference with Willingham and Ms. Kendall.

“So, did you give her any dirt?” Chet asked.

“Nothing she could even plant a dandelion in,” Joe replied. They all laughed. “What did you turn up on the ring?”

“Ms. Kendall said it wasn’t from the show’s planned troves,” Daphne said.