Flesh and Blood

  Hardy Boys Casefiles - 39

  Flesh and Blood

  By

  Franklin W. Dixon

  Chapter 1

  "This is worse than a nightmare!"

  Frank Hardy brushed back his wet brown hair and scanned the area. The scene looked more like a set for a war movie than downtown Bayport. Several buildings had been leveled, cars had been thrown about like toys, and traffic signs were twisted into pretzel shapes.

  What stunned Frank even more was the fact that the destruction had been caused by a tornado.

  Tornado? Frank thought with a shake of his head. He had seen pictures of tornadoes hitting places like Oklahoma but not in New York and especially not in a coastal city like Bayport. A hurricane would have been more natural.

  A shout snapped Frank from his thoughts.

  "Over here!" Joe Hardy was standing next to Chet Morton, waving for Frank to join them.

  Frank rushed to his younger brother. If Joe could see himself in a mirror, Frank thought, he wouldn't believe it. Always particular about his appearance, Joe looked like a wet mop now. His water-drenched clothes hung on him like soggy rags, and his blond hair was matted flat on his scalp.

  "I think I heard someone under this roof," Chet, the Hardys' best friend, explained as Frank joined them.

  Frank scanned the red-shingled, fifteen-foot section of roof lying on the pavement. The roof had once covered the Bayport Pawn Shop. The tornado had ripped the roof off and thrown it to the ground.

  "If anyone is trapped under there," Frank said, "he can't be alive."

  The roof was made of thick plywood covered over with several layers of shingles. Bricks from the building had fallen onto the roof, adding to its crushing weight. Frank wasn't looking forward to seeing what was under the roof.

  Frank knelt down and slid his hands under the plywood. "Lift on three," he told Joe and Chet.

  Joe and Chet ran to the corners to distribute the weight of the roof evenly.

  Frank counted three, and they lifted, grunting and straining. Slowly the roof cleared the ground with a creak and a groan. A bloody hand shot out from the side.

  "Chet and I can hold it," Joe said quickly, his voice straining from the weight. "You pull him out - but hurry."

  Frank squatted and grabbed the hand.

  "Help me," a man's desperate voice moaned. "Please."

  Frank knew that moving the man might cause him further injury, but he also knew that Joe and Chet couldn't hold the roof for more than a few seconds longer. Their faces were already deep red from straining. He made a quick decision.

  Frank pulled the man free just before the roof fell with a groaning crash.

  "Good timing," Joe said, huffing. His face was still red, his breath coming in gasps. "Is he okay?"

  Frank felt the man's pulse. "It's weak."

  Frank turned toward Chet. "Chet. Call an ambulance."

  Chet didn't answer. He was holding his left hand, grimacing as he looked at his index finger.

  "What's wrong?" Joe asked.

  "I smashed my finger when we dropped the roof," Chet said with a moan. "It feels like it's going to throb off." He started for the van. "I'll call the ambulance."

  "Use the CB," Frank called after Chet. "The tornado knocked out the microwave tower, and the cellular phone is dead."

  "Okay!" Chet shouted back, still cradling his left hand.

  "Great job, guys. This ought to make the lead on tonight's news." Callie Shaw walked briskly up to Frank and Joe, her camcorder held firmly against her face, the red On light flashing. "I got the whole rescue on tape."

  "Ever since you got that 'newshawk' job, you think you're a national newscaster," Joe quipped. Callie had recently been hired as a video newshawk - an amateur news reporter - for WBAY and was looking for her first story.

  "This is the last time I make you a hero, Joe Hardy." Callie turned the camcorder directly on Joe and moved the camera up and down, capturing Joe's wet-cat appearance on videotape. "Wait until the girls get an exclusive look at you, Bayport's most eligible bachelor."

  "Hey!" Joe yelled and made a move toward Callie, who dodged Joe's grasp.

  Chet rejoined the group. "The ambulance is on its way. I thought he could use this." Chet handed Frank an army blanket from the van.

  Frank spread the blanket over the man and reached for his pulse again. He glanced up at Joe and Callie. Callie's mocking smile and Joe's glare told Frank that things were slowly getting back to normal. Not even the presence of a freak early summer tornado could keep Joe and Callie from getting on each other's nerves.

  Frank, Joe, Chet, and Callie had been on their way out of Bayport toward the beach when they heard the tornado warning over the radio. At first, none of them believed it. Then, as they were heading back toward town, they watched in horror as the twister hit. Its angry twisting black funnel cloud snaked out of the sky, with furious winds striking a deadly swath one hundred yards wide and four miles long.

  They had returned to Bayport and started helping the police and fire departments to search for people trapped in buildings. Callie picked up a camcorder at the TV studio and rejoined the boys in her car.

  "Frank! Joe!" a girl yelled from behind them.

  The group turned. Don West and Liz Webling trotted up. Liz was an old friend of the Hardys and had helped them on one of their cases, See No Evil. Joe had once thought of dating Liz. She was smart, athletic, and enjoyed sporting events, but what Joe liked best about Liz was her shiny short blond hair, large hazel eyes, and terrific figure.

  The only thing stopping Joe was Don West. Don had lived in Bayport for three years and had been going steady with Liz for almost two. At six feet, Don was as tall as Joe, just as muscular, and every bit as good-looking. Callie often teased Joe that Don, with his steel gray eyes and long brown hair, was fast replacing Joe as Bayport's heartthrob.

  Liz and Don had also been helping in the search for victims. They were working one block over from the Hardys.

  "Did you reach your father?" Liz asked Joe.

  "Not yet," Joe replied. "The phone lines are down."

  "Use your CB," Don suggested. "You could reach a ham operator, and then he could call your dad."

  "Good idea," Frank said. "Thanks, Don." He ran to the van.

  "I was about to suggest that," Joe said.

  "Sure you were," Callie teased.

  Joe glared at Callie.

  Frank and Joe's father, Fenton Hardy, was in Philadelphia testifying at a trial. The Hardys' mother, Laura Hardy, and their aunt Gertrude had gone with him.

  "Find anything?" Callie asked Liz.

  "No, thank goodness," Liz replied, looking at the man under the blanket. "Is he okay?"

  "We think he will be," Joe replied. "We dragged him out from under that roof."

  "Looks heavy," Liz said.

  "Not really," Joe said with a shrug.

  "Does my finger look blue to you guys?" Chet asked, holding up his swollen index finger.

  "No," Joe said with a smirk. "It looks just as happy as the other nine."

  Chet stared blankly at Joe for a second, then his face screwed into a frown. "Ha, ha," he said slowly. "You're a regular comedian."

  "Whoever heard of a tornado hitting Bayport?" Callie asked. It was a question that had been on all of their minds, but one for which nobody had an answer.

  "Hey, look over there," Liz said, pointing down the street.

  They all turned.

  "Looks like Mangieri's using his five-finger discount credit card again," Joe said.

  Martin Mangieri was just climbing out through the smashed front window of an expensive appliance store with a portable television in his arms.

  Joe easily recognized the short, overweight teenager by his
long hair, which had the texture and color of dirty yellow wall insulation and was pulled back into a ponytail. Even on a perfect summer day he was wearing his scuffed black leather jacket with the gory hand-drawn skull and crossbones on the back.

  Mangieri had been a troublemaker at Bayport High and had been kicked out of school earlier in the year for breaking into the soft drink and candy machines in the student lounge.

  "Let's cancel his credit card," Don suggested.

  Joe was surprised at Don's suggestion. He had never known the quiet senior to be adventuresome.

  "You're on," Joe replied with a wink. "Last one to the creep is a rotten egg." With that, Joe sprinted toward Mangieri.

  "Hey!" Don shouted and then started after Joe. A moment later he was next to the younger Hardy.

  Joe was surprised at Don's speed and wondered why Don hadn't played football or gone out for track.

  They were ten yards from Mangieri when the small-time hood spun around. His face turned a ghostly shade of white, his jaw dropped, and his eyes widened into two large circles of fear. He threw the television at Joe and Don and then darted down the street.

  In unison, Joe and Don hurdled the television as it smashed onto the concrete sidewalk.

  Although short and fat, Mangieri was fast. He's probably had plenty of practice running from police, Joe thought.

  Joe pumped his arms faster and began to gain on Mangieri. He glanced to the side and was pleased to see that Don was lagging behind.

  Joe was an arm's length away when Mangieri suddenly stopped, twisted around, and planted a solid right into Joe's stomach. Joe gasped as the air was knocked out of him and he crashed to the ground.

  Mangieri ran a half block farther and disappeared into an alley.

  "I'll get him," Don announced, sprinting past Joe.

  Joe jumped up and instantly wished he hadn't as his stomach muscles contracted from the pain of Mangieri's blow. He was embarrassed that a runt like Mangieri had outmaneuvered him. His embarrassment kindling his anger, he dashed up the street and into the alley down which Mangieri and Don had disappeared.

  The alley was a dead end - and it was empty.

  Joe moved slowly through the brick corridor, every nerve in his body tense. He listened for any movement.

  The alley served as a back exit for several businesses and was lined with trash dumpsters. It ended at the back wall of another building.

  Joe was halfway down the alley when he was grabbed and jerked to the side. Joe hit the wall, the breath nearly knocked out of him again. He clenched his fist.

  "Not so fast, Joe," Don whispered.

  "What?"

  "Shhh." Don raised a finger to his lips.

  "Where's Mangieri?" Joe angrily whispered.

  Don nodded toward a dumpster directly across from them.

  Joe peered at the dumpster. A bit of black leather jacket hung out between the dumpster and its lid.

  "You want to do the honors, or shall I?" Don asked.

  Joe rubbed his sore stomach. "I will," he growled.

  Joe walked over to the dumpster and threw up the lid.

  Mangieri popped up like a jack-in-the-box, swinging a piece of wood straight at Joe's head. Joe saw the blurred board in time and ducked. The force of Mangieri's swing and miss unbalanced the overweight thief, and he spun around and fell backward head over heels out of the dumpster.

  Mangieri scrambled to his feet. Joe grabbed for the worm, but Mangieri wiggled free and planted a solid left to Joe's already sore gut.

  Joe groaned and clamped his hands on Mangieri's black leather jacket. Twice Mangieri had outmoved him. Joe yanked Mangieri up until the punk was on his tiptoes.

  "All right, broom head," he said. "Now I sweep up the alley with you."

  Mangieri struggled to get free and staggered backward, dragging Joe with him. He tripped and slammed into the wall, Joe falling on top of him. Mangieri lay slumped against the wall. As Joe stood up he heard an ambulance siren stop wailing. The ambulance must have come to pick up the man injured in the tornado.

  "He's out," Don said.

  Joe rubbed his stomach. He fired an angry glare at Don. "Where were you? Why didn't you help?"

  Don held up his hands in innocence. "Hey, man, you said you wanted to take care of this."

  "You okay, Joe?" Frank shouted, running down the alley.

  Mangieri groaned, and Frank looked down at the thug.

  "Joe's just fine," Don answered. "But Mangieri's going to have a pretty bad headache for a while."

  "Liz told me what happened while I was in the van," Frank explained. "I had Callie call the police."

  "Were you able to reach a ham operator?" Joe asked, still holding his stomach.

  "Yeah. Got one in Hoboken. He said he'd call Dad's hotel and tell him and Mom we're okay and so is the house."

  "Let's get Mangieri to your van and wait for the cops," Don suggested.

  Frank and Don helped Mangieri to stand. Mangieri wobbled and nearly fell over, and they had to hold him up as they walked back to the van.

  Officer Con Riley and his partner were waiting when they returned to the Hardys' black van. Callie and Chet were gone.

  "I see you didn't need any help catching the suspect," Officer Riley said with a smile, pushing his hat back on his head.

  "Where are Callie and Chet?" Frank asked Liz.

  "Callie wanted to get her tape to WBAY for editing in time for tonight's news," Liz answered. "Chet went with her after the ambulance left with that injured guy."

  "You guys know Officer Stewart, don't you?" Officer Riley asked, pointing a thumb at the young policeman standing next to him.

  "Sure," Frank said, recognizing the distinctive white blond hair of Stewart. "You used to walk the beat at city hall, didn't you?"

  "That's right," Stewart replied with a smile. "I'll read him his rights, Con."

  Mangieri leaned against the police cruiser. "Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" Patrolman Stewart concluded moments later.

  "Yeah," Mangieri answered weakly.

  "He's probably got them memorized," Joe said sarcastically.

  Mangieri's black eyes flared with anger. He stared at Joe and addressed Officer Riley. "Hey, Riley, how would you like to be a hero? Save somebody's life?"

  "You referring to me, punk?" Joe took a step toward Mangieri.

  Officer Riley put his hand on Joe's shoulder. Joe stopped. Stewart then spun Mangieri around to cuff his hands. "What are you talking about?"

  "I got some information that could get you a promotion, Riley." Mangieri swiveled his head to face Riley. "Only you got to let me go first."

  "You weasel," Joe blurted out.

  "What kind of information?" Officer Riley asked.

  "Someone's going to get killed." Mangieri was calm.

  "Don't believe him, Con," Joe said.

  "You're so smart, Hardy," Mangieri said with a chuckle at Joe. He turned to Officer Riley. "Go ahead. Take me in. Why should I care if someone gets killed."

  "Who?" Officer Riley asked.

  Mangieri stared at Joe and said bluntly, "Fenton Hardy."

  Chapter 2

  "What did you say?" Joe lurched forward and grabbed Mangieri by the front of his jacket.

  Mangieri's smirk quickly melted into fear. Joe held Mangieri up so that they stood nose to nose, the short Mangieri having to stand on tiptoe.

  "Listen, you punk, you'd better explain that last remark."

  "Easy, Joe." Con placed a strong hand on Joe's shoulder and squeezed.

  Joe reluctantly let loose of Mangieri.

  "Why do you want to kill our father?" Frank's brown eyes bore into Mangieri's like drill bits.

  Mangieri, his voice high-pitched, said, "That's not what I meant, man. I didn't say I was going to kill your old man. I said that I heard someone was out to off him."

  "Who?" Frank asked.

  Mangieri's black eyes narrowed. "You want information, Hardy? Dial four-one-one."

&n
bsp; "You slug!" Joe jumped at Mangieri again.

  "All right, Joe!" Officer Stewart shouted and pulled Joe back.

  Joe jerked free and stared at Mangieri.

  "He's lying," Frank said.

  Mangieri tried to avoid the cold, rock-hard stares of the Hardys. He slipped into the cruiser through the door Officer Riley was holding open. "Man, how do you know I'm lying?" he shouted from inside the car.

  "Your lips are moving," Joe replied without missing a beat.

  Mangieri looked like a caged animal. He pressed up against the door and stared straight ahead.

  Suddenly he turned his head to Joe. "Forget it, man," he said with a laugh. "I don't say nothing until I see a lawyer. Then I see what kind of a deal I can cut."

  Frank looked at Riley and started to ask, "Do you think - "

  "Sorry, Frank," Riley interrupted. "This is out of my hands. He's asked for his lawyer. The only thing I can do is finish processing the arrest."

  "Don't you believe him about someone out to kill Mr. Hardy?" Don asked.

  "That's not the point," Riley said.

  "What is the point?" Joe took a step toward Officer Riley. "This creep made a threat against my dad."

  Riley's face tightened into an angry expression. The police veteran straightened to his full height and returned Joe's steely stare.

  "Your father's the best friend this police department has, and if someone's threatening his life, we'll take care of him." He took a deep breath, and his face relaxed. "Besides, Mangieri's been known to try to lie his way out of jail before. He's probably just bluffing." He looked at Frank. "You two take it easy until we get the truth out of him."

  "Yes, sir," Frank said. He tapped Joe on the shoulder and nodded toward the van. Joe backed away from the cruiser, his eyes steady on Mangieri in the backseat.

  Officer Riley slammed the back door shut, jumped into the front seat, waited for Stewart to get into the car, and pulled away from the group.

  "What are you going to do?" Liz asked.

  "Go to the police station to find out if Mangieri's telling the truth," Frank replied as he hopped into the van. Joe planted himself in the driver's seat.

  "Call us if you need any help," Don said as he slipped an arm around Liz, and the two of them headed back to help with the tornado cleanup.