The Mark of the Blue Tattoo Page 2

  Inside the garage Joe saw the familiar shape of a Freddy Frost truck. Joe grabbed the edge of the door and tugged it open. Frank pulled at the other door.

  Iola rushed in. A moment later, she called, “Chet’s over here! He’s tied up!”

  Joe and the others hurried over. Chet was sitting on the garage floor. His wrists and ankles were fastened with heavy gray tape. Another strip of tape covered his mouth.

  “Mmm-m-m,” Chet said, giving them a pleading look.

  Frank held one side of the tape across Chet’s mouth. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. He peeled off the tape with a snap of his wrist.

  “Ouch!” Chet exclaimed, rubbing his cheek. “You weren’t kidding!”

  Meanwhile, Joe was using the scissors blade on his pocketknife to cut through the tape on Chet’s wrists and ankles. When he finished, he and Iola helped Chet to his feet.

  “Thanks, guys. I thought I might have to spend the rest of my life in here,” Chet said, wobbling a little.

  “What happened?” Iola asked.

  “I was parked at a playground, selling a little girl a Freddy Fudgie, when I heard the door of the truck slide open,” Chet told them. “I turned around and saw these two guys wearing ski masks. They told me to get moving or else.”

  “Were they armed?” Frank asked.

  Chet shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. They said they were, and they kept putting their hands in their pockets. I didn’t feel like finding out. Anyway, they told me to drive here. One of them opened the garage. Once we were inside, they tied me up and left.”

  “Just like that?” Joe asked. “What about your money?”

  “It’s still in my belt pouch,” Chet replied. “They weren’t interested in the money. They didn’t even help themselves to a free ice cream. It’s weird, I know. But that’s what happened. Maybe they just don’t like me.”

  “I wonder if any of the other Freddy Frost drivers have had this kind of harassment,” Frank said.

  “I can ask around,” Chet said. “Not that I really know anybody yet. Why? What do you think it means?”

  “This could be part of a plot to extort money from the company,” Frank said. “You know—’Pay us off, or we’ll ruin your business.’ ”

  “That would mean that they weren’t after Chet personally,” Iola pointed out. “I’d like that a lot better.”

  Chet broke into a grin. “Believe me, so would I. But listen, guys, I’d better get back to selling some ice cream. I don’t get paid for lying around in a garage with tape on my face.”

  “Just one thing,” Joe said. “You said you heard the truck door slide open. Wouldn’t the truck door have been locked?”

  A look of surprise crossed Chet’s face. “Yeah . . . I mean I thought it was. Company rules—keep the truck locked at all times. I guess I must have messed up.”

  “Maybe,” Joe said. “Or maybe the guys who got in had a key.”

  “An inside job, you mean?” Callie asked.

  “It makes sense in a way,” Joe told her. “The crooks knew where to find Chet. And they’d obviously decided to use this garage in advance.”

  “There’s one thing I should tell you,” Chet said reluctantly, staring at the floor. “Both of those guys were wearing gloves. But when they were taping me up, I got a glimpse of one guy’s wrist. He had a tattoo there. A little blue star.”

  Joe frowned, as he tried to figure out what this implied. “The Starz?” he finally said. “Do they have tattoos? Do you think—”

  “I don’t know,” Chet replied. He sounded tired all of a sudden. “Lots of people have tattoos. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

  “It’s quite a coincidence, though,” Frank said. “We just had problems with the Starz at lunch-time. Mr. Vincenza asks us to look into a problem that sounds gang-related. And a few hours later, you get harassed. I’d say we need to take a very close look at Marlon and his buddies.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” Iola said, taking her brother’s arm. “What would have happened if we hadn’t come looking for you? Would those guys have left you here to starve?”

  Chet turned pale at the thought. He was opening his mouth to reply, when one of the garage doors was flung back with a crash.

  “Freeze!” a voice shouted. A powerful flashlight beam flooded the inside of the garage. Narrowing his eyes against the glare, Joe saw the outlines of two people crouched in the opening. Both of them were holding guns.

  3 Tracking the Tailer

  * * *

  “Freeze!” the voice yelled again. “Police!”

  Frank stood still, his hands held carefully away from his sides. He knew that the two police officers had no way of knowing what they would face inside the gloomy garage, and he didn’t want to do anything that might make them nervous. Moments later he and his friends were braced against the wall of the garage with their hands over their heads and their feet spread wide.

  “Hey, wait a minute, Anderson,” one of the officers said, as his partner, a woman, started to frisk Callie. “Those two over there are Fenton Hardy’s kids. You know, the private eye. They’re okay.”

  Frank recognized the voice of Officer Con Riley. Frank and Joe had helped Riley on several of his cases. As a result, he was one of the few members of the Bayport Police Force who treated the Hardy brothers as useful resources instead of nuisances.

  After telling Frank and his friends to straighten up, Riley asked, “And what might you be doing on private property with an ice-cream truck?”

  Chet quickly explained.

  “Two guys in ski masks?” Officer Anderson repeated skeptically. “That sounds like something you got out of a movie.”

  “Yeah, a horror movie,” Chet replied. “But no, this was real.”

  As Frank had predicted to his friends earlier, Riley said, “But they didn’t take anything—money, merchandise, right? Sounds like a practical joke that went too far. Do you know anybody who has a grudge against you, son?” he asked Chet.

  Chet shook his head, then glanced at Frank, as if to ask if he should mention the Starz. Frank in turn gave a tiny shake of his head. One briefly glimpsed tattoo wasn’t enough evidence to accuse Marlon’s gang of being criminals, he thought.

  Before the police officers could pose any more questions, Frank asked, “What brought you here?”

  “We got a phone call,” Riley said. “Suspicious activity. Prowler.”

  “Was it an anonymous call?” Joe asked eagerly.

  “That’s right,” Riley said.

  “Did the caller mention us?” Callie asked. “I mean, did he say a bunch of people? Or just a prowler?”

  Riley hesitated, then said, “I’d have to check the taped record of the call. But to the best of my recollection, he said ‘a prowler breaking into the garage.’ ”

  “I’ll bet it was the kidnappers!” Iola exclaimed. “They wanted to make sure that Chet was found. That makes me feel a lot better.”

  “Not me,” Chet retorted, rubbing the red marks left on his wrists by the tape. “Iola, thinking that the kidnappers were concerned for my welfare sounds like wishful thinking to me. Personally, I’d like to string them up by their thumbs.”

  He glanced at his watch and added, “If I don’t put in some more time on my route, this is going to be my first and last day on the job. Is that okay, officers?”

  Anderson closed her notebook and said, “Fine. We’ve got your phone numbers, in case we have any more questions.” Reaching for her coin purse, she added, “By the way, do you guys still carry Freddy Fudgies? That used to be a favorite of mine. I haven’t had one in years.”

  Chet climbed into the truck and found a Freddy Fudgie for Officer Anderson. Then the officers left. While Frank and Joe held the sagging garage doors open, Callie and Iola guided Chet as he drove backward down the driveway and onto the street. Moments later the melody of “Freddy Frost is such a treat” tinkled through the neighborhood again.

  As she got into the van, Iola
said, “Do you think we could follow him? It’ll make him feel better, and I’d like to be sure nothing else happens to him today.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Frank said. He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s already after six. He’ll have to take the truck back pretty soon.”

  Joe started the van and began to creep down the street in the wake of the Freddy Frost truck. At his second stop, Chet leaned out the window and waved to them. Then he gestured for them to go ahead. Apparently he had regained his confidence.

  “What now? Call it a day?” Joe asked.

  Frank glanced back at Callie and Iola. As he did, he noticed a familiar red compact car halfway down the block. It was double-parked in front of a convenience store.

  “Joe, our tail’s back,” Frank said. “Make a quick U-turn, and let’s see if we can get a good look at him.”

  Even before Frank finished his sentence, Joe cranked the wheel over and hit the gas. The rear end of the van fishtailed, then straightened out.

  As they barreled down the street toward the red car, Joe switched on the headlights, on high beam. Frank got a solid look at the car’s driver before he, in turn, floored his accelerator and roared away, tires squealing.

  “Male, white, about thirty-five,” Frank said aloud. “Round face, balding, gold stud in left earlobe.”

  Joe added, “Wearing designer sunglasses and a red-and-green Hawaiian shirt. And the missing letters on the license plate are T and M.”

  “You guys are amazing,” Callie said with admiration. “I only got about half of that.”

  “Early training,” Frank explained. “Dad used to play Kim’s Game with us when we were little.”

  “What’s that?” asked Iola.

  “It’s from a book by Kipling,” Joe replied. “The way the hero, Kim, learned to be observant was, they’d show him a tray with a couple of dozen gemstones on it for a minute or so. Then they’d cover it, and he’d have to name as many as he could—from memory.”

  “Dad didn’t use gemstones, though,” Frank added. “He used all kinds of other stuff—stamps, paper clips, matchbooks, ballpoint pens. It was fun.”

  “Especially when we finally started getting everything right,” Joe said with a laugh. “Until then, I thought it was the pits. Uh-oh,” he said, looking at his watch. “We’d better be getting home.”

  Callie was planning to give Iola a ride home, but her car was still at school. Joe drove to the parking lot. As the girls were getting out, Joe said, “Iola, will you tell Chet that we’ll drop by to see him after dinner?”

  Iola smiled. “Are you planning to grill him?” she asked, teasing.

  “Just a few routine questions, ma’am,” Joe replied.

  More seriously, Frank said, “At the start of a case, you never know what information might give you the clue you need to solve it.”

  “By the way,” Callie said, “Iola and I were in at the beginning, and we plan to stay in until we solve this case. Right, Iola?”

  “Of course,” Iola said emphatically. “And don’t forget about Chet himself. You’ll hurt his feelings if you don’t let him help.”

  “We’ll remember that,” Frank promised.

  When Frank and Joe reached home, they booted their computer and logged on to the Net. Ten minutes later, they had traced the license-plate number they needed. The red compact car belonged to a car-rental agency in Martin’s Landing, a town about twenty miles from Bayport.

  Joe looked at Frank. “Looks like we’ll have to find out who our tail is the old-fashioned way—by asking him.”

  “And hope we can keep him in one place long enough for us to find out the answer,” Frank added with a grin.

  • • •

  After dinner the Hardys drove over to the Morton house. Chet met them at the door. “Come on back to the family room,” he said. “Iola’s upstairs doing homework. I just made some popcorn.”

  Joe sniffed the air. “With extra butter,” he said. “It smells great.”

  The three friends settled around the table in the family room with the bowl of popcorn in the middle.

  “What kind of reception did you get when you went back to Freddy Frost?” Joe asked Chet.

  “Pretty normal, I guess,” Chet replied. “Nobody showed any sign of knowing what had happened. No funny looks, no snickers, nothing.”

  “Did you tell anybody what happened?” Joe asked. “How did they respond?”

  “I had to tell Sal,” Chet replied. “Sal Vitello, he’s my supervisor. It’s funny. At first he was pretty nice about everything. When I came in late, he said not to worry about it. But then, after he heard my story, he turned cold. Maybe he thought I was making up the whole thing as an excuse.”

  “What about the other drivers? Have you gotten to know any of them yet?” Frank asked.

  Chet frowned. “I’ve seen most of them and met a few,” he said. “A lot of us are new, you know—not just me. A lot of the Freddy Frost people work just over the summer. Then around September, when the ice-cream season is ending, they have to fill in with new people. There are some familiar faces from school.”

  “People you know?” Joe asked.

  “Not exactly,” Chet said, shaking his head. “But the three guys that Sal seems especially chummy with—I know who they are. And guess what—they’re all Starz members.”

  Frank narrowed his eyes. “You’re sure of that?” he demanded. “That’s a pretty serious allegation.”

  “I didn’t ask to see their membership cards,” Chet said. “And I didn’t get close enough to see if they had those blue tattoos on their wrists. But I know them all by sight, and I know who they hang with. It was enough to make me wonder if Sal has some kind of connection to the Starz.”

  “Because three out of, say, twenty Freddy Frost drivers are gang members?” Joe said. “You know how it goes. Somebody gets a job. He knows when there are openings, so he tells his buddies. They apply and get jobs there, too.”

  “Sure, I know,” Chet replied. “But I still think it’s funny that Sal’s favorites all turn out to be Starz guys.”

  Frank tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I’m with you there, Chet,” he said. “What bothers me is the fact that the guys who hijacked your truck this afternoon apparently had a key to it. They must have some close connection to Freddy Frost. And since they didn’t take anything, the whole point must have been to send you a message.”

  “Yeah. ’Get lost—and fast,’ ” Chet said. “But why me? Today was my first day. I haven’t had time to get under anybody’s skin.”

  “How’s this?” Joe said. “They want to scare you off. Then, when you quit, there’ll be another opening that one of their friends can fill.”

  Chet opened a can of soda. He finished a gulp, then said, “Listen, Joe. I’m glad to have this job. I think it may even turn out to be fun. But it’s not as if I’m making a fortune. I don’t see people lining up around the block to take my place, never mind staging a kidnapping.”

  “There’s another possibility, Chet,” Frank said. “Everybody at Bayport High knows the three of us are friends. What if the message wasn’t aimed just at you? What if Marlon Masters and his gang wanted to send a warning to all of us not to give them any trouble?”

  Joe smiled grimly. “If that’s the case, they sure went about it the wrong way,” he said. “Because if they start trying to lean on our friends, we’re going to give them plenty of trouble!”

  • • •

  The next morning Joe drove the van into the school parking lot and found a space near the tennis courts. He and Frank grabbed their backpacks, locked the van, and started up the walk toward the front door.

  “Uh-oh,” Frank murmured. “Battle stations.”

  Up ahead, standing between them and the school entrance, half a dozen people were forming a solid line that blocked the whole sidewalk. At one end of the line stood Marlon Masters.

  Gus French, the guy who had tangled with Joe in the lunch room the day befo
re, moved forward to stand a pace in front of the others.

  “You chumps are toast!” he said, fiddling with the studded leather band on his left wrist. “You just stuck your noses into Starz business for the last time. Now we’re going to rearrange your faces. By the time we’re done, you won’t need a mask for Halloween.

  4 Schoolyard Battleground

  * * *

  Even before Gus finished his threat, Frank was taking a half step to the side. He didn’t want a fight, but if a fight began, he needed to give himself room. He breathed slowly and deeply, guiding his mind and body toward the state of unfocused attention of a trained martial artist. He knew that right next to him, Joe was doing the same.

  Frank looked across the space that separated the Hardys from the Starz. The boy directly opposite him was about sixteen. He almost matched Frank’s own six-foot-one, but his torso looked thin, as if all his strength had gone into gaining height. The boy’s dark blond hair flopped over his forehead, partly hiding his small, pale blue eyes. As if he knew that Frank was watching him, he put on a fierce scowl. It didn’t quite manage to conceal his nervousness, though, Frank thought.

  “Let them come to us,” Frank muttered to Joe out of the side of his mouth.

  “Let ’em come. I’m ready anytime,” Joe replied easily.

  The face-off continued. With each passing second, Frank knew that he and Joe were building up more of the moral superiority that is as important in combat as physical strength. Their opponents could see that the Hardys were ready and unfrightened by the unfair odds. That knowledge was draining their own will. Unless they could bring themselves to attack in the next few moments, they would be defeated without a single blow exchanged.

  Gus seemed to realize that, too. His face reddened. Clenching his fists, he took a step forward. “What are we waiting for?” he shouted. “Let’s teach these suckers a lesson they won’t forget!”