Trouble Times Two Read online

  Joe shook his head. “It’s English, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”

  Frank laughed. “Tell me about it! It seems to be an old-time legal principle. Some members of congress picked it up a while back and made it part of a federal law to fight fraud. It allows private citizens to file federal lawsuits against government contractors who are ripping off the taxpayers. The idea was to go after military contractors who were selling hammers to the army at six hundred dollars a pop. But suits were filed for other agencies—even NASA—nailing companies for as much as a hundred and fifty million dollars.”

  “That’s a lot of hammers,” Joe said. “But I don’t see how this stuff ties into your project.”

  “The law became a strong weapon for whistle-blowers. Of course, a lot of companies didn’t like it. Their lawyers have been arguing that the whole concept is unconstitutional.”

  Joe shook his head. “Yeah, people get real patriotic when they’re caught with their hands in the cookie jar.”

  The phone rang, and Frank picked it up. He recognized the voice on the other end immediately. It was Kevin Wylie.

  “How’s it going, Frank?”

  “You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?” Frank replied with a grin. “After all, you’re on the other side in this project.”

  He expected at least a chuckle from the other boy. Instead, he got a second of dead silence. Then Kevin said, “That’s sort of why I’m calling. You know that Tom Gilliam was suspended from school.”

  Tell me about it, Frank thought. Classes have been peaceful and quiet this past week.

  “But he’s supposed to be the captain of our side in this project,” Kevin went on. “I suspect he hasn’t done a thing. And I certainly haven’t heard from him.”

  “Neither has Callie—not that she’s complaining,” Frank said.

  After the captains had been named, the other kids drew lots to fill out the teams. Phil wrote “pro” on two pieces of paper, “anti” on two more. The papers were folded and shaken up in an empty book bag. Frank and Liz Webling had pulled the pro tickets. Callie and Kev wound up on the other side.

  Liz was happy—she believed that whistle-blowers were important news sources. Kevin felt that whistle-blowers hurt businesses—like the one his father owned. So he was pleased with his choice, although Frank suspected he’d have liked being captain even more.

  While Frank leaned toward the pro side, he realized he didn’t know much about the subject. This project would be a chance to learn something.

  The only unhappy person was Callie. She didn’t give a hoot one way or the other on the whistle-blower question, but she had very clear—and negative—ideas about Tom Gilliam. And now she wasn’t able to work with Frank.

  “Look, Frank, I know you set Tom up as the team leader for a goof. But I don’t think it’s fair to let him drag our whole team down,” Kevin complained.

  “Hey, chill out,” Frank replied. “It’s not as though we’re getting graded on this.”

  “I don’t like people making me look bad.” Frank was surprised at the angry tone in Kevin’s voice.

  “Have you talked to Tom about this?”

  “I tried calling him on Thursday,” Kevin said. “He just blew me off.”

  Frank sighed. “So what do you think I can do?”

  Kevin hesitated for a second. “It’s a little complicated. You see, Tom’s father works for my dad.”

  Kevin’s status in school had soared with his dad’s business success. When Don Wylie had taken over Tri-State Express, it had been a glorified messenger service. Now the shipping company was booming, hiring lots of people—including Tom’s father.

  Frank realized that Kevin was trapped in a no-win situation. If he pushed things with Tom and Tom skunked him, Kevin would look foolish. On the other hand, he could go at it through his dad to Tom’s father. But then Kevin would look as though he couldn’t handle his own problems.

  “Tell you what,” Frank finally said after a moment’s thought. “Callie and I were going to catch a movie tonight. Suppose I call Phil and Liz and invite them along. We could all drop by Tom’s house on the way to the movies. How’s that sound?”

  “At least we’d be doing something,” Kevin said.

  You’re welcome, Frank silently replied. “Let’s meet at my house—say, seven o’clock?”

  • • •

  The Hardys had a full van as they pulled away that evening. Joe and Iola Morton were coming to the movies as well, so there were seven people on board.

  Callie was not in a forgiving mood. “If Tom isn’t pulling his weight, why not kick him off our team?”

  “Or at least, don’t make him captain,” Kevin put in.

  Seated up front, where Joe was driving, Frank shook his head. “Mr. Bannerman stuck us with Tom. I don’t think he’ll let us dump him.”

  The Gilliams lived in an apartment building toward the center of town.

  “Looks pretty nice,” Liz said.

  “What were you expecting?” Phil asked with a grin. “Broken windows? Street gangs?”

  Joe was lucky enough to find a parking space right in front of the building. The kids piled out and went into the lobby. The door was locked, but there was a buzzer system. Frank found “Gilliam” on a fresh slip of paper beside one button and pressed it.

  The voice on the other end seemed surprised that Tom had visitors. “We’re classmates,” Frank explained, “working on a project with him.”

  A second later a harsh buzz filled the lobby, and the door opened at Frank’s push. He led the way to the elevator. “The apartment’s on the third floor,” he said.

  When the elevator arrived on the third floor, Frank saw that one of the apartment doors was open. A tall, thin, stoop-shouldered man with thinning hair stood in the doorway. His gray eyes gave the kids a careful once-over as they approached. “I’m Russ Gilliam, Tom’s father,” he said.

  Frank took care of the introductions and started in on an explanation. “We were on our way to the movies this evening. And, since we, um, hadn’t seen Tom this week, we thought we’d stop by to see how he was getting along on our project.”

  “This is the first time I’ve heard about this project,” Mr. Gilliam said. “Tom?” he called over his shoulder.

  Tom Gilliam slouched his way to the door. “So, the gang’s all here.” He grinned at Joe and Iola. “With reinforcements.”

  “So what’s all this about a social science fair and a project?” Russ Gilliam asked.

  “He’s the team leader for half of the project,” Frank added.

  Tom’s father looked at his son in surprise. “Is he, now?”

  Tom only shrugged. “No biggie,” he said. “They were talking about topics, I gave my opinion, and all of a sudden I was a team captain.”

  Russ Gilliam smiled, glancing from his son to the rest of the kids. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “What’s this project supposed to be about?”

  “Whistle-blowers in government and industry,” Phil said.

  “Yeah,” Tom went on. “I said anybody who’d do a thing like that had to have something wrong in the head. If they hate their jobs so much, why don’t they just quit?”

  The smile vanished from Mr. Gilliam’s face. In fact, he looked as if someone had just given him a hard punch in the stomach.

  “I don’t suppose Tom has been able to do much work this week,” he said harshly. “He wasn’t allowed out during school hours. And otherwise—I suppose you’d say he was grounded.”

  House arrest. The words seemed to pop into Frank’s mind.

  “So I guess there’s nothing for you to discuss right now.” Tom’s father looked grim as he started shutting the door. “I’m sure you can talk when Tom comes back to class on Monday.”

  Frank and his friends didn’t even have a chance to say anything. Almost before Mr. Gilliam stopped speaking, the apartment door was slammed in their faces.

  5: Better than a Movie

  Joe
Hardy had to fight back laughter as he looked at the stunned faces around him.

  “Well,” he said, “now we know where Tom gets his pleasant, easygoing personality.”

  “Maybe weirdness does run in families,” Callie said. “Or just plain rudeness.”

  Phil Cohen shook his head. “I don’t understand it. At first Mr. Gilliam seemed a little worried.”

  “Wouldn’t you if a delegation of people came to your home about your son?” Kevin Wylie said.

  “Knowing Tom, it probably wasn’t the first time that’s happened,” Callie put in.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Phil said. “He was sort of wary at first. But when he started talking to us, Mr. Gilliam sounded nice enough.” Phil pressed the elevator button.

  “Until his charming son came along,” Callie said.

  Joe glanced back at the Gilliam apartment. Loud voices filtered through the door. He couldn’t make out any words, but the angry tones couldn’t be mistaken. “Seems like Trouble Boy gets on everybody’s nerves—even his family’s.”

  The kids piled into the elevator and rode it down to the lobby. Outside the building, Phil looked up as if he were trying to spot the Gilliams’ window. “I don’t know if it was Tom so much as our topic that got Mr. Gilliam going,” he muttered.

  “I think anything could have set him off,” Kevin Wylie said. “Did you see the look on his face when Frank introduced me?”

  “I think that’d be the same look anybody would get when the boss’s son turns up at your door.” Liz Webling laughed.

  Frank had already reached the van and was unlocking the doors. “Let’s get it in gear, folks. The movies wait for no man—or woman.”

  “Speaking of which,” Iola said as she climbed aboard, “what are we seeing?”

  That started an argument as everyone found their seats. Callie mentioned Lost Love, a date movie. Of course, Iola and Liz cast their votes with her. Joe pushed for a film with a lot of car chases and explosions. Kevin enthusiastically backed that idea.

  Phil came out with the title of some foreign film that nobody knew. Joe looked expectantly at Frank, who glanced over at Callie.

  Then, to Joe’s horror, his brother went along with the girls.

  “Lost Love?” Joe said in disgust. “I can’t believe you’d wimp out.”

  Kevin chuckled. “Maybe he was afraid of some lost love of his own if he didn’t go along with Callie.”

  Frank cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed. “I checked the schedule before we left. Lost Love is the next film to start at the multiplex.”

  “Can’t we come up with a compromise movie?” Phil suggested. “How about a good mystery?”

  No sooner did he speak than the building’s door flew open. Russell Gilliam came storming out. He stalked down the block to a battered old compact car. It was painted a sort of bridle path tan—where the body wasn’t rusted. Mr. Gilliam got in and tried to start the car. The engine sputtered and died. From where he was sitting, Joe saw the man clench his fists and hammer the steering wheel.

  Looks like nobody in the Gilliam family is easy to get along with, Joe thought.

  Gilliam finally got the car’s engine going and pulled away with a squeal of worn tires.

  “How about a real-life mystery?” Joe asked starting up the van. He let another car pass, then swung out into traffic. “Rule number one in maintaining a tail. Don’t park yourself right on the subject’s back bumper. That makes it too easy to get spotted.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Iola asked. “I don’t see much of a mystery here.”

  “When we turned up, Mr. Gilliam was dressed for a quiet night at home,” Joe said. “Sweat pants, slippers, no socks. Then he changed his clothes and went whipping out of the house.”

  Ahead of them, the tan compact cut off another car, a shrill whine coming from its engine. “Wherever he’s going, he seems to be in a hurry,” Joe added.

  “Or he’s out working off a bad mood with bad driving,” Frank put in. “Too many people do that, you know.”

  Russ Gilliam screeched through a turn onto a major road. Joe swung round, his speed much slower. He was barely keeping the other car in sight. The traffic was heavier here. He let another car get between the van and the compact.

  “Where’s he heading at this time of night?” Liz asked.

  Joe grinned. Typical reporter’s curiosity, he thought.

  “Could be anywhere,” Callie spoke up. Her tone suddenly sounded suspicious. “Maybe he just discovered they’d run out of milk.” She glared at Joe. “Why are we wasting time with this silliness? What about our movie?”

  “Well, if he’s going on a milk run, he’s heading downtown to get it,” Phil said. Ahead of them, Gilliam made another turn.

  “This is a shortcut my dad takes to get to our warehouse.” Kevin leaned forward in his seat, peering through the windshield. “There’s a street in here that angles off toward Harborside Drive. If he takes that, we’ll know for certain.”

  Without signaling, Gilliam took the cutoff Kev had mentioned. Joe swung around more slowly. There was no traffic to offer cover. They were heading for the Bayport docks. The area was being rebuilt with condos facing the bay, but this neighborhood was still full of rundown old warehouses.

  The place was also a maze of side streets, loading docks, and back alleys. When the expensive apartments, shops, and restaurants came in, people would call it quaint. Bumping through potholes on shadowy streets with few lights, Joe called it tricky.

  “Time to tighten our tail a little,” he announced. “It’s the only way to keep our friend in sight.”

  He pulled a little closer on turns, but dropped back on the straightaway, trying to vary his speed so Gilliam wouldn’t realize that the headlights in his mirror belonged to the same vehicle.

  At last Gilliam made a final turn. A full block was taken up by a warehouse with a newly-painted sign: Tri-State Express. The red letters gleamed under the glare of the arc light that illuminated the whole front of the building.

  Russ Gilliam’s rust-pitted compact coasted to a stop across the street from the warehouse, near the far corner of the block.

  Joe didn’t make the turn. He killed the van’s lights and backed up to the curb, positioning the vehicle carefully. From the driver’s and front passenger’s seats, they could still keep an eye on Gilliam’s car. And, of course, its driver.

  “Not much of a mystery.” Callie’s voice was sharper now. “Tom’s dad had to stop off at work to take care of something.”

  “Right—on a Saturday night,” Joe responded. “He just got dressed and whipped down to the office.”

  Frowning, he continued to watch the beat-up old car. “We have a new mystery now. What is our friend over there waiting for? That’s obviously what he’s doing.”

  “Maybe he dropped his keys,” Iola suggested, moving up to peer out the window.

  “That might explain why he’s scrunched down,” Joe said. “But why doesn’t he open his door and get some light on the subject? Nah. He’s sitting, watching, and keeping a low profile.”

  Russ Gilliam sat slouched in his car for several more minutes. Then the kids got to see what he was waiting for. The warehouse door swung open, and a paunchy guy in a blue uniform coat stepped out.

  The guard glanced to the left, then to the right. Finally, he started walking—slowly—up the block, away from the van full of kids. With each step the security guy tapped a big, five-cell flashlight against his right leg.

  Joe suddenly realized he knew this person. He’d seen him around the Bayport Police Station sometimes, during visits to Con Riley or Chief Collig. The guy was a cop, though not in Con Riley’s league.

  A retired cop, Joe corrected himself, taking in the unkept gray hair sticking out from under the guard’s cap.

  “I know your dad’s company has grown by leaps and bounds lately,” Frank said to Kevin. “But”—he struggled to put the words tactfully—“I think he’d better pay a little more atte
ntion to his security system.”

  Joe grinned. Since the present one is barely a step up from a night watchman called Pops, he added silently.

  The security man finally reached the corner of the building. He went around it, disappearing from sight. Obviously, it was part of his routine to make a complete circle of the warehouse. And just as obviously, this was the opportunity Russ Gilliam had been awaiting.

  As soon as the guard was well down the next leg of his circuit, the compact’s driver-side door swung open. Russ Gilliam sprinted across the street, one hand in his pocket. He headed for a smaller door set almost in the corner of the building. A second to fumble at the lock, and then he was inside.

  Raising his eyebrows, Joe turned from his seat behind the steering wheel. He glanced from Kevin Wylie to Phil Cohen.

  “Maybe you’re going to get your wish after all, Phil,” Joe said. “Okay, it’s not a movie we can all agree on. But here in real life it looks like some funny business is going on here. I think we really do have a mystery on our hands.”

  6: Unexpected Results

  There are days, Frank thought, when I wish my kid brother didn’t have such a big mouth.

  Joe was obviously out to provoke a response from Phil or Kevin.

  Instead, he got it from Callie.

  “Come off it, Hardy,” she growled. “There’s no mystery here. You got outvoted on what movie to see. So you’re just wasting time, until it’s too late for Lost Love.”

  Joe smirked. “I’m shocked, shocked that you’d think I could do such a thing,” he said. “This is serious business. We’ve got a man making a stealthy entrance into a building full of valuable stuff. Not to mention that he’s sneaking around after business hours.”

  “Actually, that’s the door to the office,” Kevin put in.

  “Whatever,” Joe replied. “Gilliam waited until the security guard was on his rounds before he made his move. Wouldn’t you call that suspicious? Who knows what he’s getting up to in there?”

  “Mr. Gilliam was hired as an accountant,” Kevin said slowly.