Warehouse Rumble Read online

  The members of the crew stationed around the warehouse put down their cameras and relaxed.

  Joe Hardy and Bo Reid eyed each other across the short expanse of rope netting that separated them. “You got lucky this time, Hardy,” Reid said. “No way I’m tussling with you off-camera.”

  “Nice excuse,” Joe shot back. “Maybe next time something else will come up to save you.”

  Reid went red in the face but said nothing more. Instead he went to the far side of the course and lowered himself off the net and onto the ground. Frank met Joe as the younger Hardy did the same.

  “Glad you’re okay,” Frank said.

  “I could have taken him,” Joe replied.

  “I know. Let’s see what all this commotion is about.” Frank and Joe joined the crowd that had gathered around Hessmann and Willingham. Daphne and Chet arrived a few moments later.

  “This is ludicrous,” Willingham was saying.

  “The court believes that filming in this warehouse may be hazardous to your cast and crew,” Scott replied.

  “We’ve got all the proper permits,” Willingham argued. “We have permission of the buildings’ owner. We have a legal right to be here.”

  “Not until a cause of death is determined for the corpse of Joss Orlando,” Hessmann said. “He could have been killed by toxic waste, for all you know. You could be shooting this show in a toxic-waste dump.”

  “That’s absurd,” Julie Kendall said. “There are no records of toxic materials ever being used in this factory.”

  “What about in the years it’s been shut down? Who knows what might have been stored here,” Hessmann said. “Not to mention the fact that the building’s unsafe. Part of that chimney collapsed the other day.” He pointed to the big hole where they’d found the skeleton.

  “You’re just doing this because you have a problem with Herman Jackson,” Willingham said accusingly.

  “It’s true,” Hessmann replied, “that Jackson and I don’t see eye to eye. He wants to tear down this historic warehouse district and destroy a vital link to Bayport’s past. But that has nothing to do with this court order.”

  Willingham was fuming. “That’s a cheap ploy, Hessmann. Jackson has got a right to do what he wants with his property—and that includes letting me film here before his demolition teams flatten this whole block.”

  “This writ says otherwise,” Scott said.

  “Well, we’ll see what my lawyer and Jackson’s have to say about that,” Willingham replied. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and began dialing.

  “Everybody take another five—we’ll need a little time to sort this out,” Ms. Kendall said, trying to disperse the crowd.

  Joe elbowed Frank. “Looks like the news vultures sneaked in during the commotion.” He pointed to a spot near the door where Stacia Allen and her cameraman were standing. They crept closer and began interviewing people as Hessmann and Willingham continued bickering.

  “I think she’s getting as much publicity out of this as Willingham is,” Frank said.

  “She builds up her own network show while dragging Willingham down,” Daphne added, nodding.

  “It’s a win-win situation for WSDS,” Chet admitted.

  Julie Kendall noticed Allen and moved to intercept her.

  “Looks like a second front is opening up,” Joe said.

  “It’s a whole new rumble,” Daphne joked.

  Frank nodded. “Let’s get something to drink,” he said. “No telling how long this may go on, and I’m betting they’ll want to get right back to shooting as soon as they figure things out.”

  “If they figure this out,” Chet said.

  “I’ve got a court order countermanding your order on the way,” Willingham said as he hung up the phone.

  “But our court order is here now,” Scott said. “You can’t go on shooting while it’s in effect.”

  “We’ll see what the police say about that,” Willingham countered.

  “Fine by us,” Hessmann said.

  Willingham dialed the cops.

  As the Hardys and their friends waited, they compared notes about the challenges so far.

  “One of the puzzles required us to retrieve pieces while the other put them together,” Chet said.

  “Guess who did which?” Daphne added.

  Chet flexed his muscles. “Morton strong like bull, swift like eagle—”

  “Brain-dead like roadkill!” Missy Gates chimed in from nearby.

  “Are you and the redhead just in this to scout out the games and help the Hardy boys win?” Jay Stone added.

  “Don’t worry, Stone,” Joe replied, “I’m sure someone will finish lower than you.”

  “We aced our first challenge, smart guy,” Missy said. “We’re moving on for sure.”

  “It takes more than one win to advance,” Chet reminded them.

  “We’ll be counting our treasures when the game’s done,” Stone said.

  “And you’ll be counting bruises,” Missy added. She and Stone laughed and headed across the warehouse.

  “So much for friendly competition,” Frank said.

  About an hour and fifteen minutes after Hessmann had first barged in, the police finally arrived to sort things out. Con Riley didn’t look too pleased to be playing referee.

  “We have an order barring them from filming in this warehouse,” Hessmann argued.

  “I have a court order on the way preventing enforcement of their order,” Willingham said.

  “But you can see our order right here,” Scott said, waving the paper she and Hessmann had brought.

  “My lawyer is bringing our paperwork over right now,” Willingham countered.

  Con Riley sighed and scratched his head. “You’ve got a writ, they’ve got a writ,” he said. “I think this might be easier if I took all of you downtown and let a judge sort things out.”

  “That’s fine by me,” Hessmann said. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Jackson.

  “How is that fair?” Willingham asked angrily. “I’ve got a show to run here! This jerk doesn’t have anything better to do than hassle me all day. It’s fine if he goes, but I’m losing production time. Time is money—especially on TV.”

  “Can you prove to me this lawyer of yours is on the way, and that he’s spoken to a judge about this order?” Riley asked Willingham.

  “You bet I can.” Willingham took out his cell phone and started punching numbers again.

  Frank, Joe, Chet, and Daphne looked sympathetically at Riley as the legal struggle continued. Catching their eye, the officer shrugged at them, then took the phone when Willingham handed it to him.

  The officer spoke on the phone for a couple of minutes before handing the cell back to Willingham. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. Mr. Willingham does have a court order on the way countermanding your court order, Mr. Hessmann. When that order gets here, I’ll sort things out. Until then, Mr. Willingham can continue working on his show.”

  Willingham looked both relieved and happy.

  “However,” Riley continued, “he can’t film in the section of the warehouse where the body was found.”

  “I can live with that,” Willingham said.

  “But that’s in violation of our order!” Scott said.

  Riley shrugged. “That’s the best I’m going to do for you until his lawyer arrives. After that, you can all fight it out amongst yourselves.”

  “Could you wait outside?” Willingham asked Hessmann politely. “We’ve got a lot of work to do here.”

  “If I’m going outside, he should have to come too,” Hessmann said, pointing angrily at Willingham.

  “I’ll go,” Ms. Kendall volunteered. “I’ll stay with him until our lawyers show up.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Willingham replied. “The crew and I will keep filming.”

  “Good enough,” Con Riley said. He ushered Ms. Kendall, Mr. Hessmann, and his lawyer toward the door. As
they reached it, the cop turned and said, “Mr. Willingham, I expect you to adhere to the highest safety standards until this gets settled. I’m holding you personally responsible. Understand?”

  Willingham nodded and said, “Yes . . . Officer.” But the words sounded forced.

  As the cops and the disputing parties left the building, Willingham called out, “Okay, everyone. Back to work! I expect everything up and running again within fifteen minutes!”

  “It’s about time,” Chet said.

  The Hardys and the other contestants drifted back to the challenges they had been working on. Willingham checked with his technicians and then restarted each group of contestants in turn.

  “So we’ll be running our whole race again?” Frank asked.

  “There’s no need for that,” Willingham replied. “The score was a tie when the two contestants reached the netting. We’ll just pick it up from there.”

  “I thought this was a reality show,” Joe said.

  “Simulated reality,” Willingham corrected. “The world’s not really a postapocalyptic nightmare, you know.” He grinned. “Besides, we’re on a limited budget.”

  Joe and Frank looked at each other and shrugged. “TV . . . !” Joe said.

  “Come on, let’s go!” Bo Reid growled, doing some shadowboxing.

  He and Joe re-entered the last part of the maze while Frank and Bo’s redheaded partner stood on the sidelines and watched.

  “When the Klaxon sounds, go!” Willingham said through a megaphone. Joe and Reid nodded their understanding and got ready.

  When the siren went off, they both dashed onto the rope netting once again. They were more refreshed this time, and a bit more agile because of it. The boys reached the center of the netting simultaneously.

  With a wicked grin, Reid hurled himself at the younger Hardy.

  Joe ducked under Bo’s lunge and tucked into a somersault. He rolled across the netting, came up near the edge, and quickly lowered himself to the floor. Joe sprinted across the finish line before Reid had recovered his footing.

  “Yes!” Joe said, joining Frank and slapping him a high five.

  “Great! Cut! Print!” Willingham yelled. He turned and headed for the next event.

  “That wasn’t fair!” Reid shouted as he clambered down from the net.

  “All’s fair in love and Warehouse Rumbles,” Frank quipped.

  “Catch you on the reruns, Bo!” Joe added.

  “We’ll see about that!” Reid said. He sprinted to catch up with Willingham, complaining loudly all the way. Reid’s redheaded partner just shrugged and wandered off after them.

  “What I admire most about Reid,” Frank said, “is his good sportsmanship.”

  Joe laughed. He and Frank moved on to their next event.

  A shallow pool, thirty feet across, had been set up in the area of the warehouse nearest the docks. In the middle of the pool stood a ten-foot-wide circular wooden platform. Three teams would be competing simultaneously in this game. The object was for the team member on dry land to use found objects to rescue the other team member from the center of the mock acid pool.

  Joe, Lily, and a balding guy named Steve would be the people stranded in the middle of the fake acid. Frank, Todd, and Steve’s partner, Kiff, would be working to get them out.

  Ward Willingham stopped by to check the setup. He gave the nod to his crew, then moved on.

  “Everyone ready?” the game’s referee asked.

  “Yeah,” everyone said.

  “Okay, when the Klaxon sounds, go! Three . . . two . . .”

  But before he could say “One!” a loud creaking sound filled the set.

  “Watch out!” someone yelled as a huge lighting tower toppled toward the pool.

  6 Delayed and Dismayed

  * * *

  “Keep away from the water!” Joe called to the other contestants on the small platform in the middle of the pool.

  The lighting tower seemed to fall in slow motion; the cables connected to it held back its descent. One by one, the lines snapped. Each sent a spray of sparks into the air.

  “We’ll be electrocuted!” Lily screamed.

  “No,” Joe said, “the wood platform should protect us. Just stay in the middle.” He looked around, but saw no easy avenue of escape.

  Chaos reigned on the outside of the pool. Technicians ran toward the tower, trying to stop its falling. Todd stood by the base, looking surprised and dazed.

  “Someone kill the power!” Frank shouted. He sprinted toward the stairs of a catwalk lined with auxiliary lights—it crossed twenty feet above the pool. As he ran up the stairs, Frank scanned the scaffold for anything that might help Joe and the others.

  Below, snapped wires whipped around, hissing like electrified snakes. None of the technicians could get close enough to stop the tower’s slow descent. The metal latticework of the tower groaned as it bent ever closer to the pool.

  Frank raced along the overhead catwalk. “Jackpot!” he whispered as his brown eyes lit on a collapsible chain ladder lying on the grillwork deck. It was like a rope ladder, but instead it was made out of steel links and aluminum rungs. Frank recognized it as something that technicians often used to work above stages.

  The elder Hardy snatched up the ladder and ran to the catwalk rail. “Grab this,” he called down to Joe. “It’s metal. Make sure it doesn’t hit the water or anything when I drop it down to you.”

  “Check!” Joe called back up.

  As quickly as he could, Frank fastened the chains to the catwalk rail and tossed the ladder to Joe.

  The younger Hardy grabbed the ladder before it could hit the platform. He held it steady while Lily scrambled up.

  The blazing electrical lights of the tower dangled only a few feet above the pool now; sparks still flew from the snapped cables. Somebody had pulled a fire alarm, and fire bells echoed through the old warehouse. Worried shouts from the staff and contestants rose above the noise. Ward Willingham’s megaphone-amplified voice cut through the air. “What’s going on?” he bellowed.

  Frank didn’t have time to answer. He helped the contestant named Steve onto the platform and then started to haul up the ladder as Joe began to climb. The next moment the light tower crashed into the water tank.

  A huge bang shook the warehouse, and a shower of sparks, like a Fourth of July fireworks display, shot into the air. Joe lost his grip on the rickety chain ladder, but Frank grabbed him and pulled him to safety.

  The pool below sizzled loudly for an instant as electricity arced through the water, and then the lights went out.

  “I guess the circuit breakers blew,” Joe said as the emergency lights clicked on.

  “Not a moment too soon,” Frank added. It wasn’t quite dark yet, and dim illumination still filtered through the opaque windows near the top of the walls. The emergency lights, however, helped make the situation considerably less dangerous.

  The Hardys, Lily, and Steve made their way down the stairway to the main floor. Even though the power wasn’t on anymore, they were all careful to stay away from the wires that had snapped loose from the tower.

  As they reached ground level, Ward Willingham dashed onto the set, his megaphone still clutched tightly in his hand. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  “The lighting tower collapsed,” a technician said. “That guy was leaning on it when it happened.” He pointed toward Todd, who was sitting across the room, holding his ankle.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Todd said. “Somebody pushed me into the tower.”

  Willingham frowned. Todd’s sister looked upset too.

  “Honest!” Todd said. “Look, my ankle’s really messed up. Do you think I’d do that to myself?” He took his hand away from his leg to reveal a bloodstained sock.

  “Are you badly hurt?” Willingham asked. “Do you need a doctor?”

  “I’ll be okay,” Todd said.

  Lily knelt down next to her brother. “I don’t think he should compete anymore today
,” she said.

  Willingham ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “It’ll take a while to clean up this mess, anyway,” he said. Glancing at some of his crew, he added, “What are you waiting for? Get cleaning! We’re on a schedule here!”

  Making sure that the electricity was still off, the crew began hauling the broken lighting equipment out of the pool of water. As they did this two of the contestants competing in the event headed toward the warehouse door.

  “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.”