The Mark of the Blue Tattoo Read online

  “That stinks!” Joe said. “Just when we’re getting somewhere, they call in some grown-up with a degree.”

  Frank glanced around, then said, “I say we stay on the case. But we’ll have to be careful. We can’t let Mr. Vincenza know what we’re doing.”

  “Fine with me,” Joe said as he twirled a long strand of spaghetti on his fork.

  “Tony,” Frank said, joining the conversation with the rest of the table, “what about the Starz members you checked out?”

  Tony rattled off a list of names, then added, “I didn’t think I’d know so many, Frank. And there’s a lot more people who aren’t members but who go along with the Starz—probably because they’re afraid not to.”

  “I found out the same thing,” Iola said. “People I asked didn’t want to talk about the Starz. Even the ones who did kept looking over their shoulders.”

  Chet put down his fork and leaned forward. “We have to be careful, though. I know the Starz act like a gang. But that doesn’t prove they’re criminals. Nobody I talked to could link them to any particular thing that’s been going on at school.”

  Joe swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti. “What about all the shakedowns?” he said. “And the stuff taken from people’s lockers? You think that was not done by the Starz?”

  “I know about that, Joe,” Chet said. “But that was weeks ago, before anybody even heard of the Starz. Since then, things have gotten better. And anyway, what I’m saying is that there’s nothing solid to connect the Starz with those crimes.”

  Joe threw up his hands. “Okay, maybe they’re really a charity organization,” he said. “But I say we find out for sure.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Callie said. “There’s this girl, Stephanie, in my Spanish class. She just broke up with her boyfriend, who’s a big deal in the Starz. She’s pretty mad about it, too. I can’t promise anything—I don’t know her that well—but I think I can get her to talk to me. I’m sure she knows a lot about what’s going on.”

  “Go, Callie,” Frank said. “But be careful. If we’re right about the Starz, and they start to catch on to what you’re doing, it could be dangerous.”

  Joe was about to start eating his dessert when he realized that he’d forgotten to get a spoon. Mumbling “I’ll be right back,” he pushed his chair away from the table.

  With no warning, the corner of a tray slammed into his back. The next thing anyone knew, a steaming plate of spaghetti and tomato sauce slid off the tray and flipped over onto Callie’s lap.

  6 Hedda Steps In

  * * *

  Callie screamed when the spaghetti cascaded onto her lap. She jumped out of her chair and frantically brushed at her jeans. At the surrounding tables, people turned and stared, trying to see what the commotion was about. Frank grabbed his napkin and helped Callie mop off some of the mess. Iola dashed to the service counter and returned with a handful of paper towels. Moments later one of the cafeteria staff arrived with a mop and started to clean up the floor.

  Frank saw that Callie was trembling. “Here, sit down,” he said, and took her elbow.

  “I’m all right,” Callie said, but her voice shook. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “Why don’t you let me drive you home, so you can change?” Frank offered. “We’d be back before lunch period is over.”

  Callie shook her head. “No, I’m all right, really. There’s a pair of sweatpants in my locker. I can put them on.”

  “Oh, good,” Iola said. “I guess it just shows that accidents happen. But I’m surprised that guy ran off like that. Why didn’t he stick around to help clean up the mess he made? You’d think he could at least apologize.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Callie told her. “Remember, I was telling you about Stephanie, who just broke up with a Starz member? Well, that’s the guy—Dino—who just dumped his lunch on me. Accident? I don’t think so.”

  Frank felt anger course through him. He scanned the lunch room. Dino was standing over near the doors. He was laughing and trading high fives with a cluster of guys. One of them was Gus French.

  “I’ll be right back,” Frank growled. “After I’ve taken care of some urgent business.”

  Fists clenched, Frank stalked across the room. He was a dozen feet from the group of Starz when Hedda Moon blocked his way.

  “Wait, Frank,” she said, holding up her hand like a traffic cop. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry, it’ll have to wait,” Frank said, more gruffly than he intended to. “I’m busy.”

  He tried to step around her, but she sidestepped, too. “No, Frank. Now,” she said in a firm voice. “Before you make things worse.”

  “Worse than dumping a hot lunch on my girlfriend?” Frank demanded.

  “Much worse,” Hedda replied. “I saw the whole thing. Your brother got up from the table and bumped into Dino’s tray. Dino couldn’t help it. He wasn’t trying to start something. But you, Frank—you are planning to start something. I want to keep that from happening.”

  Frank looked past Hedda. Dino, Gus, and the other Starz members were walking out of the cafeteria, still laughing among themselves. Thanks to Hedda’s interference, Frank thought in disgust, the moment had passed.

  Besides, what if Hedda was right? Frank thought. What if the spill really had been an accident? He didn’t believe it for a moment, but then again he didn’t want to start a fistfight over an accident. And anyway, he concluded with a sigh, he’d already paid one visit to the principal’s office. That was his quota for the day.

  “I’m deeply concerned about the rising tension here at Bayport High,” Hedda was saying. “Something has to be done about it, and quickly. I have a meeting this afternoon with Marlon and his friends. I’m going to see to it they agree to a cooling-off period.”

  Frank gave Hedda a cool, disbelieving stare.

  Hedda’s cheeks turned pink. “I mean it, Frank,” she said. “In the long run, I’ve found them to be reasonable. I hope I will this time, too. But compromise is a two-way street. I need help from you and your organization, as well.”

  “I don’t have an organization!” Frank said, his voice rising in frustration.

  “You and your friends, then,” Hedda said quickly. “You have to do your part. The whole school knows about your spying and prying. You’ve got to stop it. What the Starz do is their business, not yours. When they see your . . . friends going around talking to anyone who might have a grudge against them, it makes them nervous. It makes them wonder if you’re going to try to pin something on them. Some false charge that will damage their reputation. You wouldn’t like it if somebody was doing that to you, would you?”

  “Look, we’re not trying to pin anything on the Starz,” Frank said. “They’re the ones who’ve been trying to pick a fight with us!”

  “That’s the terrible thing about conflicts.” Hedda sighed. “So often, both sides are sure that the other is out to get them. That’s why it’s so important for each of you see the other point of view—to see the benefits of real cooperation. When I speak to Marlon, I’m going to suggest that the Starz have a sit-down with you and your friends to work out your difficulties. Tomorrow, if possible. What do you say? Is it a deal?”

  Frank hesitated. He didn’t think that he and Joe had much to say to Marlon and his gang. On the other hand, if he turned down an offer of a peace conference, he would make it look as if he were in the wrong. “Well . . . okay,” he said finally.

  Hedda reached out to shake Frank’s hand. “That’s the right choice, Frank,” she said. “You’ll see. For now, stay cool and increase the peace.”

  When Frank returned to the table, Callie and Iola had left. Joe gave him a curious look. “What were you doing over there?” he asked.

  “I was letting myself be talked into a meeting with the Starz,” Frank replied. “Hedda Moon is a very persuasive lady. She thinks we should negotiate a truce with them.”

  “The nerve,” Tony said, his face flushed. “I�
�d like to negotiate some knuckles on that guy Dino’s nose.”

  “Now, now, Tony, that’s not a productive attitude,” Chet said, pretending to sound like Hedda. “Aren’t you mature enough to realize that senseless violence is, uh, senseless?”

  In response, Tony aimed a playful punch at Chet’s midsection. Chet dodged it.

  “Seriously, guys,” Joe said. “We don’t want to start a war with the Starz. We don’t need to respond in any way to this incident. But if they’re involved in any criminal activity, that’s something else. It’s our right and our duty to track it down and expose it.”

  “So we go on with the investigation,” Biff said. “Good. I’m getting tired of the way those hoods have people around here buffaloed. Oops,” he said looking at the large clock on the wall of the cafeteria. “I’d better run. I’ll be late for language lab. I hate it when I’m stuck with a tape machine that makes everything sound like my dad gargling with mouthwash.”

  Frank and the others stood up, too. Frank said, “We never finished pooling what we’ve found out so far. Let’s meet out front near the flagpole after school, okay? We can figure out where to go next.”

  “Good idea,” Joe said. Biff and Tony agreed.

  “Sorry, guys, I can’t,” Chet said. “I have to go straight to Freddy Frost to pick up my truck. But I’ll talk to you tonight. Say,” he added as he picked up his tray, “what do you think of lasagna sherbet?”

  “As little as possible,” Frank said. “If anyone runs into Callie and Iola, tell them about the meeting.”

  On the way out of the cafeteria, Frank told Joe about the incident in the library and more details of his conversation with Mr. Vincenza.

  “How could it not have been one of the Starz who did it?” Joe said hotly.

  “I agree,” Frank replied. “You know, if we proceed with our investigation, we’re on our own. We won’t have any help from any school officials. Is it worth taking that big a chance?”

  “You’re asking me—after all that has happened to us today?” Joe replied. “I want to see those creeps get what they deserve . . . and I don’t mean a nice talk with some wimpy counselor!”

  • • •

  When school ended, Joe was the first to reach the flagpole. He couldn’t wait to talk to the others. A couple of minutes later Callie showed up.

  “Oh!” she said. “I am so furious I could spit nails!”

  “Let me guess,” Joe replied. “Somebody crashed into you in the hall.”

  “Three times,” Callie said, tight-lipped. “Always from behind. And in Spanish, when I got up to sharpen my pencil, I came back and found my looseleaf binder on the floor—with the rings open. It took me ten minutes to get the pages back in order. I’m starting to know what a punching bag must feel like.”

  “Yeah, same here,” Joe said. “I had to work hard not to lose my temper, especially after somebody spilled acid on my chemistry notes. And then, when some guy tried to trip me in the hall a little while ago, I lost my balance.”

  “You, Joe Hardy?” Callie exclaimed. “Come on—I’ve seen you on the football field. You never lose your balance.”

  Joe grinned at the compliment. “It’s true, though. And when I started to fall, my heel ended up right on the toes of the guy who tripped me. I tried to apologize. But I’m afraid he was yelling too loudly to hear what I was saying.”

  Iola, Biff, and Frank joined them. Moments later Tony hurried up. “I can’t stay,” he said breathlessly. “I just checked in at the pizzeria. Somebody called them a little while ago and said I’d be taking today and tomorrow off. My boss nearly went ballistic. He was counting on me.”

  “Why are they doing this to us?” Iola cried, as Tony rushed off. “What have we done to them?”

  Biff shrugged. “Nothing. Maybe they just don’t like us,” he suggested. “It stands to reason. I don’t like them.”

  “Or maybe having somebody to be against keeps them together,” Iola said.

  “You may both be right,” Frank said. “But let’s not forget how this all started. Twenty-four hours ago we’d barely heard of the Starz. And I doubt if they’d heard of us.”

  “So what started it?” Biff asked.

  “Chet’s new job at Freddy Frost,” Joe said. “That’s what you were getting at, isn’t it, Frank?”

  “It looks that way to me,” Frank said. “We know that some Starz members are driving Freddy Frost trucks. When Chet started work there, maybe they figured he was moving in on what they see as their territory. That abduction on Chet’s first day of his job was supposed to be a warning. Today they decided that it wasn’t just Chet—that all of us were part of it. So they started a campaign to scare us off.”

  “Why?” Biff asked. “Driving a Freddy Frost truck sounds like a good job, but I doubt if you make a fortune at it. So why make a big deal out of keeping other people out?”

  “I have an idea on that,” Callie said. “Frank, I don’t think you and Joe realize how much clout you two have around here. Everybody at Bayport High knows about you and your crime-fighting. So when one of your close friends started working for Freddy Frost, it must have felt like a direct challenge. For a guy like Marlon, that kind of challenge puts his own prestige on the line. He’s got to respond to it.”

  “That’s right,” Iola said excitedly. “And if he can make kids think that Joe and Frank Hardy are afraid to stand up to him, who else is going to dream of trying?”

  Joe felt his cheeks grow warm. It embarrassed him to hear friends like Iola and Callie make a big deal of the success he and Frank had had as detectives. It was just something they did, that was all.

  To avoid the look of admiration in Iola’s eyes, Joe turned his head and gazed across the lawn toward the hedge surrounding the school parking lot.

  A blue station wagon shot out from behind the hedge, its tires smoking. It was filled with boys. The car stopped for a split second, and one of the boys jumped out and hurled something in the direction of the Hardys and their friends. A bottle came hurtling in their direction. Before they could run for cover, the bottle shattered on the sidewalk at their feet, and shards of glass flew in all directions.

  7 The Inside Scoop

  * * *

  “Dive behind the bushes, everyone!” Joe shouted.

  Iola was standing closest to Joe. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. An instant later a second bottle shattered on the sidewalk where the group had been standing. Two other bottles followed closely. Splinters of glass sprayed the area. Biff let out a shout of pain.

  Frank was already sprinting toward the parking lot. Joe paused just long enough to make sure that Biff wasn’t badly hurt. Then he dashed after Frank. The blue station wagon was already racing toward the street, tires squealing. One of its passengers was looking out the back window with a smirk. Joe recognized Gus French and made a promise to himself to wipe the grin off the guy’s face at the first opportunity.

  “Come on,” Joe said to Frank. “Let’s make sure that everyone’s okay.”

  “Wait a sec,” Frank replied. “I think I see the red car that was following us. Let’s do something before he can get away.”

  Joe and Frank ran toward the red car. The same man in sunglasses was at the wheel. Frank could see the man’s mouth drop open in surprise when he saw the Hardys. A moment later the car’s engine started up. But before it could move, Joe leaped onto the hood and lay spread-eagled on the windshield. Meanwhile, Frank was jerking the driver’s door open.

  “Hey, what is this?” the driver demanded loudly. “What do you boys want?”

  “A little chat, that’s all,” Frank told him. “Why don’t you turn off your engine and get out of the car?”

  Joe climbed down from the hood and joined Frank by the open car door.

  “No way,” the man replied. “And if you try to pull me out, I’ll have you arrested for assault.”

  “Do you have a school parking permit?” Joe retorted. “If not, we can have you arre
sted for trespassing.”

  The man gave a short laugh. “Sounds like a standoff,” he said. He reached forward and switched off the ignition. “So, now what?”

  “You can start by telling us who you are,” Frank said.

  “And why you’ve been tailing us,” Joe added.

  Joe tensed as the man reached inside his jacket. Was he about to draw a gun? But when his hand reappeared, all it was holding was a business card. He passed it to Frank, who held it out for Joe to see, too.

  “ ‘Aaron McCay, Investigative Reporter,’ ” Joe read aloud. “Sounds like a good name for a TV show.”

  “Thanks,” McCay said proudly. “You never know . . . maybe one of these days.”

  “What paper do you work for, Mr. McCay?” Frank asked.

  “I’m freelance,” McCay told them. “I write for a lot of different publications.”

  “And which of them wants you to investigate us?” Joe asked.

  “You boys have it all wrong,” McCay proclaimed. “Look, here’s the way it is. I’ve been working on a feature story about the after-school activities of local high school students. You know—sports, interesting hobbies, part-time jobs—things like that. Then I heard about a couple of guys who are amateur detectives. I told myself, They’re a natural.’ You catch my drift?”

  “I think so,” Frank said sarcastically. He tucked McCay’s card into his shirt pocket.

  “I want to see to it that you boys get the fame you deserve,” McCay continued. “Here’s my idea. You let me follow you around and take notes on your next investigation. When it’s finished, I’ll write it in the form of an adventure story. Don’t worry, I’ll change the names and some of the details, to keep from embarrassing anybody. I’ll bet it’ll be a big hit. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if the publishers decided to do a whole series of books about you. What do you say?”

  “My brother and I would have to think that one over,” Frank said. “But I can’t help wondering—if you were planning to approach us with this idea, why did you try so hard to avoid us yesterday and again this afternoon?”