Martial Law Read online

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Finn Campbell

  Hometown: Lincoln Park, IL

  Physical description: Age 37, 5’11”, 175 lbs. Balding and pale, with the sharklike smile of a salesman.

  Occupation: Office manager and chief bookkeeper at the Rising Phoenix Martial Arts School

  Background: Was in sales for years but lost his job. Paul Huang hired him to run the Rising Phoenix after almost two years of unemployment. He loves his job—and is grateful to have it. He has one daughter: Liz, age 15.

  Suspicious behavior: Seen bullying a student and demanding money.

  Suspected of: Just collecting tuition? Or is he extorting money from a teenager?

  Possible motives: Greed? Or simply doing what his boss tells him?

  I headed out into the hallway just as Chet came rushing in, still in his street clothes. His backpack was stuffed so full that he had to hunch over in order to support its weight. I chuckled—Chet looked like a turtle. Had he brought every single textbook he had taken home from school with him?

  “Chet, hey!” I called. “Why are you so late?”

  He gave me a quick wave and ducked into Huang’s office without even answering. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Class was due to start in two minutes. Why was Chet wasting time in the office? Wouldn’t he get in trouble for being late?

  I went to the door of the dojo and hung out there, trying to look casual. For some reason, Chet’s behavior had set off an alarm bell in my head. Chet Morton is one of those guys who’s always on time. He’s also one of those guys who’s always polite. But he’d just waved without coming over a second ago. What was the deal?

  A minute later, the office door opened and Chet came out. I tried to get a look at his face, but Sensei Huang was coming out at the same time. He was saying something to Chet, but he turned so that his back was to me. He totally blocked my view of my friend. I ran my hand through my hair, frustrated. I hoped Chet wasn’t in trouble for being late.

  As Sensei Huang headed for the dojo, Chet vanished into the locker room. I turned away, hoping Huang wouldn’t notice me watching.

  But a movement in the hallway behind Huang caught my eye. I thought I saw Liz Campbell sneak into Huang’s office. I whipped my head around, but she was gone. Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

  “You look worried, Frank,” Huang said when he reached the dojo door. “Something wrong?”

  “No, Sensei,” I assured him. “I can’t wait to get started.”

  “Good.” He looked me up and down. “Why don’t you come up front so you can see me better?” He took his place at the front of the room and bowed to the class. We all bowed back. I shoved my thoughts about Chet and Billy and Liz out of my head. It was time to learn some karate!

  “All right, now some of you already know these basic moves,” Huang called, raising his voice to be heard through the entire dojo. I glanced around. There were about twenty kids in the class. I recognized the others from our orientation group. Liz Campbell was all the way in the back, keeping to herself like last time.

  “As you know, patience is of the utmost importance. Every muscle must be entirely under your control, and constant practice is the road to that level of control.” Sensei Huang did his making-eye-contact thing again, looking individual students in the eye for a few seconds as he talked. “I’m going to teach the shiko tsuki to the new students, but I want you others to practice it right along with us. This is a basic square-stance punch.”

  He gazed at Joe. Joe nodded, doing his best to look insecure. That doesn’t come easy to my brother.

  The dojo door opened and Chet rushed in, dressed in his gi.

  “Chet, just in time,” Huang said. “Come up here and help me demonstrate the shiko tsuki.”

  Chet nodded eagerly and went to the front of the room. He positioned himself next to Huang as the sensei described the proper stance and went through the move in slow motion so we could all see exactly how it was supposed to be done.

  “Chet, why don’t you show them?” Huang said.

  Chet dropped into a version of the square stance that Huang had described. He gave a loud “Hy-yah!” and shot his arm straight forward. Huang tumbled over backward, landing on the mat. Everybody gasped and murmured to one another, impressed.

  But I couldn’t believe it. Chet had barely touched the guy. I was close enough to see that my friend hadn’t done anything the way Huang had showed us. Chet’s feet weren’t in the right position, his weight was distributed unevenly, and his punch had been slow and weak. He’d barely even covered the distance between himself and Huang.

  I didn’t blame Chet—he’d only been doing karate for a short time.

  But why had Huang acted as if that punch had knocked him down? Why was he smiling and clapping Chet on the back?

  Why was our friend such a favorite with this guy?

  As soon as I got into the locker room after class, I went to find Chet.

  “Hey, man, nice job in class,” I told him. “I wouldn’t want to have to fight you!”

  Chet blushed. “Nah, Sensei Huang totally helped me,” he said honestly. “I still can’t really get the hang of that punch.” He opened his locker and pulled out his jeans and sneakers, then his backpack.

  “What’s in that thing, anyway?” I asked, reaching for the strap. “You were totally weighted down before.”

  Chet looked panicked as I pulled the pack away from him. It swung easily through the air and bumped against my legs. I stared down at it in surprise. The pack was empty. Or at least it was light enough that it seemed empty. What had happened to all the stuff Chet was carrying?

  I glanced at him and raised my eyebrows. “This pack was jammed when I saw you in the hall before class,” I said.

  “Um . . . I just had my gi in there.” Chet didn’t meet my eyes. He pushed his feet into his sneakers, grabbed the backpack, and headed for the door. “Listen, Frank, I gotta run. Later.” He took off, still wearing his gi.

  “Ready to go?” Joe asked, tossing his rolled-up gi on the bench near my locker. He took one look at my expression and knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

  “Chet. He’s acting weird,” I said. “He came in late with his backpack all stuffed with something, and he went to talk to Huang. Just now, his pack was empty. And when I asked him about it, he bolted.”

  “Plus, he’s getting the teacher’s pet treatment from Huang and he’s not even good at karate,” Joe said.

  “You think we should be worried?” I asked.

  Joe thought about it, then shook his head. “Nah. Everybody else is all gaga over Huang too. Chet’s probably just psyched someone is paying attention to him. The gym teachers at school are always kinda mean to him.”

  “Yeah. Maybe it’s part of Huang’s plan to build up Chet’s self-esteem,” I agreed. A quick glance around the locker room showed me that we were alone. “Everybody’s gone. Do you want to hang out and see what we can find out about Huang’s background?”

  “Definitely.” Joe led the way to the door. “First stop, the office of Mr. Paul Huang.”

  “That’s Sensei Paul Huang to you,” I joked.

  We’d both kept our shoes off so we could walk silently. The hall was deserted, but you never knew who might be around. We inched up to Huang’s office. The door was ajar. I gave Joe a thumbs-up and reached out to push it open.

  “. . . a very serious situation,” Huang’s voice came from inside.

  I snatched my hand back and shot my brother a warning look. Huang was still here!

  Joe ducked down and moved underneath the big window in the office wall. Slowly, he lifted himself up until he could see inside. I held my breath. That was a risky move. If Huang happened to be facing the window, he’d see Joe for sure.

  Joe stared inside for a few seconds, then dropped back down and crawled over to me.

  “It’s Huang and Finn,” he whispered. “And Billy Lee.”

  Billy! Had Finn dragged their fight to Hu
ang now too? “Is Billy upset?” I asked.

  “Practically crying,” Joe confirmed.

  “I have to see this.” I crawled over and eased myself up to the window the way Joe had. Huang sat at his desk while Finn spoke in his ear. Both looked totally serious, and Huang’s eyes never left Billy’s face. It was like his friendly eye contact routine in class, only this time it wasn’t friendly. It was threatening.

  Billy sat in the chair across from them, trembling like a scared rabbit.

  When Finn stopped speaking, he straightened up and turned to Billy, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I can’t allow this,” Huang’s voice drifted out to me.

  “But Sensei—” Billy began.

  “What else do you have?” Huang asked.

  Billy reached down into his backpack and pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. “Just this.”

  Huang and Finn looked at each other, and Finn shrugged.

  “Fine. That will have to do,” Huang said. “But next time we need the full amount, Mr. Lee.”

  What was this? My brain spun with possibilities. Had Billy’s mother not paid tuition? Maybe Billy was taking classes without permission, and he had to scrape up the tuition money by himself? Maybe he’d gotten ripped off by the bully at school, and had his tuition money stolen?

  Huang pulled a bulky brown packing envelope out of his desk and tossed it to Billy. The poor kid tried to catch it, but missed. He bent and picked it up off the floor.

  “The money?” Finn said coldly.

  Billy gave him the twenty. Then he bolted for the door so fast that Joe and I barely had time to get out of there. We sprinted back to the locker room and rushed inside.

  “What was that all about?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But whatever is going on here, Finn Campbell’s involved.”

  7

  California (Diner) Trail

  I sat on the front steps outside school on Wednesday afternoon, my motorcycle helmet on my lap and the spare helmet next to me. We had an hour before class started at the Rising Phoenix.

  “Hi, Joe,” Chet called, stumbling out of the school doors while zipping up his jacket. He gave me a cheerful smile and came over.

  “Hey,” I said. “What did you think of Petersen’s bio test today?”

  “It was a killer.” He rolled his eyes. “And I think Brian Conrad was trying to cheat off me.”

  “Figures.” I laughed. “Listen, I thought you might want a ride to the Rising Phoenix. I mean, since we’re going there anyway.” I offered him the spare helmet.

  Chet gazed longingly at it. He loves our bikes—who wouldn’t? He’s always trying to find excuses to borrow a motorcycle, but Frank and I never let anyone ride on their own. The bikes are far too valuable to risk—and so are the people. Still, Chet is usually pretty happy just to get a ride on the back of one.

  But instead:

  “Um . . . no thanks,” he said.

  Huh?

  “But how are you gonna get to class?” I asked. “Is your mom picking you up?”

  “No. I have my mountain bike.” He gestured to the bike rack, where a tangle of bikes were chained up. “I’ll ride.”

  “We can bring you back here after class to pick up your bike,” I said.

  Chet shuffled his feet and looked away. “That’s okay. I want the exercise. I’m trying to get in shape, you know? Sensei Huang inspired me. He says you have to be strong to do your best work in karate. He encourages everybody to eat right and work out and take vitamins and stuff.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Good for you.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Thanks for the offer, though.” He went over and began unlocking the chain from his mountain bike.

  Frank showed up just as Chet hopped on and started pedaling away.

  “I thought you were going to give Chet a ride,” Frank said.

  “He didn’t want one.”

  Frank’s eyes went wide. “I told you there was something strange going on with him.”

  “Yup.” I stood up and put on my helmet. “That’s why we’re gonna follow him.”

  Sounds easy, right? But you try following a guy on a bicycle when you’re on a superpowerful, completely torqued motorcycle. Our rides aren’t the quietest in the world. And it’s nearly impossible to go slow enough to stay behind a regular bike.

  Frank and I ended up pulling over to the side of the road, letting Chet get nearly out of sight on his bicycle, and then following him at the lowest speed with our hazards on. Sometimes we even walked our bikes after him.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe super-cool, standout motorcycles aren’t the best vehicles for detective work,” I told Frank.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Frank replied.

  Luckily, Chet wasn’t the greatest cyclist in the world. He weaved a little as he rode, and he stayed totally focused on the road in front of him. He never even glanced over his shoulder to see why the noise of two motorcycles was constantly behind him.

  By the time we got to Holtsville, I was sick of riding slow. Chet was obviously just going to the Rising Phoenix. “You wanna knock off and head to school?” I said.

  “Not yet,” Frank said. “Look.”

  Chet was turning—seven blocks before the turn for the Rising Phoenix. I pulled over and waited for Frank to pull up next to me. He yanked off his helmet. “Where is he going?”

  I squinted after Chet, who was riding down a deserted, industrial-looking street. “Isn’t this the road to the Holtsville train station?” I asked.

  “I think so.” Frank frowned. “But why would Chet go there?”

  “Only one way to find out.” I kicked the bike into gear and took off—slowly—after our friend. Frank put his helmet back on and followed me.

  Sure enough, after five blocks the street came to an end in a T-intersection with the train tracks. A tiny, run-down station stood near the tracks, surrounded by a huge parking lot filled with the cars of people who commuted to work on the train. But since it was the middle of the afternoon, the place was deserted. Nobody would be back from work for another few hours.

  “Where’s Chet?” I asked. I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  “Over there.” Frank pointed to a small strip mall across a side street from the station. Chet was chaining his bike to a lamppost.

  “Okay, this is seriously bizarre behavior,” I said.

  Chet grabbed his backpack and headed over to a tiny restaurant with a neon sign that said CALIFORNIA DINER. Another neon sign was shaped like a palm tree—the only remotely Californian thing about the place. And a third sign read LUNCH SPECIALS.

  “Maybe he’s hungry from riding his bike so hard,” Frank guessed.

  But before Chet could even reach for the door handle, the glass door swung open and a tall, thin man stepped out. He spoke to Chet for a few seconds, then handed him a big, bulky package.

  Chet put his backpack on the ground and struggled to get the package inside it. Finally he managed to stuff it all in. He pulled the zipper closed and looked up. The tall guy nodded and went back inside. Chet headed for his bike.

  “I think we’ve seen enough,” Frank said. “Let’s get to the Rising Phoenix.”

  “Yeah, and keep a watch out for Chet,” I added. “Showing up for karate class with a full backpack seems to be a habit for him. I think we ought to find out what’s inside.”

  I gunned the engine and took off at top speed. It was a rush to be able to ride full-out after twenty minutes of inching along like I was on training wheels.

  When we got to the Rising Phoenix, we changed quickly into our gis. We wanted to be sure we were ready for action by the time Chet got there. I glanced around the locker room for Billy Lee, but I didn’t see him.

  I went out into the hallway and hung around near the front door. Frank took up a position just inside the dojo entrance. He practiced the shiko tsuki punch we’d learned at the last class, but he
kept his eyes on Huang’s office. After a while, I noticed that Liz Campbell was also hanging around in the hallway. I glanced at her, but she looked away.

  Finally it got too weird. I went over to her. “Hey, Liz,” I said. “What are you up to?”

  She blushed. “Oh, I was just waiting for Chet,” she admitted.

  I grinned. “You kinda have a thing for him, don’t you?”

  “I’m being stupid. He barely even says hello to me,” she said.

  I glanced over her shoulder. I could see through the front doors, and Chet was just pulling up on his bike, huffing and puffing with the effort. “Tell you what,” I said to Liz. “When Chet comes in, just act like I’m saying something really funny. It will look like we’re flirting and Chet will get jealous.”

  She stared at me like I had just grown a horn from my head or something.

  “Trust me,” I said. “I know how the romance thing works.”

  Chet pushed open the door and dragged himself inside, still breathing hard. Liz looked panicked, but she started to laugh loudly. So did I. Hey, it was a good cover for me—I could see everything Chet was doing, but it looked as if I was just standing there, flirting with Liz.

  Chet immediately looked over at us. He seemed surprised to see me with Liz, but he quickly turned away. He went to Huang’s office and pushed open the door without even knocking.

  I took Liz’s elbow. “Let’s walk into the dojo together,” I suggested.

  She laughed nervously—she probably wasn’t used to guys actually touching her—and she went along with me toward the dojo. I slowed down as we passed Huang’s office door.

  It was standing open a little—wide enough for me to see Chet inside.

  He had taken the bulky package out of his bag.

  And he was giving it to Paul Huang.

  8

  Bad Medicine

  “Okay, everybody, listen up,” Huang called after the traditional bow exchange in class. “Every other class is a practice session. So that means today we’re going to work with partners so you can perfect your technique. Those of you who have been here longer, you’ll spend time on all the moves you’ve learned. Those of you who are new, you’ll work on the shiko tsuki. So pair up with someone at your own level.”