Trouble Times Two Read online

  “I was trying to see how deep I could get into Dad’s archives,” he said. “This was the oldest file I could reach.”

  “Some file,” Joe said. “I knew Dad was acting funny when we told him about Mr. Gilliam. Now I understand that crack about unlicensed investigators.” He ran a hand through his short blond hair. “What do we do now?”

  “First, we let Dad know his computer is vulnerable,” Frank said. “At least to a snatch-and-grab job.”

  He tapped on his keyboard, closing down the computer. “Then we ask about Mr. Owens, Mr. Wylie, and Tri-State Express.”

  Fenton wasn’t happy to learn that Frank had cracked his computer’s security. He was even more unhappy when he heard what the boys had read in there.

  “That’s supposed to be confidential,” he complained.

  “Dad, this wasn’t something we were looking for,” Frank said.

  Joe nodded. “It just fell in our laps. But now that it’s here . . .”

  Fenton made a sour face. “Those notes are all there is to it. The case was pretty open-and-shut. Owens had an ambitious son-in-law. But Hal didn’t think Don Wylie had the ability to match that ambition. Owens set Don up to fail.”

  “Nice guy,” Joe said.

  Fenton shrugged. “Business people sometimes pull stunts like that. It could be a trap to crush a rival. Sometimes it can teach an associate important lessons.”

  “Like that old saying,” Frank said. “ ‘What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.’ ”

  “Something like that,” Fenton said.

  “The problem is, Don Wylie didn’t learn his lesson,” Joe said. “He made the company profitable—very profitable.”

  “That’s what brought Owens to me,” Fenton said. “He’d been cutting back expenses at the company to hold his losses down. Wylie wanted to spend money, to expand.”

  “Looks like Wylie was right,” Frank said.

  “Owens didn’t think that way.” Fenton frowned. “He wouldn’t invest in his own company, and he made sure no banks would lend any funds. So, when Wylie began spending money anyway, he was convinced something crooked was going on.”

  “A really nice guy,” Joe said.

  Fenton nodded. “What’s why I didn’t agree to investigate. It sounded like a case of sour grapes to me.”

  He leaned back in his office chair. “When you told me about the ‘service’ Russ Gilliam offers—”

  A light went on in Frank’s head. “How he sometimes gets hired by suspicious stockholders,” he said.

  “Even if he is an ‘unlicensed investigator.’ ” Joe grinned. “I’m only surprised you didn’t react when Tri-State Express came up earlier in this case.”

  “It didn’t come up in any case,” Fenton quickly corrected him. “It was the place of work for someone whose background I was checking.”

  The boys’ father frowned. “Although now, I have to admit—” He gave a little head-shake. “Maybe I should have nosed around a little more when Owens came to me.”

  • • •

  The next day at school Frank walked to social studies with Callie Shaw. “Nobody said Tom Gilliam had lost his mother!” She looked upset as they headed down the hallway.

  “Everybody seems to be saying it now.” Frank shook his head. The school grapevine must be working overtime. All of a sudden, Tom Gilliam had gone from “troublemaker” to “that poor kid.”

  “I was really mean to him.” Callie’s words came out almost as a groan. “How am I going to face him in class anymore?”

  “Maybe you’ll be able to do him a favor,” Frank suggested, grinning. “Shoot a couple of spitballs at him if he dozes off during Bannerman’s lecture.”

  Callie gave him a look but said nothing as they went in the classroom door.

  As usual, Tom Gilliam was the last in the room. But Callie shouldn’t have worried about having to face him. Tom had eyes only for Kev Wylie.

  “Hey, Kev,” he said, looming over the other boy’s desk. “I’ve got a really good anti-whistle-blower story for you. There’s this company that I’m assured is completely honest. But when the owner finds out there’s a whistle-blower on the payroll, he fires him.”

  Tom’s eyes were blazing. He glared down at Kev, who twisted in his seat but said nothing.

  “What do you think, Kev? Do you think there’s a prejudice against people who blow the whistle on dirty doings?” Tom’s voice grew louder. He leaned in toward Wylie’s face. “Or maybe your father has something to hide in his wonderful company. After all, he fired my dad just about as soon as you got home last night!”

  Mr. Bannerman arrived, cutting off what was becoming a very nasty scene. Frank shuddered at the way things might go in the cafeteria. When the period ended, he leaned over to Callie. “Get a hold of Tom. Keep him busy for as long as you can. And whatever you do, don’t let him get near Kev!”

  “How am I going to do any of that?” Callie demanded.

  “You’ll think of something,” Frank said, flying for the door. “If all else fails, tell him you’re sorry.”

  Mr. Sheldrake had a firm rule about running in the halls. If Frank didn’t break that regulation, he certainly bent it on his way to the cafeteria. He caught up with Joe while the younger Hardy was still coming down the stairs.

  “Your pal Tom had some whistle-blower news today,” Frank reported. “Don Wylie fired Russ Gilliam last night. Tom’s pretty steamed.”

  Joe looked shocked. “Oh, I bet,” he finally said. He gave Frank a sharp glance. “And why are you rushing to tell me?”

  “You’re the closest thing Tom has to a friend at Bayport High. Try to keep him from flying off the handle. Think of Old Beady Eyes. He won’t like it if Tom makes lunch-hour fights a regular school activity.”

  The boys posted themselves at the cafeteria entrance. Frank spotted a grim-looking Kev Wylie going in. Toward the end of the crowd was Tom Gilliam. He was trying to ditch Callie, who resolutely hung on to him.

  “Tom!” Joe pushed through the crowd to grab the boy’s other arm. “I just heard what happened.”

  For a second Tom almost took a swing. He was wound up more tightly than Frank had ever seen him.

  Then Gilliam recognized Joe. “Sorry,” he said. “This has got me to the point where I’m not seeing straight. High-and-mighty Kev and his great dad!” He looked mad enough to spit. Then he deflated like a leaky balloon. “I thought speaking out would bring . . . peace. Mr. Wylie would bring Dad in, they’d talk, that would be the end of it.”

  His face tightened again. “Instead, Dad got a call telling him not to show up for work, or on any Tri-State property—ever. They treated him like a dog!”

  Frank could see different emotions in Tom’s eyes. He was ashamed for, and by, his father. He was guilty now for giving his dad away. But there was an odder vibe of nervousness that Frank caught. Tom was deeply worried about something.

  “So what’s your father going to do now that his cover’s been blown?” Frank asked.

  That background worry flared in Tom’s eyes. “He’s gone nuts! I thought he’d just get out of town. But he says he’s going to stay. He’s not leaving till he finishes with Tri-State Express!”

  • • •

  Frank and Joe spent the trip home from school in thoughtful silence.

  “You think Mr. Gilliam was just shooting off his mouth about seeing the job through?” Joe finally asked. “With no job, I don’t see how he can hope to dig up any dirt at Tri-State. And how’s he going to pay his bills?”

  “Tom said Mr. Gilliam makes big bucks from his business,” Frank said. “Don’t be fooled by the little apartment and the rusty car. I’ll bet Mr. G. has lots of money to carry on a private war.”

  “That’s what it is now—a war—isn’t it?” Joe sighed. “Now I wish Tom had had a chance to talk to Dad before he did what he did. Tom hoped to straighten things out between himself and Kev. Instead, he’s caused twice as much trouble.”

  “I guess trouble is Mr.
Gilliam’s business.” Frank’s gaze suddenly sharpened. “But I wonder if he’s ever been busted in the middle of a case. He certainly doesn’t have any back-up.”

  Joe slowly nodded. “Maybe we should keep an eye on him. How’s the homework situation?”

  Frank looked at his brother. “I took care of most of it during study hall.”

  “Me, too,” Joe said. “We’ll blast through the rest, get some supplies, and set up our own stake-out!”

  A call to Tom was answered by Mr. Gilliam instead. He was rather curt with Frank, but Frank didn’t mind. He just wanted to make sure the man was home. Joe parked the van across the street from the apartment house where the Gilliams lived. Then the boys settled in to watch—and wait.

  “I don’t mind missing supper,” Joe said around a mouthful of sandwich. “But how late are we going to keep this up?”

  “As late as we need to,” Frank replied. “I’m betting we won’t have to hang out for a midnight raid. Gilliam made his move pretty early the last time.”

  “Yeah, but that was a Saturday night, and I don’t think it was planned. He had an argument with Tom and bombed out of there.”

  “Well, it’s dark now,” Frank said. “Let’s give it a few more hours.”

  They were just about to give it up when Mr. Gilliam appeared in the doorway of the building. He moved more slowly than he had the night they had followed him. His car started up on the first try. Joe waited until the rusty tan sedan was around the corner before starting his own engine.

  From there on, their surveillance was almost a replay of their last trip. The only change came at the very end.

  Gilliam pulled up about two blocks from the Tri-State warehouse and parked. Joe went past and turned the next corner. As he slowed down, Frank already had the door open. Out of the car and onto the sidewalk, he was watching Gilliam’s car in seconds.

  The tall, stoop-shouldered man was out of the sedan, walking up the block. Frank pulled back into the shadows as Gilliam passed.

  Joe appeared at Frank’s elbow. “Guess he’s stashing his car here so it won’t be recognized.”

  Frank nodded. “The question is, is he trying to get in—or is he meeting someone?”

  They set off after Gilliam, sticking to the shadows. Both boys moved with a minimum of noise. A careless footfall could get them spotted.

  Moving cautiously, they let Gilliam develop almost a block’s lead on them. A second figure appeared from the shadows about half a block ahead. Joe looked ready to charge, but Frank held him back.

  “That could be a contact, checking things out,” he whispered.

  Joe nodded in the darkness.

  The strange, silent procession continued until Gilliam almost reached the brightly lit block that housed Tri-State’s warehouse. Then the whistleblower’s new shadow made his move. Suddenly he had a short club in his right hand. He ran for Gilliam. So did the boys.

  “Watch out!” Frank yelled.

  Gilliam heard the cry. He raised an arm as his attacker charged in.

  “Keep your nose out of where it ain’t wanted!” grunted the shadowy attacker.

  Backing up his words, he raised his arm and brought the short club down in a vicious swing—aiming for Gilliam’s head!

  12: . . . And Misses

  Joe raced ahead of his brother, getting to the men first. Russ Gilliam managed to block his attacker’s first swing with his arm.

  The move saved his skull, but he cried out in pain, and his arm fell useless at his side. The attacker wound up for another try.

  By now Joe was on the scene. He threw himself at the attacker and landed on his back, trying to turn him around. But the attacker had a secret weapon.

  Joe choked on a horrible odor. It was a weird mix—part expensive cologne, part unwashed flesh and clothes. Apparently Gilliam’s assailant didn’t believe in showers or deodorant. His body odor was enough to knock out an elephant. It actually had Joe’s eyes watering.

  The smelly attacker tried to swing his club back to get a crack at Joe. Frank arrived just in time to grab the guy’s wrist.

  Still struggling, they staggered back into a dim beam of light thrown from over a warehouse door. Frank’s expression would have been funny if they weren’t fighting a vicious and determined foe.

  Frank’s lips were tight, his nostrils pinched. He was trying to wrestle the club from the guy without breathing.

  The attacker twisted free, bringing the club up again. His raised arm just made the stench worse. Joe suddenly wondered what might be living in the guy’s clothes if he smelled this bad.

  Joe snapped off a kick. He caught the guy in the thigh, staggering him. The club swept past Frank, a clear miss.

  The man wore a hooded sweatshirt, the hood more like a cowl. It kept most of his face in darkness. Joe could just make out the whites of the guy’s eyes. The man’s gaze darted from one Hardy to the other.

  Joe could follow his reasoning. The mystery attacker had lain in wait to put some major hurt on Russ Gilliam. The intervention of the Hardys added witnesses—and two more opponents. He had to size them up—to choose whether or not to attack.

  The man swung his club, not in attack, but to keep the Hardys back. Then he suddenly whipped around and took off.

  Frank made a halfhearted attempt to grab the guy because he had as many doubts about the man’s hygiene as Joe did. Anyway, the guy darted into the blackness of a nearby alley mouth.

  Joe took a step, then shook his head. Going up against someone with a club in pitch darkness wasn’t a good game plan. He joined Frank, who’d run over to see how Russell Gilliam was doing.

  Tom’s father stared at them, his eyes huge in his pale face. The man’s stoop was more exaggerated, and he cradled his right arm in his left hand.

  “Is it broken?” Frank asked in concern.

  “I-I’m not sure.” Gilliam’s voice was shaky as he looked from Frank to Joe. “Now I know where I saw you. That group of kids who came to the door—”

  “Frank and Joe Hardy,” Frank introduced themselves. “Our dad is Fenton Hardy, the private detective.”

  Gilliam turned to Joe. “Tom told me you tried to help him,” he said. “You were taking him to see your father. Instead, he met Kevin Wylie.”

  Joe braced himself. He knew how this man could react when he was annoyed.

  But Russ Gilliam only sighed. “I suppose Tom thought he was doing the right thing.”

  “I think your son is worried that you’ve stopped trying to shake things up,” Joe said. “And started to shake companies down.”

  “Looks like he’d be right to worry tonight.” Frank carefully took the man’s arm. “And I’d say you were pretty shaken up.”

  Gilliam winced at the gently probing fingers. “Something is going on at Tri-State. Their accounting system is a joke. I kept stumbling across unexplained cash coming in.”

  “It’s going to be hard, trying to follow the money from outside,” Frank said.

  “I got a call tonight,” Gilliam went on. “One of my co-workers. Said word had gone around about why I’d been fired. He wanted to help. Suggested a meeting down here.”

  Gilliam sucked in his breath with a hiss as Frank tried to roll up his sleeve. “Obviously a trap.”

  “I don’t know if it’s much consolation,” Joe said, “but I think this was meant to scare you more than anything else. You even got a warning, to keep your nose out of where it didn’t belong.”

  He tried a joke. “I just wish I could have kept my nose away from the guy with the warning!”

  Gilliam managed a wan smile. “He was pretty ripe, wasn’t he?”

  “Fonder of perfume than soap, that’s for sure,” Frank said. “I think we’d better get that arm to a hospital. I don’t think it’s broken. But then, I don’t have X-ray vision.”

  There was no way Gilliam could drive his car. The brothers gave him a lift in the van.

  Luckily, it was a quiet night for the emergency room of Bayport General. Th
e good news was that Russell Gilliam had a nasty bruise instead of a broken arm. He still got to wear a sling as a souvenir of his encounter with the smelly thug.

  “Thanks for your help,” Gilliam said. “Both now—and before.”

  “Are you going to stay on this?” Joe asked.

  “I’ve gotten threats before,” Gilliam responded.

  Frank frowned. “Were they usually backed up with a medium-size stick?”

  “Son, I had my house burned down. As you said, it was a warning.” Gilliam had a stubborn look on his face. “Don Wylie can throw me off his company’s property, but he can’t get me out of town. I intend to keep an eye on him—maybe I’ll find out where the mystery money comes from.”

  The whistle-blower adjusted his arm in the sling. “At the very least, my presence will help shake Wylie up. Whatever he’s doing, he’s no criminal genius. Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake.”

  “Like maybe hiring El Stinko to attack you?” Joe asked.

  “Mistakes like that can be dangerous for you, too,” Frank said.

  “I wasn’t expecting it,” Gilliam said defensively. “I’ll be on my guard now.”

  He insisted on taking a taxi home. Joe and Frank drove off to Oak Street in worried silence.

  “I begin to see Dad’s point about unlicensed investigators,” Joe finally said. “Gilliam may be great at following the numbers—”

  “But he’s not used to the rough-and-tumble side,” Frank finished. “Somebody’s taking this pretty far for a business scam.”

  “You don’t think it’s Don Wylie?” Joe asked.

  “Could you see Kev hiring someone for a stunt like that?” Frank shot back. “Of course, I don’t know his father very well. But the picture I get from Kev—and even from Mr. Owens—is of a would-be executive.”

  “Someone who’d send a lawyer instead of a thug,” Joe said. “So who set Gilliam up? Who sicced the Smelly Menace on him?”

  Sitting in the passenger seat, Frank only shook his head. “I have no idea.” He held up a finger. “No, I have one. Let’s talk to Dad.”