Nowhere to Run Read online

  "We can't get any of those things together that fast," Frank protested.

  "Twenty-nine minutes and forty-three seconds," Fat Harold said. "Or your girlfriend becomes just another small part of American culture."

  Fat Harold's screeching laugh tore at Frank's ears until he slammed down the receiver.

  Frank dashed from the room, but reentered instantly. "Sims, you wait here with Biker, or you're dead. You got that — dead!"

  Chapter 15

  BRUCE'S PARADISE SALVAGE looked like anything but a paradise. A crazy maze of rust-eaten cars, engine parts, and transmissions littered the potholed dirt road. The dead smell of wet and rotting upholstery filled the air.

  "One minute," Frank said.

  Joe nodded.

  They jogged toward the rear of the salvage yard. Joe carried a largish black briefcase under his right arm, and he tried not to let his injured left arm swing out too much.

  Darkness had set in, and the salvage yard's single streetlight cast deep shadows. Frank and Joe kept their eyes on the shadows, wary that Fat Harold could have set a trap for them.

  They turned a corner of stacked cars to find Callie and Sue flanked by Rock and Hard Place, who held two ugly automatics leveled at the girls.

  "Freeze," ordered Rock. He shoved his gun into Callie's side.

  Callie grimaced.

  "Be careful with that thing." Frank's voice was tight. "We brought what you wanted." He looked around. "Where's your boss?"

  "I'm here, remembering the good old days," Fat Harold called to Frank and Joe. He stepped out from behind a faded yellow school bus.

  "I didn't think they had buses in reform school," Joe said.

  Fat Harold laughed. He nodded to his two thugs. Rock and Hard Place locked and loaded their automatics. They pointed the deadly pieces at the heads of Callie and Sue. "Wait!" Frank yelled.

  Fat Harold walked till he stood about ten yards from Frank. He looked at his watch.

  "Right on time. Excellent." He glanced at the briefcase under Joe's arm. "I assume you have either the money, the watches, or Conway in that little case." His nasal laugh bounced off the rusted cars.

  "Money," Joe replied without a smile. "Two hundred and fifty thousand." "Very good," Fat Harold wheezed. "Biker has confessed to stealing the watches, Mien fencing them and hiding the money until he could get out of the country. It's all here." Joe tossed the case at Fat Harold's feet. Fat Harold jumped back.

  "There's no booby trap," Frank assured the bookie.

  "How did you know where to find Callie and Sue?" Joe asked at almost the same time.

  "I've got friends I never knew I had," Fat Harold began as he kicked at the briefcase. "The same little birdie that warned me to go to Frost's apartment told me Conway's girlfriend was staying at the Bayport Motel." He nodded back to Callie. "And she's the insurance I needed to make sure you two wouldn't try anything funny."

  Fat Harold knelt down. He lifted the briefcase and smiled as he pushed down on the snaps. His face reddened.

  "It's locked," he growled.

  "Oh, sorry," Frank replied. "I've got the key." He put his hand into his jeans pocket. Rock turned his automatic on Frank, who quickly raised both hands to show he had no weapon.

  "Slowly," Fat Harold said.

  Frank pulled a small silver key from his pocket and held it up.

  "Throw me the key or say goodbye to one of the girls." Fat Harold's face tightened with rage.

  "One girl, one key," Frank said calmly, gambling that Fat Harold wouldn't order his two thugs to shoot Callie and Sue.

  Fat Harold's face untwisted into a thin smile.

  "Fair enough," the bookie replied. He nodded to Hard Place. The thug lowered his automatic and pushed Sue toward Frank.

  Fat Harold laughed. "The little birdie told me that Callie Shaw means a lot to Frank Hardy. We'll hold her until we're safely out of Bayport. Now the key, if you please."

  "Don't do it, Frank," Joe said. "Make them give up Callie."

  "Kid, don't make a fatal mistake," Fat Harold said. "Don't get the foolish idea you can make me do anything. He held out his hand. "The key—now!"

  Frank flipped the key at Fat Harold. The bookie picked it up and put it in one of the locks. He gently turned it. Frank heard a small sigh escape from the bookie when nothing happened. Fat Harold put the key in the second lock and turned it. He smiled triumphantly and lifted the briefcase lid.

  Frank shoved Sue to the ground as he and Joe covered their eyes. A blinding light burst from the briefcase. Fat Harold screamed as the scorching glare of a easeful of exploding flashbulbs tore into his eyes.

  Frank and Joe charged. Frank leapt for Rock. He was relieved to see that Callie, even though blinded, had thrown herself to the ground and was scrambling away from the thug. Rock was shaking his head and swinging his arms wildly in front of him. Frank landed a solid kick to Rock's stomach. The thug sat down—hard. Even so, he raised his gun, aiming blindly in the direction of his attacker. Frank kicked the gun from Rock's hand and rammed a fist into the side of the thug's head. Rock hit the ground and didn't move.

  At the same moment Joe ran for Fat Harold, who was staggering and screaming, one hand over his eyes, the other trying to pull a pistol from his pocket. Joe whipped a sawed-off baseball bat from his sling and tapped Fat Harold's wrist as he came up with the gun. The gun went flying, and Joe sent the bookie flying in the opposite direction. Then he turned to Hard Place.

  The thug, tears streaming from his blinded eyes, began firing his automatic wildly in the direction of any sound. Frank and Joe hit the ground. "Stay down!" Frank yelled to Callie and Sue. Hard Place turned toward the sound of Frank's voice and squeezed off a shot. Frank rolled away from the slug as it sliced the ground inches away from him.

  A single pistol shot pierced the air. Hard Place was knocked to the ground as a bullet slammed into his shoulder. Sims and a handcuffed Biker ran from behind a stack of cars. Sims's 9 mm was still smoking from the shot he'd fired at the thug.

  Just then Rock staggered to his feet, a backup gun in his hand. He had apparently regained his eyesight and was aiming the pistol at Mort Sims.

  "Sims!" Frank yelled. He was too far away to help the bounty hunter.

  Suddenly Biker knocked a surprised Sims to one side and sprinted toward Rock. He lowered his shoulder and slammed into the thug with such force that Rock was lifted from the ground and flew several feet backward before smashing into a stack of rusted cars. The unconscious gunman slid to the ground in a lump, his pistol landing harmlessly a few feet away.

  "You all right?" Biker asked as he helped Sims up.

  "Yeah," Sims replied. He shoved Biker's hands away and stood on his own.

  "You could say thanks," Joe said as he helped Sue to her feet.

  "Conway's lucky I didn't shoot him," Sims said. "I thought he was trying to escape."

  "Good job," Frank said to Callie, who had wiped her eyes and was now brushing dirt from her jeans.

  Sirens cut through the air. Moments later several Bayport police cars pulled into the salvage yard. Con Riley and Fenton Hardy hopped from the lead car.

  "Frank! Joe! Are you okay?" Fenton asked as he ran up to his sons.

  "Sure, Dad," Frank replied. He turned to Con. "Better have your men cuff these three."

  Riley nodded to the other officers.

  "We've got proof that Biker didn't know about the watch shipment," Joe said as he handed the invoices to Fenton. He explained about the trip to Queens and finding the invoice with the rerouted watches.

  "That adds up with what Con found," Fenton replied.

  "What's that?"

  "The wallet and driver's license found at the scene of Frost's murder were reported stolen several months ago by Biker," Fenton said.

  "That's right," Biker added as he joined the group. "I lost my wallet during a Riding on Time tour."

  "He could have pretended to lose it," Sims insisted.

  "Maybe," Fenton said. "But Frost was mu
rdered by someone riding a cycle. When Biker was arrested, he was on foot."

  "He could have ditched the bike anywhere," Sims retorted. "And what about his debts?" He turned to face Joe. "You told me yourself that Fat Harold was after Conway for not paying up on his gambling debts."

  "I never gamble," Biker replied. "That's a fool's game."

  "Never? We'll see about that." Sims stalked over to a patrol car and pulled Fat Harold from the back. He marched the bookie toward the group and stood him in front of Biker.

  Fat Harold, still dazed, looked Biker up and down.

  "What am I doing? Judging a beauty contest?" the bookie sneered.

  "This is the man who owes you two hundred and fifty grand," Sims insisted. "This is Biker Conway."

  "No," Fat Harold replied.

  "That flash-bomb must have blinded you," Sims said in disbelief.

  "Excuse me," Fat Harold said indignantly. "I know the faces of everyone who owes me money, especially big money." He pointed at Biker. "And this guy is not the Biker Conway I know!"

  Chapter 16

  "I WAS WRONG," Brandon Dalton said as he stood in the Hardys' living room, trying to avoid Biker's eyes. "Frank's right. Frost did beat me up, but he said Biker had paid him to do it."

  "You knew I couldn't stand Frost," Biker said.

  "I wasn't thinking."

  "Why did you lie to us about calling Sims off the case?" Joe asked.

  "I didn't say I had gotten ahold of Sims," Brandon replied. "What I meant at the motel was that I agreed with my dad about kicking him off the case."

  "None of this makes any sense," Sims said.

  "Why?" Joe asked. "Because you might have the wrong man?"

  Sims glared at Joe. Joe smiled.

  "Did you disguise yourself when you placed your bets with Fat Harold?" Sims asked Biker with a cold stare.

  "Get off his case," Joe hissed.

  "That's all right, Joe," Biker said with a smile. He returned Sims's stare. "It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not. I'm innocent. I know it—more important, my friends know it. And tomorrow the courts will know it."

  "And I'll drop my assault charges," Brandon added.

  "You can take off those handcuffs," Joe said to Sims.

  "You've got to be kidding," Sims chuckled. "I've got my reward money to collect."

  "Biker's innocent and you know it," Joe insisted. Joe didn't get anywhere with Sims so he turned to Fenton. "I give my word. Biker won't go anywhere."

  Fenton looked at his son. "Uncuff him," he said to Sims.

  "Not on your life."

  "For a professional, you've acted pretty foolishly," Fenton said without hesitation. "Frank and Joe have proved that Biker didn't hijack the truck, the murder charges have been dropped, and Brandon has just admitted that it was Frost who beat him up." Fenton walked up to Sims. "You're in my home, and I'm not going to let you keep cuffs on an innocent man. Tomorrow we'll go to court, and I know with a good word from us any judge will drop the charges against Biker for escaping. I think you're out of your money, anyway, Mort."

  Fuming, Sims stomped over to Biker and unlocked the cuffs.

  "Thanks," Biker said sincerely as he rubbed his chafed wrists.

  Sims turned to Fenton. "There's still something about this case that isn't right."

  "Well, it's time you used your detecting skills to help and not hinder this investigation," Fenton said.

  Sims rubbed his neck. He was visibly embarrassed.

  "I suggest we question Fat Harold," Fenton added. Sims lowered his head and walked out the front door.

  "You sure Callie and Sue will be okay at the motel?" Fenton asked before leaving.

  "Con Riley said he'd post a patrol car outside," Frank replied.

  "Besides, I'll be there," Brandon added as he put on his motorcycle helmet.

  "Biker, I'm glad my sons were able to prove you innocent," Fenton said as he shook Biker's hand. "I'll call if we get anything out of Fat Harold."

  "I'm lucky to have you two on my side," Biker said after Fenton and Brandon left.

  "Three now," Joe said. "Didn't you hear my dad call you 'Biker'? He's never done that before."

  "Yeah," Biker replied. "I could be in jail on a murder charge. Any lawyer could have convinced a jury that I knew Frost had framed me and that I killed him in a blind rage. He must have lifted my wallet months ago."

  "Who could hate you enough to frame you for the hijacking and the murder?" Frank asked.

  Biker shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. What I want to know is who pretended to be me when he placed all those bets with Fat Harold."

  "Does Sue have an ex-boyfriend who could be jealous?" Joe asked.

  "Not that I know of," Biker replied.

  "We can ask Sue about that tomorrow morning. Right now, I say we get some rest," Frank said as he headed for bed. "No telling how long my dad and Sims will be with Fat Harold."

  "You can sleep in Aunt Gertrude's room," Joe said to Biker. "I hope you like perfume."

  As they reached the top of the stairs, Biker turned to Joe and said, "I'll understand if you want to lock the doors and windows."

  "What?" Joe asked, astonished. Then he saw the grin on Biker's face. He jabbed Biker in his ribs. "You'd make a wisecrack to the end."

  Joe slept restlessly, disturbed by strange dreams. The worst one had him trying to prevent Biker from riding off a large cliff into a bottomless grave. The night seemed to go on forever.

  He heard a noise in his bedroom and sat up. "Who's there?" he said loudly.

  "It's me," Frank replied.

  Joe jumped from his bed. "Did Dad call?"

  "Keep your voice down. They got here about an hour ago and went to bed. Sims is staying, too."

  "What time is it?"

  "Almost five-thirty. Get dressed."

  "Why are you whispering?" Joe asked as he pulled on his jeans.

  "I think I'm onto something, and I don't want to wake Biker." "What is it?" "Shhh. In the basement." Frank left Joe's room.

  Joe didn't like it when Frank started acting secretive. Joe preferred the straight approach. Frank liked to keep his ideas to himself until he was absolutely sure that he was right. Sometimes he waited until it was almost too late.

  Frank had his computer booted up by the time Joe reached the basement office.

  Like Joe, Frank had slept restlessly. But his restlessness was because of a nagging problem — Fat Harold's "little birdie." Someone had always been one step ahead of the Hardys and had nearly gotten them killed twice. Joe suspected Sims. But it would have been easier for Sims to kill Biker in the "line of duty." No, Fat Harold's "little birdie" had to be someone who was close to Biker and to Frank and Joe as well.

  "What's the big mystery?" Joe asked. He sat in the chair next to Frank's and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  "How did Fat Harold know someone would be at Frost's apartment—and where to find Callie and Sue?" Frank asked.

  "Someone told him," Joe answered with a yawn.

  "Right — his 'little birdie.' And how did that little birdie tell him?"

  Joe sat up. "What do you mean?"

  "How did the little birdie contact Fat Harold?"

  "By phone!"

  "Right, again. Someone's been keeping tabs on us and reporting back to Fat Harold. And now for the grand prize What kind of phone calls did the little birdie make?"

  "Longdistance!"

  "Give the man a stuffed bear!" Frank said. Just then the computer chirped and the screen lit up. "The little birdie made two calls to Fat Harold. If he was close enough to know our every move, then he had — "

  "To make the calls from Bayport," Joe finished.

  "You win the bonus prize," Frank said. He turned to his computer and began punching in the code numbers for accessing long-distance phone calls.

  "Sims could have known," Joe said.

  "No. Whoever made the first call tried to set us up. Sims didn't know we were going to Queens. The second phone call wa
s to inform Fat Harold about Callie and Sue and set us up again. Fat Harold was in Bayport shortly after we arrived—and we were with Sims the whole time."

  The computer beeped, and Frank punched the Enter button. "Aha?" he said triumphantly.

  "What is it?" Joe moved to view the screen. A seemingly endless list of phone numbers rolled before his eyes.

  Frank hit a button and the list stopped scrolling. He pointed at one line. "Here's the first phone call."

  "How can you tell?"

  "Remember Fat Harold's crazy number?"

  "Yeah. Five-five-five - BETS," Joe replied.

  "BETS translates to two - three - eight - seven — and there it is."

  "Here's the second," Joe said, pointing farther down the screen.

  "The time of the first call was shortly before noon, about the time we were on our way to Queens. The second call was made several hours later, just after we got back to Bayport."

  "The two phone calls came from different phones," Joe said with disappointment. "Probably pay phones."

  "Let's find out." Frank punched in the first and second phone numbers. A second later the screen flashed with the answers.

  "One's an extension at Bayport Hospital, the other is a room at the Bayport Motel," Joe said.

  Frank turned to Joe. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

  "If I am, then Sue and Callie are in danger," Joe replied.

  "Let's be sure." Frank picked up the phone next to his computer and dialed the hospital number. The nurse on duty refused to give out any information about the extension number. Frank next dialed the Bayport Motel. The phone seemed to ring endlessly.

  Finally a groggy voice answered, "Hello?"

  It was Brandon Dalton.

  "Sorry, wrong number," Frank said quickly and hung up the phone.

  "Dalton," Joe said as fact.

  "The B on the road map stood for Brandon, not Biker," Frank added.

  "We'd better wake up Dad and Sims," Frank said.

  The Hardys turned to leave, then froze. Biker stood in the doorway. Joe had never seen such rage on a human face. His friend appeared to be out of his mind with anger.

  "Biker—" Joe began.

  Before Joe could finish his sentence, Biker Conway slammed the door shut with such force that it cracked. Frank and Joe could hear him running up the stairs.