Dare to read: Нэнси Дрю и Братья Харди
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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!
Franklin W. Dixon
The Hardy Boys: Undercover Brothers: Volume Five
Rocky Road
Copyright © 2005 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Atac Briefing for Agents Frank and Joe Hardy
Mission: Someone is suspected of planning the destruction of Niagara Falls. Find and detain the culprit before any damage is done.
Location: Niagara Falls, Canada.
Potential Victims: Tourism in the area. Tourists.
Suspects: No further information at this time.
This mission requires your immediate attention.
This message will be erased in five seconds.
FISH FOOD
Shark!
He was speeding toward me, his jaws wide open, showing hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. His eyes were dull and dead. They held out no hope for mercy. Clearly, all he saw in me was a great big human Happy Meal.
The shark wasn’t the only one who wanted me dead either. Two bad guys in scuba gear, complete with loaded spearguns, were ready to finish the job—if the shark left anything over.
Before I could think about them, though, I had to deal with Jaws.
The shark was closing fast. I ducked at the last second, shoving him away. His sandpaperlike skin brushed hard against my wet suit, shredding part of it—but otherwise, I was still in one piece.
Or was I? No sooner had I dodged him than I realized I couldn’t breathe. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that my air hose had been cut. The shark had bitten it clean in half!
I grabbed the free end of the hose, which was gushing bubbles. Removing my mouthpiece, I stuffed the hose directly into my mouth.
Ah. Better.
But only as long as I held the hose in place with one hand. Easy enough, in theory—but now the shark had circled around and was coming back for the rest of me.
This time I’d have to fend him off one-handed.
Luckily, I had my underwater flashlight with me. It’s about a foot and a half long and made of superstrong carbonate steel. I pulled it out of the pocket of my wet suit and held it upright in my free hand.
Just as the shark was about to snap his jaws together and cut me in half, I shoved the flashlight into his mouth, as deep as I could. It jammed his jaws open, and he jerked away from me—but not before I grabbed hold of his dorsal fin.
Here we go!
He was pretty furious. I knew if I let go, I’d be swatted into oblivion by his flailing tail.
Holding on was no picnic either. The shark’s fin was sharp and rough, and I only had one free hand for grabbing (the other was busy holding the air hose to my mouth). But as long as I didn’t let go, I knew I had a chance to survive this nightmare.
I tugged to the right, trying to turn the shark around. And what do you know, it worked! Before I could say “Mayday,” Jaws was headed straight for the two guys with spearguns!
They panicked and fired their spearguns at us. Of course, when you’re panicking, your aim is pretty miserable. I was counting on them missing—and I was right. The spears whooshed by, doing no harm.
Even better, the two goons had no time to reload. They were too busy swimming for their lives! I let go of Jaws, and he swam after them, still trying to spit out my flashlight.
I had to get to the surface right away, before my air gave out. It wouldn’t be long now—my tank had already been near empty when Frank and I were ambushed by those two thugs.
Speaking of Frank—where was he? He’d been right next to me when the fight started.
Uh-oh...
Had the shark eaten him before turning its gaze on me?
No! There he was, hiding behind a huge chunk of coral, aiming something at our two would-be assassins. Then I recognized it as the nifty little gizmo we’d brought along on our mission to nab these shark poachers.
Many species of shark are endangered these days, but that doesn’t stop the owners of some very fancy gourmet restaurants. They hire poachers, like these two goons, to bring in the forbidden fish.
Frank and I had been sent here to put a stop to it.
Frank fired his weapon, and something shot out in a blur. It exploded right next to the gruesome twosome, opening into a giant net that snared them for good.
Now all we had to do was drag our catch to the surface, where a boat was waiting with a half-dozen police officers on board.
Mission accomplished!
CAPTAIN CREAMY
We motored back to shore on the Marine Police Emergency Team (MPET) boat with our two poachers in cuffs.
It was late August—almost Labor Day weekend. School would be starting soon, and my brother and I would be back at Bayport High, acting like normal kids for a change.
All summer long we’d been involved with one mission after another for ATAC (American Teens Against Crime), the elite teen undercover unit our dad had founded a little while back.
I didn’t know about Joe, but I was going to be glad to let things quiet down for a while. We’d had some pretty close calls lately. If you’ve never come close to dying, believe me—it isn’t something you want to repeat often.
Our boat tied up at the dock, and Lieutenant Rogers shook our hands. “Boys, we couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” said Joe. He meant it too. ATAC is a top secret organization. People find out about it only on a need-to-know basis.
We said good-bye to the crew and walked over to the end of the marina where our rides were parked. Joe and I are the proud owners of a pair of sport bikes you wouldn’t believe: lots of chrome, flaming double H’s painted on the sides, engines that’ll do 14,000 rpm without breaking a sweat, twin front ram-air scoops, and a whole lot of other neat features (some of which wouldn’t even be legal if we weren’t ATAC agents).
Joe fished out his key and unlocked his seat cabinet. “I don’t know about you, Frank, but I’ve gotta get out of this wet suit and into some dry clothes.” He pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, along with some socks and sneakers.
“Where are you planning to get changed?” I asked.
“How ’bout that gas station across the street?”
I looked over at it. There was a bathroom on the side wall, but it didn’t look too clean. Still, if we arrived back in Bayport in our wet suits, our mom and Aunt Trudy would want to know why.
They’re not in on the ATAC secret—which makes for some awkward times around our house. Sometimes, we have to out-and-out lie to them, which doesn’t feel good at all. But we don’t really have any choice—when you’re a Hardy, fighting crime comes first.
“Okay,” I said, and followed Joe over there. I held my breath while I got changed and washed my hands twice after I was done. Yuck.
Finally, we were back on our bikes and heading home. “That shark nearly got you!” I yelled to Joe over the roar of the wind.
“You’re telling me! Lucky I had that flashlight!”
“You know, that’s not what flashlights are for.”
“Ha, ha! Not funny.”
“No? I thought it was a riot! You should have seen the look on your face!”
I was just kidding, of course. I couldn’t even see his face through the diving mask. Besides, there were all those bubbles from his busted air hose.
I just like yanking my younger brother’s chain, that’s all. It never gets old.
About an hour later we were back in Bayport. About a mile from home, Joe signaled me to pull over. “I need some ice cream,” he announced, parking his bike in front of Mike’s Frosty Freeze.
That’s Joe for you. Totally impulsive. I have to rein him in sometimes, so he doesn’t go totally hog wild.
In this case, though, I didn’t try to stop him. Ice cream sounded like a good idea to me. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and after what we’d just been through, we deserved a treat.
“Rocky Road, double scoop,” Joe told the girl behind the counter. Then he turned to me. “Same for you, Frank?”
“You know I can’t stand Rocky Road,” I said, giving him an elbow to the ribs. “Vanilla, please,” I told the girl. “With butterscotch syrup.”
“You are such a nerd,” Joe told me. “Mr. Plain Vanilla.”
“Don’t forget the butterscotch,” I reminded him.
“Oh, right, the butterscotch—how daring!” He laughed.
I let him have his fun at my expense. I knew I’d get back at him later.
We rode home with our cones in one hand, steering our bikes with the other. Wouldn’t you know it, Mom and Aunt Trudy were right out front, weeding the flowerbeds.
“Look at these two, will you?” Aunt Trudy said. “Don’t you kids know better than to ride with one hand?”
“Boys,” our mom said, shaking her head. “You know that’s not safe.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Joe said. “We won’t do it again, will we, Frank?”
“ ’Course not,” I agreed. “We were just so hungry, and we didn’t want to be late getting home.”
“Late for what?” Aunt Trudy asked. “Dinner’s not till six.”
I looked at my watch—it was four o’clock. Hmmm...
“Speaking of dinner, you boys are going to spoil your appetite, eating all that ice cream so late in the afternoon,” Mom added.
“Aarrk! Bad boys! Bad boys!”
Ah, the unmistakable voice of our pet parrot, Playback. I looked up and saw him, perched in the branches of our Japanese maple tree, flapping his wings to show off how beautiful they were.
Playback belongs to all of us. Lately, though, Aunt Trudy has been treating him as her special child (she has no children of her own, even though Joe and I give her plenty to worry about).
“Be quiet,” Joe yelled up at Playback. “Nobody asked your opinion.”
“Aarrk! Fresh! Go stand in the corner!”
Playback’s got a real mouth on him. Joe was about to show him whose mouth was bigger, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Getting into a swearing competition with a parrot in front of your mother and your aunt is never a good idea.
“Joe, we’d better go get showered and changed,” I said.
“Right. Don’t worry, Aunt Trudy,” he added, “We’ll have plenty of room for dinner. We’re growing boys, remember?”
We went inside before they could ask where we’d been for the last two days. Since the summer began, we’d already been gone several times on missions for ATAC, and I was beginning to run out of excuses.
Joe took a shower, then it was my turn. I was just in the middle of getting dressed again, when I heard a prerecorded tune being blasted on speakers just outside the bedroom window. It sounded like it was coming from an amplified jack-in-the-box, except it was a little out of tune.
I recognized the song right away—“I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”
Looking out the window, I saw that it was an ice cream truck. CAPTAIN CREAMY was painted on the side.
I’d seen the truck before. There were always a few of them around town during the summer months—one at the town pool, another at the marina by the bay, and a third near the town hall and library.
The tune played on and on, over and over again. No kids were lined up to buy ice cream—yet the truck didn’t move.
Weird.
Amazingly, Aunt Trudy hadn’t come out of the house to chase the guy away. She was probably back in the kitchen cooking dinner, I figured, and couldn’t hear the annoying jingle—at least not as loudly as I did.
Joe came into the room, fully dressed and combing some disgusting green gel into his hair. “That song is driving me crazy!” he said.
“So go down there and tell him to shut it off.”
“Me? What about you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell you what—we’ll both go. That way, if the big bad ice-cream man won’t go away, we’ll show him our big bad muscles and scare him off.”
Spin it like muscle power might be needed, and Joe’s there.
We went downstairs and headed toward the front door. Just as we got to it, Aunt Trudy’s voice stopped us cold.
“You’re not going to eat more of that junk before dinner, are you?”
Mom appeared behind her. “You know, boys,” she said in her best librarian voice, “an ordinary ice-cream cone contains eleven teaspoons of processed sugar, along with dozens of other chemicals that aren’t the least bit good for your health.”
“We weren’t actually going to—”
“Kids these days!” Trudy said bitterly before I could finish. “Between the candy, and the ice cream, and the pizza, and the chicken nuggets, and the nachos...”
“It’s terrible,” Mom agreed. “Did you boys know there’s an epidemic of obesity in this country? Everybody’s gaining too much weight—especially young people.”
“We’re becoming a whole nation of fatties!” said Aunt Trudy, wide-eyed.
“No more ice cream today,” Mom said. “We’re having organic vegetables and whole wheat pasta for dinner.”
“Yum,” Joe said glumly.
It’s not that Joe hates healthy food, but Mom has been on this vegetarian thing for the past couple of weeks, and both Joe and I were getting a little tired of green and orange food.
“Okay, Mom,” Joe promised. “But we’ve gotta get that truck to move before that stupid song drives us crazy.”
We went outside and walked over to the truck.
“What can I getcha, fellas?” the guy inside the truck said, leaning out the window.
“Oh, nothing, thanks,” Joe said.
“We’re not hungry,” I added.
“Aw, come on!” the guy insisted. “It’s hot out. Gotta cool off with a two-scoop special!”
He looked to be about nineteen years old—tall, with pimples, a long, thin nose, eyes that were a bit too close together, and curly blond hair that stuck out in all directions. His Captain Creamy hat would barely stay on, and he had to keep steadying it with his hand.
“No, seriously,” I said. “We don’t want any. We just had some ice cream a little while ago.”
“Not like my ice cream! Try it. Here, have a free sample!”
He grabbed a tiny cone from a stack next to the ice-cream dispenser. “Vanilla, chocolate, or swirl?”
“Nothing. Thanks. Really.” Joe was starting to get annoyed. I could see it in his face, but this guy didn’t seem to want to take the hint.
“No better way to cool off!”
“Look,” I interrupted him. “We don’t want any, okay? And we’d like you to move your truck out of here, if you don’t mind. That song—it’s really annoying.”
Captain Creamy seemed offended. “Hey!” he said. “It’s ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad’!”
“I know that,” I said.
“It’s a classic,” he said. “An American classic.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Hey!” Joe broke in. “Just move along, okay? Don’t make us have to ask you again!”
“I’ve got hard ice cream, too!” he kept on. “Toasted Almond? How about a Fudgsicle?”
“Maybe next time,” I said.
I felt kind of sorry for him. This poor guy was really desperate.
“Whatsa matter? You don’t like ice cream? That’s un-American!”
“I guess we’re gonna have to call traffic control,” I said to Joe, and we turned back toward the house.
“WAIT!”
His shout stopped us in our tracks. “Here!” he said, holding out a big box of ice-cream sandwiches. “Take it—no charge!”
No charge?
“That’s weird,” I said.
“Maybe,” Joe replied, “but the price is right.” He went back over to the truck and took the box from Captain Creamy.
“You won’t be sorry!”
Joe scowled back at him. “I’m sorry already. Now move along before we call the cops.”
This time, Captain Creamy didn’t wait around. He hit the gas pedal and, with a screech of rubber, the ice-cream truck barreled off down the street, still blasting “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” at full volume.
“We’d better hide this box from Mom and Aunt Trudy,” Joe said, looking it over. “
You’ve got that right!”
“There must be two dozen sandwiches in here. It weighs a ton!”
“We’d better put it way in the back of the freezer.”
“I don’t think so, Frank.” Joe was looking at me with a suddenly serious expression on his face.
He held up the box for me to see. On the side were written the letters ATAC.
Captain Creamy had just brought us our next case!
OVER A BARREL
Well, you could have fooled me.
That geeky ice-cream guy, an agent for ATAC?
No way.
Either they’ve lowered their standards over at headquarters, or Captain Creamy was the ultimate master of disguise.
Anyway, whatever. We had our next case, and that was what counted.
I went back into the house with Frank right behind me, the big box of “ice-cream sandwiches” under his arm.
Aunt Trudy was waiting, with Playback perched on her shoulder. There was no hiding our prize from them.
“What did I say about junk food?” she asked, shaking her head.
“But Aunt Trudy—,” Frank started.
“Aaarrk! Wanna cookie! Wanna cookie!”
“Hand it over,” Trudy said.
Yikes!
No way could we let Aunt Trudy look inside that box. I didn’t know what was in it, but I knew it wasn’t ice-cream sandwiches.
Frank and I were experts at talking our way around our mom, but nobody has ever put anything over on Aunt Trudy.
“We’re not gonna open it now,” Frank said quickly, holding the box away from her. “We’re just gonna put it in the Sub-Zero... for another time.”
“Hmmph.” Aunt Trudy crossed her arms, looking doubtful. “All right. Just as long as you make them last.”
Whoa. Impressive. I always knew Frank was a good liar, but you also have to be quick sometimes.
This was way quick. Me, I never would have thought of it.
We went down to the basement. Behind us, at the top of the stairs, Aunt Trudy watched, eagle-eyed.
Frank opened the Sub-Zero freezer unit and put the box inside. “There. Come on, Joe, we’ve got things to do.”
“But—”
“Come on, Joe.”
I was going to say that whatever was in the box might not take too well to freezing. But Frank was right—what choice did we have with Aunt Trudy there?
We went up to our rooms. They adjoin each other on the second floor, with a shared bathroom in between. Frank and I sat down on the side of my bed.
“Now what do we do?” I asked.
“I guess we wait till Aunt Trudy decides to go to sleep.”
“We can’t wait till after midnight to check it out—this case could be urgent!”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But we can’t risk Aunt Trudy finding out about ATAC.”
“Frank, that disk will freeze in there by tonight!”
That got him. “You might be right about that... Just give me a minute to think of something.”
He sat there.
I sat next to him.
Nothing happened for what seemed like an hour. Then Frank suddenly sprang up from the bed.
“I’ve got it!”
“What?”
“It’s brilliant. You’ll see.”
He picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Adam, please.”
Adam Franklin is one of the mechanics at our local airport. He’s in on the ATAC secret—he has to be, since Frank and I sometimes have to fly planes to weird locations while on our missions.
He also happens to be a friend of Aunt Trudy’s.
“Hi, Adam,” Frank said into the phone. “Frank Hardy. Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask of you. What are you doing tonight after dinner? Really? That’s great! How’d you like to invite my Aunt Trudy out to the movies? Yes, I’m serious.... I know you’re not interested in her ‘that way,’ but couldn’t you just pretend for one night? Adam, it’s for ATAC.... I can’t go into it any further, but trust me, it’s important.... Great! Adam, you’re the best.... I owe you one.... Yes, a great big one. Right. You’ll call her, then? Excellent. Bye!”
I shook my head in wonder. “You are unbelievable.”
“On the contrary. I think I’m totally believable. Ask Adam.”
In a few minutes we heard the phone ring downstairs and Aunt Trudy saying, “Hello?”
She stayed on the phone for only a minute. But afterward, we could hear her humming a cheerful tune to herself as she got dinner ready.
“Soon as she leaves the house, we rescue our box,” Frank said.
“We’d better hope it’s not frozen by then.”
“It won’t be.”
“I’m glad you’re so sure. Do you know how cold it is inside a Sub-Zero?”
“Let me guess. Below zero.”
“Exactly!”
Frank grinned at me. “No worries, bro. I pulled out the plug with my foot and left the door open a crack.”
Is my big brother amazing, or what?
After dinner Aunt Trudy raced upstairs—and when the doorbell rang half an hour later, she came back down, all dressed up. Complete with makeup.
(She never wears makeup! Adam, you dog, you!)
Once she was gone, we quickly retrieved our box. It was chilled, but miraculously, not frozen. I tore the top open and reached inside. My hand came in contact with frozen metal and stuck to it like glue.
“Ahhh! Get it off me!” I yelled, pulling my hand out of the box.
Attached to it was the barrel of a gun.
Frank laughed. “That’ll teach you not to grab.”
He went into the bathroom and came back with our blow-dryer. Plugging it in, he heated up the gun barrel until my hand came free.
“Now let’s see what else is in here,” he said, shaking the box’s contents out onto the bed.
There were more pieces of the gun, although I couldn’t immediately figure out how to put them together. It looked like a sawed-off M4 rifle, but there were some extra parts that were unfamiliar.
There was a large wad of cash, too.
“Excellent!” I said, reaching for it—but Frank whisked it away from me in a flash.
“Uh-uh-uh,” he said, wagging his finger at me. “This is for our mission.”
“So?”
“So, as the older brother, I’ll keep an eye on it for us.”
I hate it when he pulls rank on me.
“Let’s see what it’s all about.” He grabbed the video game CD that had tumbled out of the box, popped it into our system, and flicked on the monitor.
The startup video began, with menu options strung out at the bottom of the screen.
Over the Edge, the title roared out at us.
In clever animation that seemed totally real, we were at surface level on a roaring river rapids. White water gushed by us so fast, it made me want to duck.
The title letters whooshed by and out of sight. Then the view backed up, and we saw that we were hovering right over a huge waterfall. And not just any waterfall—
Niagara Falls!
The menu options came on the screen, including one that said, “Play Game.” I grabbed the control and chose it. The voice of Q.T., our boss at ATAC, began to speak:
“Hello, there, ATAC agents, and welcome to your next mission. What you’re looking at is the famous Niagara Falls. It is, as you know, a major tourist attraction. Millions of people visit every year. The Niagara River, which feeds the falls, is also a major source of hydroelectric power for the surrounding area.
“And now, someone is threatening to turn it off, by damming the river at Lake Ontario!
“That would be a major disaster. The waters of four of the five Great Lakes pour through the Niagara River. If they started backing up, it could cause catastrophic flooding throughout the region.
“Only a lunatic would plan and carry out a scheme like this — and only an ATAC agent can stop him. You’ll need to get up there as soon as possible — certainly within twenty-four hours. Time is of the essence.
“We’ve provided you with cash for your expenses and a stun gun that can be quickly assembled and disassembled. Nonlethal, but effective in temporarily stopping an attacker. This weapon fires projectiles that explode three feet in front of the target, releasing an electrical charge that stuns your quarry until you can subdue him. Instructions for assembly are rolled up inside the barrel. Please destroy them as soon as you’ve mastered the process. And remember, please use this weapon only if you feel it is absolutely necessary.
“Good luck. You’ll need it. This mission, as usual, is top secret. Oh, and also as usual, this program will revert to an ordinary video game CD in five seconds.”
The view angle pointed down, straight down the falls, and we started falling with it. Just as we were about to hit the rocks at the bottom, the picture froze and music came on.
Milli Vanilli.
Ugh.
Frank was already at work, reading the instructions for weapon assembly. “This is so cool!” he said.
Frank loves gadgets.
I’m a bit of a spy weapons geek myself.
I could tell we were going to fight over this one. But not now, because we had to pack our things and get out of town in a hurry.
And of course, we had to get permission from our mother, too.
Easier said than done.
SLOWLY I TURN
Usually, when Joe and I need to go somewhere by ourselves on a mission, our dad helps us “explain things” to Mom and Aunt Trudy. But this time he was out of town, at a retired police officers’ convention in New York City.
We were on our own.
I am the brother in charge of making up stories. The thing is, when you start telling lies, there’s no end to it... and sometimes things go wrong, and you get caught in your lie... which means you have to lie some more to get out of it...
You get the picture.
“Um, Mom?” I said as we ate breakfast. “Joe and I want to take one last trip on our bikes before school starts.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Not another trip!”
Right away I could see she wasn’t happy about it.
“I was thinking about what you were saying about junk food yesterday,” I said, “and there’s this organic food convention starting tomorrow in Niagara Falls.”
“Niagara Falls?” Aunt Trudy said, her mouth gaping.
“Aaarrk! Slowly I turn... step by step... inch by inch...”
“Shut up, Playback,” Joe warned the parrot.
Playback took the hint, hopping away from Joe and over to the far end of the counter. He could tell Joe meant business. There’s a time for joking, and this wasn’t it.
“Niagara Falls is nine hours from here!” Aunt Trudy said.
“Now, Trudy,” Mom said, “if the boys finally want to do something I approve of, why should I stand in their way? Besides, Niagara Falls is a national landmark—and they’ve never seen it.”
Good old Mom. She’s always been cool about allowing us a lot of freedom.
And by the way, just for the record, she was right—with all the cases we’ve been on, we’d never been to Niagara Falls.
Aunt Trudy wasn’t giving up yet, though. “I don’t believe a word of it. And Joe, I don’t like you speaking to Playback that way.”
“Huh? He’s a parrot!”
“Never mind—he’s part of our family, and he deserves the same respect we all do. Now, apologize.”
Joe looked bug-eyed, like he was choking on a piece of raw liver.
“I think you’d better do it, Joe,” Mom said gently.
He looked at me.
I shrugged. “Hey, dude, you were rude to the parrot.”
Joe looked at Playback and tried to spit out the words. “I... I’m... s... sorry.”
I’ve never seen him look more miserable. Me, I was cheerful as could be. “So,” I asked, “can we leave right away?”
***
“I’ll be sorry to see this summer come to an end,” Joe said as we strapped our backpacks onto our bikes.
“It’s been pretty amazing,” I agreed.
We’d been on at least half a dozen cases, with lots of thrills and chills and narrow escapes.
Now it was almost over. Would ATAC even call us during the school year?
Not very often, I guessed. This might be our last case for a very long time.
We strapped on our helmets and headed for the interstate. The sun was already hot, but it wouldn’t matter at 70 mph, with the wind in our faces.
Our plan was to ride straight through till we got there. It was a straight shot up the New York State Thruway.
One thing we didn’t plan on was road construction. Between Rochester and Syracuse, traffic was gridlocked. Not that we let that slow us down. We just switched to the service road and rode at 60 mph.
And that’s how Joe hit the pothole.
I saw it coming and managed to maneuver around it—but I must have screened it from Joe’s view, because he ran right over it. I didn’t see him hit, but I heard his cry of pain.
I slowed down as quickly as I could and stole a quick glance back at him. He was still riding, but in standing position.
Ouch. That must have hurt.
Joe was still riding standing up a couple of hours later when we pulled into Niagara Falls. He rode up alongside and signaled me to pull over outside a building marked TOURIST INFORMATION.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’ll never be the same again. Talk about rocky road!”
Well, at least he still had his sense of humor.
We started grabbing maps and brochures off the rack outside the building. “First thing we’ve gotta do is find a decent hotel, where I can take a long, hot bath,” Joe said.
I corrected him. “First thing we’ve gotta do is check out the falls.”
“Aw, man... every bone in my body is aching.”
“Joe, we got a late start on this as it is. We have to get down there and scope it out, so we know where to start investigating. Otherwise this jerk will have dammed up the river before we can stop him!”
“Here. I pulled this brochure for you,” Joe said.
“Over in a Barrel,” the title read. It had stories of everyone who’d ever gone over the falls—with or without a barrel.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“I figured this guy must be some kind of nut, right? Well, if you want to know about nuts obsessed with Niagara Falls...”
He had a point. I looked through the brochure while Joe went inside and bought some aspirin, which he downed with half a bottle of water.
Quite a few people over the years had gotten the idea of tackling the falls into their heads. Most of them had died.
The most recent jumper, however, a guy named Kirk Jones, had not used anything at all for protection—and he’d come out alive and uninjured!
It just goes to show you, it’s better to be lucky than smart.
I managed to get Joe back on his bike, and we headed straight for the American side of the falls (the other side is in Canada). We parked our bikes, paid our admission fee, and went down an elevator and through a tunnel.
We came out onto a wooden walkway and stared at the most amazing sight I’d ever seen this close up. If you’ve never been to Niagara Falls, you’ve got to go—it is totally spectacular!
There we were, not twenty feet away, as mountains of water roared over the edge of the cliff and down past us, where they hit the rocks below and sent clouds of spray back up. At the end of the walkway, stairs led down toward the abyss below.
I fished out the binoculars I always carry and checked out the river below us. There was a boat chugging hard to get as close to the falls as possible. I could make out her name: Maid of the Mist.
Cute.
I also saw, across the falls on the Canadian side, a promenade crammed with sightseers. Behind them was a park, and farther down, a main street with all sorts of tacky attractions on it: a wax museum, a museum of famous freaks, a replica of a torture chamber, an instant wedding chapel.
I remembered that Niagara Falls is a famous honeymoon spot. I have to tell you, it didn’t seem that romantic.
Maybe it was different after dark.
I lowered my binoculars, and there, on the face of the Canadian cliff, was a hydroelectric energy station. Obviously, Canada was using power from the falls to light up its houses and factories. I guessed that the United States was doing the same.
One more reason why it would be a major disaster if this fiend succeeded in damming up the river!
“Can we find a hotel now?” Joe asked. “I’m about ready to crash.”
“Just a few more minutes. I want to talk to the head of security first.”
“Aw, man...”
I knew Joe wasn’t happy, but he followed me down the stairs to the next level of walkways, and then down again until we were almost at the bottom where the falls hit the rocks, became a river again, and flowed toward Lake Ontario.
The Maid of the Mist was heading back to Canada now. There were other small boats farther away, but none that could handle being this close to the falls.
How could anyone—with or without a barrel—survive a fall onto these sharp rocks?
I lifted my binoculars to the top of the falls and stared at the rushing torrent as it leaped into the void, then fell. It seemed so close I almost had to stop looking.
That’s when I saw something totally out of place.
A man was teetering right at the edge of the falls, hopping from boulder to boulder.
Then, as I watched in helpless horror, he jumped!
INTO THE WHIRLPOOL
I was dog tired. We both were. Try riding eight hours on a motorcycle, hitting the world’s biggest pothole, and then taking a walking tour of Niagara Falls.
And just when I’m ready to tell Frank, “Let’s call it a day,” this guy goes over the edge of the falls!
What he was thinking, I have no clue.
What was I thinking? This cannot be happening. No possible way.
People started screaming, pointing to the spot where he’d hit. In an instant all my aches and pains were gone. There was only one thing to do, and I didn’t have to think about it. I kicked my shoes off, hopped the railing, and jumped in.
I knew Frank would be right behind me. That’s one thing about the two of us. When it comes to saving a life, there’s no hesitation, ever.
I was not prepared for the ice-cold water, or for the strength of the current. It swept me away before I knew what was happening. Soon I was swirling slowly toward the Canadian side, then around and back again.
It was a big whirlpool!
I’d seen it from up above, but forgot about it when the time came to jump in. And now all three of us were caught in it.
Great.
Frank and I were strong swimmers, but stronger than a whirlpool? I knew one thing for certain—we didn’t have much time to dally.
First things first: Where was the jumper? It was hard to see anything with all the spray and foam, but finally I saw him, ahead of me and to the left. Swimming with the current, which was getting stronger all the time, I caught up to the man’s limp body and grabbed hold of it.
I was glad he was out cold, or he might have struggled, making us both go under. This way was easier—I only hoped he was still alive.
Taking his shirt in one hand, I swam with the other, kicking like crazy with my feet. I took an angle that let the current stay behind me, pushing me forward as I slowly tacked to the right—toward the outer edge of the whirlpool.
Where was Frank?
There was nothing I could do for him at the moment. If I let go of the jumper, he’d be a goner for sure. So I just had to hope Frank was okay.
I was willing to bet, though, that Frank could handle himself. I was almost to the edge of the swirling, sucking whirlpool, when the jumper woke up. Right away, he started kicking and screaming, trying to get free of me.
Fat chance. I wasn’t going to give him a second opportunity to kill himself—not now that I’d gotten myself soaking wet for him.
Wow, this guy was strong, though. He had the strength of a madman.
Come to think of it, he was one. What had I expected?
Totally panicked, he started grabbing my face, digging in with his fingers.
OW!
Suddenly he stopped and was calm again.
Huh. Weird.
I looked back, and there was Frank, his fist raised for a second blow in case it was needed.
I was totally spent. Frank grabbed my heavy load, and we both made for shore.
The rescue squad was just arriving, together with a cohort of police. There was even a helicopter flying overhead.
Frank laid the unconscious jumper down on the path and sat down to catch his breath. I plopped down alongside him.
“He’s still alive,” one of the paramedics said. “Let’s pump him out before we load him into the medevac.”
We watched the professionals do their thing. Soon the jumper was strapped onto a stretcher and ready to go. But the police—not to mention Frank and I— wanted to talk to him first.
Our nut job had finally woken up. He was babbling away, but it sounded like gibberish to me.
“What’s your name?” Frank asked him.
He looked up and seemed to notice us for the first time. “Nut,” he said.
“I can’t believe this!” I said. “He’s calling you a nut?”
“Peter Nutt,” the man whispered.
Boy, life is so strange sometimes, you couldn’t make it up.
Right away, Mr. Nutt started opening up his heart to Frank, crying his eyes out, saying he wanted to end it all.
I don’t know what it is about Frank, but everyone always wants to confess to him.
Anyway, the cops were taking careful notes, and the ambulance guys were getting impatient. But to make a long story short, here’s the gist of what our man Nutt told Frank.
SUSPECT PROFILE
NAME: Peter Nutt
Hometown: Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Physical description: Age 32, 5’9” 150 lbs., dirty blond hair. Stutters. Usually seen Wearing a beret.
Occupation: Being a nut?
Background: Unpublished children’s book author who went insane after his masterpiece got rejected the same day Everybody Poops topped the bestseller list. Married. Three children.
Suspicious behavior: You saw it. Is jumping over the falls suspicious enough for you?
Suspected of: Being crazy enough to dam up the Niagara River.
Possible motives: Who knows why nuts do things? And everything about this guy—even his name—is nutty!
I wondered if he was really capable of an organized scheme like damming the Niagara. He seemed like just an ordinary, certifiable nut to me.
But could it really be just a coincidence?
After the ambulance rode away with Peter Nutt inside, still raving, the policeman in charge turned to me and Frank.
“I’m Ned Leeds, Niagara Falls chief of police,” he said, shaking our hands. “Thanks for your good work, boys—he wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”
“Do you think he’ll live?” I asked him.
“I’m not a medical man,” he said, “but he doesn’t look too bad to me.”
“Chief Leeds,” Frank said, “we’re the Hardy brothers, from Bayport. Our dad is Fenton Hardy—you might have heard of him...”
“Heard of him? He was the head of the Association of Private Investigators a few years back! Hey, I was at conventions with him—the guy’s a legend! And you’re his boys, huh? Well, two chips off the old block! What do you know?”
He laughed and slapped us both on the back. I don’t know about Frank, but I was sore all over.
“We’re actually here about the threat to the falls,” Frank said.
“Threat?”
“You know—damming up the river at Lake Ontario? We were sent here to check it out.”
“Well, that’s mighty nice of you, boys, but you’re a little late.”
“What?”
“We locked that maniac up almost a year ago.”
“Huh?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t read all about it in the papers,” he said, laughing and slapping our backs again.
Ouch!
“Oh, yeah, that’s right—you’re not from around here. I guess it didn’t make the front pages as far away as Bayport. But it was big enough around here, I’m telling you. Ha!”
Another painful slap on each of our backs. “So, you fellas came all this way just for that?”
“Yeah,” I said, exchanging a disgusted look with Frank. “Yeah, we did.”
“You know,” Chief Leeds said, suddenly getting serious, “you shouldn’t have jumped in after him like that. I mean, it took guts, but you could’ve been killed. And for what? To save a nut job like that? It would have been a big waste, if you ask me.”
Chief Leeds wandered off to talk to his men. We stared after him.
“You think he’s telling the truth, Joe?”
“Huh? Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure of anything right now, least of all who to trust.”
“Not Captain Creamy, that’s for sure. He’s the one who gave us the mission.”
“Yeah, but Joe, he only delivers what ATAC gives him.”
“Well, somebody at ATAC screwed up.”
“Oh, well. At least we got to see Niagara Falls.”
“And saved somebody’s life.”
“Right.”
“Well, great, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” I made a face and sighed. “Now what do we do?”
“Well, you mentioned a good night’s sleep...”
“Yeah. I’m down with that.”
Just then, my cell phone rang.
“Yello.”
“Joe, it’s Dad.”
“Oh, hi, Dad.”
He didn’t sound happy.
“What’s up?”
“You and Frank need to get back home right away.”
“But Dad, we’re—”
“There’s trouble in Bayport.”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, but it’s serious. I’m on my way home. Hurry back. There’s no time to lose.”
Aw, man...!
“Can’t it wait till morning, Dad?”
“I wish it could, but I think you’d better get right on your bikes.”
“Okay,” I said. What else could I say?
“I’ll see you when you get here. Drive safely, son.”
Dad hung up, and I turned to Frank.
“You’re not gonna believe this, bro...”
HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN, JIGGETY-JIG
We didn’t hit any more bad potholes on our nighttime ride back through the heart of New York State. Still, out of the past twenty-four hours, we’d spent sixteen on our bikes. I was sore all over. Joe, the pothole king, felt even worse.
And then, on top of everything else, it started to rain. About an hour out of Bayport, the skies opened up, and rain started coming down in sheets. Lightning was flashing all over the place.
We had to slow down, along with all the other traffic. During the worst of it, we even took shelter under an overpass. By the time we finally got back into town at six A.M., we were drenched, tired to the bone, and in very crabby moods.
In the eastern sky, day was breaking. Although the sun was hidden by the storm clouds, they were blowing away fast, and I could tell it was going to be a beautiful day.
I wished we’d slept in Niagara Falls overnight instead of rushing straight home—but our dad had said the magic words, and we knew there was no time to lose.
We passed a bus stop. The Bayport Times truck was just making its morning delivery. It pulled away as we drove up.
“Got any quarters?” Joe asked me.
“Nope. I used them all on the tolls. How ’bout you?”
“Same.” He jiggled the door of the dispenser. “Bummer.”
I looked over his shoulder at the paper in the dispenser window, LOCAL SCHOOLS VANDALIZED, the headline read.
“Can you believe that?” Joe said. “Our own school system gets hit, and where are we? Hundreds of miles away.”
“Bad break,” I said.
“Bad break? I’m gonna cream that Captain Creamy guy.”
“That kid was just delivering the package, Joe. Besides, he’s an ATAC agent, just like us.”
“I guess,” he grumbled. “I still want to talk to him about it.”
“We’ll find him. I’m sure he’s around town. Just don’t jump all over his case, okay?”
“Me?”
“Joe...”
“Okay, okay.” I could tell he was still pretty sore about missing the action. He was pretty sore, period.
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” I told him. “We can still catch whoever did it... whatever ‘it’ is.”
“Where do we start?”
“I guess we read the article and find out what happened.”
“Okay, let’s see. We could jimmy the lock on this thing...”
“Joe, I’m surprised at you.”
“Just kidding. Man, I wish we had some spare change!” He banged his fist on the metal box, but the door remained locked.
“I guess we’ll have to find out some other way,” I said.
“Dad?”
“He may know something. But since this is a school thing, I think we’ll have better luck asking Chet. He always seems to know what’s going on around school.”
“Chet? You know he’s still asleep.”
I smiled. “Yeah, but you know how much fun it is to wake him up.”
***
“He... hellooo?”
“Yo, Chet.”
“Joe?”
“Yeah. Listen, dude, we’ve gotta meet up.”
“Sure. Call me later, okay?”
“Right now, Chet. It’s important.”
“It’s six in the morning. Nothing’s that important.”
“It’s six-thirty, and this is.”
With my ear pressed next to Joe’s, I could hear Chet yawning through the phone. He’s either in training for the Olympic sleeping team, or he should be.
“Wake up, yo!” Joe yelled. I heard Chet screaming as his eardrums were assaulted.
“Okay, okay!” he whined. “Give me a break, will you?”
“Sure, dude. I’ll give you an hour. Meet us at the high school. Front entrance. Oh, and see if you can round up Iola and Callie, too. They may know something about this, even if you don’t.”
“What? Oh, you mean about the school getting trashed?”
“Uh, yeah. That would be it.”
“Okay.” Another yawn. “See you in an hour.”
“Dude,” Joe said, “do not go back to sleep.”
“I won’t.”
“Do I have to call back to check on you?”
“No, no, I’m up. I’ll be there, for sure.”
“Cool.”
Joe folded his cell phone shut and put it back in his pocket. “Okay,” he said, turning to me. “Let’s go home and get some aspirin and dry clothes.”
Our dad was already out—probably with Chief Collig over at police headquarters. Dad retired a few years ago, but they still call him in for “consultations” every time there’s a problem they can’t solve.
Mom and Aunt Trudy were still asleep, and we tried not to wake them up. After all the explaining we’d done to get permission for our trip to Niagara Falls, I didn’t want to have to explain why we were already back home.
We got showered and changed, and wolfed down some muffins, then headed over to the high school. I had to keep slowing down so Joe could keep up. Every time he went faster than 20 mph, he started to feel it in his sore thighs.
Chet was waiting for us at the locked front gate, along with his sister, Iola, and Callie Shaw—both good friends of ours. The two girls were wearing matching running suits and looked like they’d already done a couple of miles around town.
Chet, on the other hand, was barely awake. His glasses had broken again since we’d last seen him (way back in early August), and they were now held together with a piece of white surgical tape, right between the eyes.
So typical. Chet’s sense of fashion is pretty much “seventies nerd.” But don’t underestimate the mysterious Mr. Morton. He comes in mighty handy sometimes, just when you least expect it.
Right now he had a paper cup of steaming coffee in one hand and half a buttered roll in the other. The other half was in his mouth. All of it. I swear.
“Mphmhmgm,” he greeted us.
“Nice to see you, too,” I said, pulling up and parking my bike.
Joe was right behind me. “Hi, you guys,” he said. He gave Chet a little pat on the back of his head. “Hey, pal. Thanks for getting up.”
“Did I... mphmgm... have a... mphmgm... choice?”
“What is that, a roll?” I asked, breaking off a piece for myself. There was nothing Chet could do to stop me—both his hands were full.
Hey, friends are supposed to share, right?
“Where were you two last night?” Iola asked.
“Niagara Falls, believe it or not,” I said. “What did we miss?”
“Someone went on a total rampage,” Callie said. “It was like a sicko back-to-school smash-’em-up party.”
“They threw rocks through the windows at all three elementary schools,” Iola said.
“There’s broken glass everywhere,” Callie added. “It’ll be a miracle if they get it cleaned up and fixed in time for the start of classes.”
“What else?” I asked.
“They tore up the grass at the athletic field at the middle school,” Callie said, “and here, they stole a bunch of freshly delivered food from the cafeteria.”
“All in one night?” Joe asked. “How many of them were there?”
Chet finally finished his roll and joined in the conversation. “It had to have been, like, a coordinated terrorist attack. As soon as the police got to one school, the alarm went off at the next. It was all timed perfectly.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Why would anyone attack the school system?”
“Duh, to keep it from opening,” Joe said.
“Who would do that?” Chet asked.
“Hello? Any kid who hates school?” “
Wait a minute, Joe,” I said. “There may be plenty of kids who aren’t thrilled with summer being over, but that doesn’t mean they’d go berserk like this.”
“I heard it was some janitor they fired years ago who went crazy and escaped from the mental hospital,” Iola said.
“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “Who’d you hear that from?”
“Um, Carly O’Brien?”
“Are you kidding me?” Callie said with a laugh. “She is the biggest liar in the whole school. Remember when she said her dad was one of the original Beatles?”
“Well, I was at the Water Cooler at two A.M.,” Chet said, referring not to an actual cooler, but an Internet chat room where all the guys in computer club compare notes over the summer. “And they’re all saying it’s the guys on the football team—they’re supposedly tearing up the grass so they’ll put in artificial turf.”
“What a load of garbage!” I said. “People will make up anything!”
“Got any better ideas?” Joe asked me.
I had to admit I didn’t.
Man, if only we’d been in Bayport when it happened! Joe and I would have caught whomever it was.
“Well, let’s have a look around,” I said. “Joe?”
“I’m game.” I fished out my trusty Swiss Army knife and extended the lock pick attachment.
(No, you haven’t got one on your Swiss Army knife—it’s a special edition, given to us by ATAC. Sorry.)
“You sure it’s okay to do this?” Chet asked nervously. “I mean, it’s technically breaking and entering. What if the principal catches us? Or the police?”
“Relax, Chet,” I told him. “We’re just fighting crime here. Everyone knows we do that.”
True, but they all think we’re just amateurs—including Chet, Iola, and Callie.
We went straight to the cafeteria entrance. I could see right away that the lock had been pried off the door—probably with a crowbar. It was now sealed shut with yellow crime scene tape.
“The thief must have brought the food out this way and loaded it onto whatever he or she was driving,” I said.
“They would have parked over there,” Joe said, pointing to the loading dock.
“Maybe there are footprints,” I said, “over there, where the pavement ends.”
At the end of the path was a patch of dirt that somebody once forgot to pave over. But the huge downpour early that morning had turned it into a muddy lake. Any footprints that had been there were gone now.
“You think we should go inside?” Joe asked me.
“That might be going too far. After all, the police wouldn’t like amateurs like us tramping all over a crime scene.”
Joe was smirking. He understood why I’d called us amateurs. I didn’t want to blow our cover to our friends. I was telling Joe, in so many words, that the two of us could come back and check things out later—alone.
“Well, it makes it a lot harder to catch whoever did this,” Joe said.
“You think it was just a bunch of kids acting like morons?” Callie wondered.
“Kids, probably. Acting like morons, definitely.” I crouched down low, staring into space, thinking hard.
“What, Frank?” Joe asked.
“Nothing. It’s just... there’s something so weird about it all.”
I stood up again. “I think we ought to talk to Chief Collig, see what the police have found out.”
“What about us?” Callie asked.
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” I told them. “If anything comes up, let us know right away, okay?”
We went back out to the gate and said our goodbyes. Callie and Iola ran off together—they still had two more miles to go.
Chet tossed his empty coffee cup into the garbage can. That’s when I noticed that it said “Captain Creamy” on it.
“Hey, did you get that off a Captain Creamy truck?” I asked him.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know they sold rolls,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, rolls and coffee, muffins and stuff. Nobody buys ice cream at seven in the morning.”
“Where was the truck?” I asked.
“I thought you guys were cutting down on coffee,” Chet said.
“Yeah, but we have to talk to the ice-cream man,” I said. “He, um, sold us some bad merchandise.”
“Really? Well, he was just down the hill there, at the corner of Main and MacArthur.”
“Great. Thanks, Chet. See you later.” I gunned my bike’s engine—it was loud enough to wake the dead.
Chet winced. “Hey, can I get a ride with one of you?”
“Chet,” Joe said, shaking his head, “we don’t give rides on these. It’s not legal.”
“Oh. Right.”
He waved good-bye as we left him in our dust and headed down the hill to have it out with our friend from ATAC.
A JOB FOR SUPERMEN?
It didn’t take us long to find Captain Creamy. Down on MacArthur, just across from city hall and the court building, there was a line of people waiting for their coffee and reading their morning papers and yawning.
I’d never seen an ice-cream truck this early in the morning—but I could tell it was the one we were looking for, because there was no mistaking that huge head of curly blond hair. With the tiny Captain Creamy hat pinned on top of the pile, the effect was pretty comical.
We waited on line like everybody else. When our friend saw us, his eyes lit up with pleasure. “Back already?” he said cheerfully. “Wow, you guys rule!” He leaned in and whispered, “Did you solve the case?”
“Um, can we talk?” Frank asked him. “In... private?”
Captain Creamy looked out over the line of customers. “Can’t it wait? I’m kind of busy here.”
“I’m afraid not,” Frank said.
“Okay, okay—just give me two minutes.”
He rushed through half a dozen orders, then closed his window. The people who were still on line complained loudly, but we really had to have a chat with the Captain.
Frank and I went around to the other side of the truck, up a couple of steps, and through a narrow side door. Inside, it was packed to the roof with a mix of boxes— spoons, napkins, cups—and computer equipment, including tangles of wires that were everywhere.
It was a complete and total mess.
“Man, you should take better care of your business,” I said, kicking aside an empty ice-cream box.
“Yeah,” Frank agreed, “and that goes for your ATAC business, too.”
Captain Creamy looked at us like we were from Mars. “Huh?”
We quickly filled him in on our little trip to scenic Niagara Falls.
“Omigosh! I am so sorry—this is totally embarrassing!”
“That’s one way to put it,” I said. “And just so you know, while we were gone, we missed a crime wave back here in Bayport.”
“Really? Oh, man...”
Captain Creamy looked like he’d just melted all over himself. “I am such a loser. I don’t know what happened. Wait—wait a second...” He started pushing around boxes of ice-cream sandwiches until he came to the one he was looking for.
“Look at this, will you?” he said, smacking himself on the forehead. “I gave you guys the wrong case! That box was from the recycling pile—old cases that were supposed to be brought in for shredding!”
Oh, yeah—did I tell you we sent the discs back to ATAC once we’d viewed them? I guess this guy was part of the returns processing arm.
Now I felt bad. He’d messed up big-time, but he hadn’t done it on purpose.
“You know,” Frank said gently, “maybe if you kept your truck better organized, you could avoid—”
“I know. You’re right. I’m a total failure as an agent.” He sank to the floor and buried his head in his hands.
“Hey, man, forget it, okay?” I was sorry now that I’d made such a big stink about it.
“Forget it? That case was a year old! How could I not notice?” He held up the box he’d just fished out. “This was the one I was supposed to give you. Here, take it.”
“Thanks, “Frank said.
“See, it says ‘F&J/H’ right there in the corner—your initials. I wrote them in so I wouldn’t get it wrong, and I still did!”
How did ATAC choose this guy?
He looked like he was about to cry. Still, I needed to ask.
“You’re... sure this is the right one?”
He nodded miserably. “Sorry,” he repeated for about the tenth time. “I’ve just been under so much pressure lately.”
“Pressure?” Frank asked. “What kind of pressure?”
“My mom got laid off last Christmas, and I’ve had to work odd jobs to help out, instead of going to college so I could have a real career someday...”
“Aw, man, that’s rough,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “What about your dad?”
“My dad? Ha. That’s a laugh. I haven’t seen my dad since he walked out when I was three.” He sniffed. “My mom keeps pressuring me to earn more money and pay my own way. But you know, I’m only twenty.”
“What’s your name?” Frank asked him.
“Ernie Bickerstaff.”
“Ernie Bick... hey, didn’t you go to Bayport High?”
“Yeah, I graduated a couple of years back.”
“I remember you,” I said. “You were the guy in the chicken suit at all the football games!”
“Yeah, that was me,” he said with a sad smile.
“Not a lot of career opportunities for six-foot-tall chickens.”
“Doesn’t the ice-cream job pay you well enough?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it’s seasonal,” he explained. “And you know as well as I do that ATAC doesn’t pay enough—besides, it’s only part-time. I have to do computer consulting on the side just to bring in my share of the rent.”
I knew we should report him to ATAC for his mistake—but I didn’t have the heart, and Frank didn’t either.
“Listen, nobody’s perfect,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” I added.
“If ATAC hears about this, they’ll fire me for sure!”
“Hey,” I said. “Nobody’s going to tell them, okay? We’ll solve this new case, and the one here in Bayport, too—and nobody has to know you messed up.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, looking up at us like we were angels from heaven. “You guys are the best—everyone at ATAC says you never fail.”
“Everybody fails sometimes,” Frank said. “Trust me.”
He took the box from Captain Creamy and we left him there, sadder but hopefully wiser.
“We’d better get on this right away,” Frank said, holding up the box as we left the truck. “Let’s go see what it’s all about.”
***
“Starr back to throw... he heaves it... and it’s a touchdown! Touchdown Packers!”
Frank and I stared at the monitor. We’re both longtime football fans, so there was no doubt what we were