Final Cut (11 page)

"Nothing to it. I called an old underworld friend and asked him to find me some muscle with a union card for TV work. He gave me Freed's name. I brought him here, and he got hired because there weren't many experienced gaffers around. The rest was easy. Freed told me about Vic Ritchey's hatred for Addison. It looked like Addison would be the perfect fall guy - and easy to set up.

"When Andrea Stuart asked me to help get you jobs at the studio, she told me that you'd be helping your father investigate the murder. I knew Fairburn's past would be checked, and that you had to be stopped," Graham went on. "Norris sabotaged your van. I hoped that if you were hurt, your father would drop the case."

"Norris did that?" asked Frank in surprise. "He doesn't look like the type."

Graham laughed. "He did all our driving. He may look like a bank clerk, but he's quite good. He was my wheel man in the old days.

"However, we didn't stop you. Even that little message through your living room window didn't scare you off. I figured the time had come to take my getaway fund and run.

"But Freed and Ritchey got out of control." Graham frowned at Freed, who glared back. "You see, I don't kill except when it's necessary. I'm a businessman. But Freed and Ritchey - well, they wanted blood. Freed got Norris to help in an attempt to gas you in that trailer. Then he tried to shoot you, using Norris to drive the truck."

Graham shook his head. "That was stupid. What was worse, they failed both times. But we still could have cut and run, even then."

"Why didn't you?" asked Frank.

"Because Freed wanted to see you two dead, and Ritchey wanted Addison. So they kidnapped this young lady," Graham said, pointing to Trish, "to get you three in their hands. I was totally against it, but Freed threatened to finger me to the cops if I didn't cooperate. So you see, I'm not to blame for your present situation. As a matter of fact, Freed would probably shoot me for telling you all this, except that then he wouldn't get the rest of the money I owe him."

"So what happens now?" asked Joe.

"Well, I'll hold off your father and the cops by using you as hostages until I can get out of here. There are countries where I can live happily, with no questions asked, as long as my money holds out. Norris is getting my emergency fund right now. He has also called the police to let them know that we have you all here and that any police interference would be very bad for your health, but that you will eventually all be released unharmed."

Graham shook his head slowly. "That is what I would like to do, believe me. But Mr. Freed and Mr. Ritchey have other ideas. So, you see, it's really out of my hands."

Freed stepped past Graham, gun in hand. "Enough talk, Graham. Ritchey, you ready?"

Ritchey stepped over to Freed's side, now holding his own forty-five automatic. Both men cocked their guns.

Joe looked up at Freed. The thug was grinning, and the mouth of his automatic looked huge. This is when the cavalry should show up, he thought. But there wasn't a bugle to be heard. He looked over at his brother, and waited for the sound of the gunshot, the last sound he would ever hear.

Frank Hardy laughed.

Freed glared at Frank. "You got some weird sense of humor, punk. What's so funny anyway?"

"You are, Freed," replied Frank. "You figure you're on top of the situation, right? But the truth is, Graham is playing the two of you for chumps, and you don't even know it. That's pretty funny, wouldn't you say?"

Frank laughed again. He tried to ignore the pain in his wrists. A few more minutes and he might be able to work his right hand free.

"Cut it out," snapped Freed, whose face was flushed with anger, "or your girlfriend here takes the first bullet - now."

Quickly Frank quieted down.

"Now, what are you talking about? Talk straight, and talk fast."

"I thought you knew the ropes," Frank said, shaking his head. "Graham is too smart for you, Sam. He hired you because he wanted someone he could give to the law. All this time he's been setting you up to take the rap. You'll end up with every cop in the country looking for you, and Graham will end up with a bagful of money, setting up a nice new life in another country. Wake up, Freed! You're being had!"

"Just a second - " Graham started angrily, but Freed waved him silent.

"Go ahead, kid. I want to hear all of this," the thug said, looking coldly at Graham.

Joe quickly realized that Frank was trying to turn the gang against one another. It looked like the best bet to stay alive awhile longer.

"That's right, Freed," said Joe. "Frank and I know about your record - two assault convictions, eight-month stretch after the second one. Some other arrests, but you were released because there wasn't enough proof. How do you think we found out about that?"

"How did you?" growled Freed.

"Graham told us," explained Joe. "He wanted to make sure that the cops would have someone to go after. A guy with a record like yours is perfect - you'll take the rap for everything."

Frank watched Graham, fidgeting, out of the corner of his eye. If the businessman had been holding a gun, he figured, he and Joe might be dead right now. But Graham was scared of Freed's temper and would try to talk his way out of trouble.

"Graham says that personally he'd just as soon have us live," Frank said. "That's a lot of smoke, Freed! With us gone, you're the only one tied to any crimes."

"Right!" said Joe. "Graham wants us dead more than you do, but you and Ritchey do his dirty work, and he walks away with clean hands."

"That's ridiculous!" said Graham sharply. "You don't believe that nonsense, do you, Freed? The boys are just trying to save their skins."

"I don't care if it's true or not," Ritchey muttered. "I just want to put a bullet into Addison, and I'll take my chances afterward."

"Wait a minute," Freed said. He turned to face Graham. "How did these punks know about my record? Did you tell 'em?"

"Of course not," Graham replied. "They're lying, I told you. They're stalling, can't you see? Look, Freed, get on with it. We can't hang around this place forever."

Frank and Joe saw that Freed's attention and anger were fixed on Graham. They had to keep it that way and play for time.

The heavy steel door rumbled back far enough for Norris to come in.

"Everything's set. I've picked up the money and notified the police."

"So, you looked up my record, huh?" Freed asked with a murderous look at Graham. "You wanted to put me on the spot, did you?"

Norris paled and backed away. Graham said, "Come on, Freed, use your head! Of course I checked your record, that's why I hired you! I needed a man who was tough."

Freed stayed suspicious. "I don't know, Graham. If you're setting me up for a fall ... "

Graham backed off a step, holding up his hands and making a show of bafflement. "Freed, haven't I taken care of you up till now? Come on, do the job, and let's get out of here."

"Yeah, let's get it over with," growled Vic Ritchey.

But Freed came forward and grabbed Graham by a fistful of collar. He dragged him forward until their faces almost touched.

"What good does killing these punks do for me?" he demanded gruffly. "I can see where getting rid of them helps you out, but there's other witnesses out there who know what I've done. Why should I whack these people out for you?"

"Very well, Freed," Graham replied, carefully removing Freed's hand from his collar and smoothing his clothes out. "I'll pay you an additional twenty-five thousand dollars, you and Ritchey both. That ought to be - "

"Make him do it," shouted Frank, cutting in on Graham.

Freed stared at Frank and thought a moment. "What do you mean, kid? What's your point?"

Frank gestured with his head toward Graham. "Make him do some of the shooting. That way he'll have blood on his hands and you'll have something on Graham. It's only fair, right?"

Freed stared down at Frank, and then eyed Graham. Abruptly he walked over to Vic Ritchey.

"Gimme your gun," he ordered.

"But I - " Ritchey sputtered, and then stopped as Freed stared at him stonily.

"It's not fair," he whined, " I was - "

Freed said nothing. He held out his left hand and fixed Ritchey with a flat, unblinking stare. The standin handed over his gun and slouched away.

Freed walked back to Graham and held out the second automatic.

"Take it," he said.

Graham looked down at the gun and then back at Freed. Then he said, "Now, see here - "

"Take it, I said. The punk is right. It's time you did something aside from giving orders."

Freed thrust out his left hand, holding Ritchey's automatic. When Graham still wouldn't pick up the gun, the tough aimed his own weapon at the mastermind's forehead.

"I ain't fooling around here. You take that gun, Graham."

Graham took it. It was clear to Frank that Graham wasn't used to guns and didn't like them. The financier looked around and saw Norris.

"Norris," he ordered, "take this and - "

"No dice," Freed said. "Not Norris, friend. You're going to pull the trigger, and I'm going to watch you do it. I'm going to watch you shoot this punk here." He pointed to Frank. "Seeing as how it was his idea and all."

To the Hardys' eyes, Graham no longer looked like the dignified businessman. His face was pale and sweaty. He stared at Freed's gun and nodded, slowly running his tongue around his lips.

He walked up to Frank and reached out a shaking hand until his weapon was only inches away from Frank's head. Frank still couldn't free his hands. He willed himself not to flinch, to look straight at Graham, who wouldn't meet his eyes. The gun shook, and then steadied.

From the darkness a voice was heard. It said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Graham let out a cry of surprise. Freed whirled around. "Who is that?" he barked. "What's going on here?"

Joe let out a breath of relief. He didn't know what was happening, but at least Freed had been distracted. He turned to give Trish a look of reassurance. "Hang in there," he said softly.

From another part of the old building another voice came out of the gloom. "Give it up. You don't have a chance."

"Who are you?" shouted Ritchey. He stared into the unlit expanse of the factory and then jumped in panic as a voice was heard from directly opposite the last one.

"We have you surrounded," it said. "Drop the guns and put your hands up."

Freed aimed at the sound of the last voice and fired. The bullets whined as they ricocheted off the bricks of the wall.

"This is your last chance, Freed. Drop your guns right now." Shouts were coming at them from all around. "Don't be stupid," said one. "It's all over," said another.

"Mr. Graham, what's happening?" called Norris, his voice pitched high with fear.

"Shut up, Norris!" snapped Graham, scanning the room, his gun in front of him.

With one final, all-out effort, Frank yanked his right hand free of the ropes. He leaned over and whispered to Joe, "I've got my hands free."

"Freed's got the key to all this iron," Joe whispered back. Let's see if we can get him within reach." Frank nodded, keeping his hands behind him.

One of the voices spoke again. "This is your last warning," it announced. "You don't have a - "

Freed fired again, aiming toward the voice, and it was suddenly cut off. There was a shower of sparks.

"What's going on here?" snarled Freed savagely. He picked up one of the electric lamps and pointed it toward where he had just shot.

A small portable speaker stood on the floor. Next to it were the remains of an amplifier which had just taken a bullet in the transistors. Crouched alongside the amplifier with a microphone in his hands was Headcase. He wore his headphones and was carrying the shotgun mike that he used to pick up whispered conversations.

"Who are you?" shouted Graham.

"He's the soundman on 'Thieves' Bargain,' " Freed snarled. "They call him Headcase, and he is a headcase, too, walking in here like that. All right, you little freak, how did you get in here?"

"I sneaked in after Norris," the soundman replied. "You guys were all too busy to notice."

"How did he find us?" Joe asked his brother quietly.

"Tell you later," Frank whispered back. "For now, let's just try for that key."

Freed turned to Graham. "We're not surrounded at all. This long-haired nut sneaked around in the dark putting speakers all around and talked over them with a mike, trying to panic us." He looked at Headcase, and brought his gun up. "You stuck your nose in the wrong place for the last time, wise guy," he growled, aiming.

But at that moment another voice was heard from outside, over a loudspeaker.

"Attention inside the building. This is Lieutenant Weller of the Bayport police. We have this building surrounded. I repeat, this building is surrounded."

"Cops!" squawked Vic Ritchey. "The cops are here! Freed, what are we going to do? There's cops out there!"

"Shut up!" Freed bellowed, whirling to give the standin a look that instantly quieted him. "Just keep your mouth shut, or I'll shut it for you - permanently."

"Frank!" whispered Joe. "The key's on a ring sticking out of Freed's hip pocket! If we can get him closer, maybe you can fish them out."

Freed turned his attention back to Headcase - but Headcase wasn't there anymore. He had taken advantage of Freed's distraction to slip away into the darkness of the building.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Weller's voice continued. "Attention, you inside the building. You will throw your weapons outside the door and come out after them with your hands up. You will not be harmed. You have thirty seconds."

Frank noticed that Norris was growing increasingly fearful, his eyes darting wildly around the room. He whispered to Joe, "Watch the secretary. He's beginning to crack. Maybe he'll give us the distraction we need."

Joe nodded back.

Norris scuttled over to Graham and said, "It's all over! We're caught! Let's give it up before we all get shot!"

Graham was scanning the building for possible escape routes. He gave his secretary an angry glare.