Motocross Madness (7 page)

“Stop that guy!” Frank yelled as he entered the pits.

By then, though, the bandit had passed through the row of competitors and onto the track's main concourse. The race featuring Jules Kendallson, Elizabeth Navarro, and Marissa Hayday had just finished. A throng of spectators heading for their cars crowded the thoroughfare.

Corrine Fernandez's happy voice boomed over the loudspeaker: “Thanks for coming to the benefit today! We at the Fernandez Cycle Track hope you'll join us again tomorrow, for the
motocross
phase of this exciting challenge series!”

Frank shouted again for help, but no one heard him over the noise of the PA system.

The audience milling about blocked Frank from catching his quarry—and the big, heavy cashbox made navigation through them impossible. Frank spotted the culprit one last time near the far. edge of the concourse, then lost sight of him in the crowd. By the time the elder Hardy pushed through the mob, the would-be robber had disappeared.

Frustrated, Frank headed back to where he'd left Joe. He found both an ambulance and Pops Fernandez waiting when he got back. Joe spotted
Frank as the EMTs loaded the injured woman into the ambulance.

“Are you okay?” Joe called to his brother. “Did you catch him?”

Frank shook his head. “He threw the cashbox at me and got away. I might have nabbed him, but I didn't want to leave the box behind.” He handed the big, metal container to Pops Fernandez.

“Thank you,” Pops said. “I don't know what we would have done if that bandit had gotten away with the day's receipts.”

“How's the girl?” Frank asked.

“She'll be all right,” Joe said. “The EMTs said she was only stunned. They're taking her to the hospital for observation—just in case.”

“You two probably saved her life,” Pops said.

“I think the robber was only interested in the money,” Frank said. “I'm sorry I didn't catch him.”

“Next time, you should post a real guard with your gate employee,” Joe told Mr. Fernandez.

“We did,” Pops replied. “But he'd taken a coffee break. When someone knocked on the box office door, Candy—the girl who got hit—told me she'd assumed it was the guard returning. She said the thief pushed his way in, then forced her to walk away from the main entrance. We could have lost thousands of dollars, all because of one moment of carelessness.”

As the ambulance pulled away, the news media
caught wind that something was going on. They converged like vultures toward the spot where the brothers and Pops were standing.

Peter Fernandez sighed. “I'll take care of them,” he said. “You boys get some rest. You deserve it.”

“Have you called the police?” Frank asked.

“One of the cops stationed at the track called the main station,” Pops replied.

“I already talked to that officer,” Joe said. “So we don't have to stick around, unless you found out who the bandit was.”

Frank shook his head. “No such luck.”

Pops shook both their hands. “Again, thanks. It could have been a real disaster,” he said.

“No problem,” Joe replied.

He and Frank headed back to their garage unit to make some final preparations on their bikes and lock up for the night.

“So,” Joe said as they walked, “do you think today's thief was the same guy who broke into the office last night?”

“Maybe,” Frank replied. “With both wearing cycling outfits, there's no way to tell for sure.”

“The helmet implies he might be a racer,” Joe said.

Frank shrugged. “Or it could just have been a convenient disguise. At a place like this, a helmeted man wouldn't stick out much—unlike a man with a ski mask over his head.”

“I'm sure we'll catch this guy in the end, whoever he is,” Joe said.

His older brother nodded thoughtfully. “Participating in the race might make a good cover if you actually wanted to steal either the cashbox or one of the prizes,” he said.

“You think someone might have entered the competition just to rob it?”

“It's possible,” Frank said. “It could be someone without a lot of riding talent—like Elizabeth Navarro, for instance—just looking to make a big score. Competing would be a perfect cover.”

“Very perfect in Navarro's case,” Joe said. “She was actually on the track when the robbery took place.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “That rules her out, along with the other racers who were on the course at the time.”

“That only leaves about fifty suspects—not counting the spectators,” Joe noted wryly.

Frank sighed. “It's a place to start, anyway.”

“We can think about it tonight,” Joe said. “Let's check the standings and hook up with Jamal, then head for home.”

“Sounds good to me,” Frank said. He rubbed his gut where the box had hit it. “I'm beat.”

They found Jamal at the garage bay and filled him in on what had happened. Then they all locked up and checked the standings before they left.

“The rankings are close,” Joe said, looking over the sheet. “Paco's got a lead, but pot a commanding one.”

“Hawk will have an advantage tomorrow,” Jamal noted. “Motocross is her specialty.”

“She got a lucky break when Henderson crashed,” Frank said. “He was her main competition, but anyone could still take the series.”

“The next two days will tell,” Joe said.

   •   •   •

The brothers arrived at the race course early the next morning to prepare their bikes for the day. Since the day's theme was standard motocross, as opposed to acrobatics, they changed the stiffness on their shock absorbers and put on tires with more aggressive treads. Many of other the racers changed their seats as well; specially cut saddles, making dismount tricks easier, were standard for pros competing in acrobatic cycle contests.

The top finishers in each race would ride against one another in the semifinals, then the finals. Placement in the last race of the day would determine the standings and start times for Sunday's Enduro.

Joe and Frank worked side by side with Jamal in their small assigned garage. Their space was connected to the adjoining bays by a long corridor running across the back. Small doors kept each garage separate from the common hallway. Big garage
doors in the front of the bays opened out onto the track area, which looked onto a big berm behind Pitstop Row.

The Hardys' bay was one of the last in the line, and fairly close to one of the big bends in the motocross course. A tall line of piled-up earth separated their garage from the track. The earth wall also cut down on noise from the course.

The garage area was noisy enough on its own, with all the racers working on their machines. Most riders left the big doors of their bays open; the tiny, metal-cased garages got too warm with the doors shut.

Jamal had to run in the first race of the day, so he headed out while the Hardys were still working on their preparations. Frank and Joe had decided to rig small short-range radios in their helmets so they could talk to each other during the races. Paco Fernandez stopped by and handed the brothers their assignment sheets for the day.

As the Hardys wheeled their bikes out toward the track, Jamal returned. He was covered from head to toe with mud, so much so that you could hardly recognize his black and red uniform. Despite the mess, he wore a grin from ear to ear. “First in my heat,” he said. “I'm on to the next round—and a good spot for tomorrow's Enduro.”

“We've caught a tough break,” Joe said, frowning. “Both Frank and I are competing in the same heat.”

“Plus, we're up against Amber Hawk,” Frank noted, checking their starting papers. “That'll make it harder to move on.”

“Don't worry about Hawk,” Jamal advised. “She has just as much chance to wipe out as anyone else.”

Joe arched one blond eyebrow at his friend. “Do you really believe Hawk will wipe out, Jamal?”

Jamal laughed. “No, but it might help you if
you
believe it,” he said.

The brothers laughed as well.

“Remember,” Jamal said, “the top four finishers in each heat move on, scoring more points.”

“Our strong suit is cross-country,” Frank said. “It's the most like the riding that Joe and I usually do. If we can just hang on today, maybe we can pull something off tomorrow.”

“Well, good luck,” Jamal said. “Your race is about to start. I'll meet you trackside after you're done.”

“Sure thing,” Joe said. He and Frank wheeled their bikes out, down to Pitstop Row. There they made the final adjustments to their cycles while the previous heat finished. Surprisingly, Elizabeth Navarro finished first in her group.

“She must be better at this than she was at the Mixed Freestyle,” Frank said.

“Actually, she did okay there, too,” Joe replied. “I checked the standings and it looks like she had a strong finish after a shaky start.”

“Maybe she was just nervous early on,” Frank suggested.

The brothers fastened their helmets and rode their bikes to the starting line. They took their positions for the start, and waited for the Klaxon to sound and the flag to fall. The course had been toned down from the previous day, with the whoopdedoos resembling very tall speed bumps rather than high ski jumps.

At the blare of the buzzer the whole pack shot off the line. Amber Hawk took an early lead, but Joe and Frank stayed right behind her.

They hit the first whoopdedoo and arced over it, trying to control their airtime. “You can't accelerate when you're airborne,” they'd once heard Jamal say. Back on the ground quickly, they raced side by side, both brothers hitting the throttle as hard as they dared.

Hawk landed in front of them, but skidded slightly as she did. The brothers started to catch up to her. Frank and Joe flashed each other a quick grin. The raw power and control aspects of this dirt-track race suited them much better than the Mixed Freestyle had.

The Hardys roared up the second berm, their tires spitting out dirt behind them.

Hawk regained control of her bike at the top of the hill, but the brothers caught up to her. They all leaped over the whoopdedoo side by side. The
three of them landed simultaneously, with Joe and Frank on the inside lanes.

Suddenly, Hawk cut to the left, right in front of the Hardys' machines. Her tires hit a puddle and kicked a spray of mud up into the brothers' faceplates. She accelerated and darted in front of them.

Joe and Frank braked hard, barely able to see through the muck. They swerved farther toward the inside of the track as all three racers headed for a spectacular crash.

Frank and Joe twisted their bikes sideways, trying not to ram into Hawk's yellow and green motorcycle. Amber flashed past them, her bird insignia a blur in front of their fenders.

Joe's back wheel hit a muddy spot and went out from under him. He skidded toward Frank.

Frank turned the handlebars over hard, causing his blue and white cycle to spin sideways. His back wheel missed Joe's head by inches as the younger Hardy went down into the dirt.

Joe skidded to the side of the track and piled into the hay bales stacked on the inside edge. Mud and straw sailed into the air with the impact, and Joe lay still.

“Joe!” Frank screamed as he fought to control his
cycle. He swerved in a crazy S shape, trying not to go down. His bike's tires refused to purchase on the slick mud.

The remaining racers whizzed past Frank as he fought for control. In the next second he spotted Joe, lying trackside amid the dust. A chill shot down Frank's spine as he realized that he was headed right toward his brother.

The elder Hardy steered into the skid, but that just sent him faster in Joe's direction. Joe looked up, dazed, and saw Frank's bike coming at him. Frank laid the bike down, hoping he could stop in time.

At the last instant, Joe dove aside. Frank and his motorcycle brushed past him and skidded to a stop against the remaining hay bales.

Angry and covered with mud, Joe leaped to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked, picking up his bike.

But Joe had already hopped back onto his cycle. “Let's go!” he cried. He gunned his bike's throttle and rejoined the race.

The crowd in the grandstand roared their approval as Frank did the same.

The two of them rocketed around the next berm, but they had fallen far behind the rest of the pack.

“Keep at it!” Frank shouted into his helmet mike. “There's still a long way to go.”

“We can catch up,” Joe agreed. “I won't let Hawk beat us after what she did!”

They pressed forward as fast as they dared. Over the next few laps they made up much of the ground they'd lost. One by one, the brothers passed the other racers. But no matter how hard they tried, neither Hardy could catch up to Amber Hawk.

She crossed the finish line a good ten seconds ahead of Frank, who barely edged out Joe for second place. The two of them skidded their bikes to a stop at the edge of Pitstop Row.

Hawk wasn't waiting around to congratulate them. She waved perfunctorily to the crowd, then quickly headed back to her private garage bay.

Joe grumbled, “We could have finished
first
if it wasn't for her!”

“We're lucky to have finished at all,” Frank replied. “These heats are tough, and placing in the top four is pretty good. We've made it through to the next round, and that's what really matters. How do you feel?”

Joe examined his mud-covered armor and battered bike. “I feel okay,” he said. “The cycle seems good to go, too—aside from the mud.”

“We can wash it down before our next run,” Frank said.

“You might want to wash yourselves down, too!” jibed a friendly voice.

The brothers turned as Jamal walked toward
them. “Unless you don't care that no one knows it's you under all that mud,” he continued. “Personally, when I win a race, I want the whole world to know it's Jamal Hawkins.” He smiled, even though he was still covered with mud.