Eye on Crime (11 page)

“That could be a good sign,” Joe said. “Maybe Johnson wants to pull another heist tonight.”

The house lights dimmed, and the show started. After the assistant producer went through the show's rules, Monty came out and did his opening routine. Then, just as planned, when it came time to pick participants from the audience, he zeroed in on Frank and Joe.

“Hey, we have some repeat performers!” Monty beamed. “I recognize you guys from last week.” Monty zipped into the audience and stood next to Frank.

“Come on, audience, let's see if we can get these two . . . What were your names again?” Monty stuck the microphone in Joe's face.

“Joe and Frank Hardy.”

“Let's see if we can get Joe and Frank to let us hypnotize them.”

The audience erupted in applause. Monty began
to walk down the aisle. Frank and Joe followed him to the stage. After some questions and jokes, Monty hypnotized the two brothers.

“Now, those of you who tuned in last week may remember that these young boys fancy themselves superdetectives. Well, let's see how they feel when the shoe is on the other foot.”

Monty turned to Frank and Joe. “It's time for some cops and robbers,” he said as he motioned to somebody offstage. A crew rolled out some props, and the stage suddenly looked like a warehouse.

“Okay, think of some of the crooks you've caught in the past. Now use this warehouse to replay some of their dastardly schemes.”

Frank and Joe went to the warehouse set. First, Frank produced a set of lock picks from his back pocket and worked on the warehouse door. Once inside, the brothers skulked around, melting into pretend shadows. Joe tore open one of the prop boxes, got a greedy look on his face, and reached inside. Then he held his hands up as if he were showing something to Frank. Frank went to the back of the warehouse and pulled an imaginary chain as though he were opening a loading-dock door. Then Frank and Joe began lifting some of the prop boxes as if they were loading the stolen goods into a truck.

The audience howled with delight at how Monty Andrews had gotten the two do-gooders to commit a “crime.” Monty then snapped Frank and
Joe out of their trances and sent them backstage. They signed some legal release forms and were then met by Monty Andrews after he wrapped up the show.

A little while later Frank and Joe walked out the backstage door.

“How'd it go?” Callie asked when the two had emerged from the building.

“Uh, okay,” Frank stammered as he walked past his girlfriend. Joe completely ignored Iola as he followed his older brother.

“Posthypnotic suggestion,” Iola whispered to Callie. “Let's stay on them.”

Frank and Joe walked to the van. The girls hung back a little to make sure that somebody else wasn't watching them watch their boyfriends.

Frank got in the driver's seat, but he didn't start the engine for a few minutes. Then the passenger door opened and closed. Frank started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking space, he saw Callie and Iola jump into their car. He could just make out the sound of Callie's engine vainly struggling to start as the people who were supposed to keep tabs on him and Joe became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

It wasn't until after eleven that evening that Frank and Joe Hardy saw anybody else. The brothers entered their house. Inside, the living room was full of people. Mrs. Hardy carried in a tray of refreshments while Fenton Hardy sat on the couch stoically comforting the guests. Callie paced the floor; Iola wrung her hands; and Chet and Tony pulled books off the shelf above the television, trying to keep themselves distracted.

Frank and Joe glanced at the gathering for a moment and then wordlessly began to ascend the stairs.

“Hold it right there!” Callie shouted. Frank and Joe both froze in their tracks. “Come down here.” Both young men followed the terse instructions.

“Okay, what's the big idea?” Callie asked.
Frank and Joe stared at her with blank expressions.

“Let's ease up a second,” Fenton Hardy suggested. “If what you told me about the hypnotism is correct, they may not answer such vague questions.”

“Let me try,” Tony said. “How about ‘Frank and Joe, where have you been this evening since you left the studio?' ”

“We drove to the lake,” Frank stated.

“Well, we were supposed to follow you to verify that,” Iola said. “But when we got in Callie's car, it wouldn't start. We had to call the automobile club to help us. Turns out somebody jammed the starter.”

“Did you do that, Joe?” Callie asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Why?”

“Because we wanted to be alone,” Frank answered.

“Well, they were probably instructed to make sure they weren't followed,” Chet offered. “And seeing as they had prior plans to be followed, Joe sabotaged Callie's car so that couldn't happen.”

“So that solves that mystery,” Fenton said. “Now, from what you kids said about Callie and Iola's experience, the boys probably won't recall enough to be of any help. They'll probably be pretty out of it until tomorrow.”

“In that case,” Mrs. Hardy said, “everybody
should go on home and get some sleep. You do have school tomorrow.”

“Sleep?” Iola asked, agitated. “Who's going to get any sleep after all of this?”

“I'm always good for a night's sleep,” Tony offered with a smile.

“Come on,” Chet said, “I'll give everybody a ride home.”

• • •

The next morning Frank and Joe were a little sluggish getting out of bed.

“I feel like a big wad of cotton is where my brain used to be,” Frank said.

“I'm a bit out of it also,” Joe replied.

The brothers washed up and got ready for school in silence. They had a quick breakfast and were out the door without so much as a “good morning” to their parents. They got in the van and drove to the school, saying nothing to each other.

Several blocks away from the school, Frank finally perked up a little bit. A black sedan accelerated past them on the passenger side of the van. Then, just as the car pulled ahead of the van, it swerved to the side and screeched to a halt perpendicular to the Hardy vehicle. Frank slammed down hard on the brakes, and the van slid to a stop just a few feet away from the sedan.

“What's going on!” Joe yelled out his window. Then he caught sight of a familiar man getting out of the car. “Zybysko,” Joe said. He reached for his
door handle and got out of the van, not bothering to close the door. Frank followed suit. In seconds the two brothers stood in front of their van, ready for action.

Zybysko hung back a moment until he was joined by Spicolli. Then they approached the Hardys.

“Look,” Frank said, “enough is enough. We don't have time for this. We're just a couple of kids who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Can't we all just be friends?” Joe asked. “We could give you some fashion tips.”

“Oh, that helped,” Frank said. The two thugs came right up to Frank and Joe. Spicolli grabbed Joe's shirt collar.

“Hey, let him go,” Frank said as he grabbed his brother's attacker's arm. Zybysko grabbed Frank and pushed him up against the van.

Instinct took over in both teens. Joe thrust his arms forward and up between his assailant's arms applying fast pressure to the man's elbow joints. The thug let go. Joe took the opportunity to drive his shoulder into the man's midsection.

Frank grabbed Zybysko's wrist and twisted, forcing the thug to release his hold on his neck. Then Frank used his leverage to force the larger man to the ground. When Zybysko's face reached Frank's midsection, Frank kicked him. The force of the blow started a trickle of blood from the thug's tan nose.

Free of their attackers, Frank and Joe scrambled for the van. But just as Joe climbed into the passenger seat, Spicolli grabbed him. Joe kicked his legs and connected with his attacker's shoulder. Spicolli let go, and Joe pulled his door shut.

“Hit it, Frank!” Frank threw the van into reverse and gunned the engine. The van was half-way down the block before the thugs even reached their car. Frank twisted the steering wheel. The van spun one hundred eighty degrees. Then Frank switched gears, hit the gas, and sped away.

“Should we report the incident?” Frank asked.

“What's to report? That we easily escaped two inept bad guys for the second time? Why bother?”

“Yeah, it was easy, wasn't it,” Frank agreed. Joe laughed.

After that, the rest of the day was pleasantly quiet. Frank and Joe met with their friends during lunch, but had little insight to offer about their activities from the prior night.

“We'll just have to see if anything develops,” Frank said, picking over the cafeteria's special of the day.

“And if something doesn't happen soon to give us a break in this case,” Joe added, “we'll start looking for another way to clear you two.”

“Thanks, guys,” Iola said.

“We know we can count on you,” Callie added.

School wrapped up for the day, and Frank and
Joe headed for the locker room. It was the first day of baseball season, and Bayport High School's first challenge was to host the defending state champions, Shoreham High.

The mood in the locker room was cheerful as the players psyched themselves up to take on their rivals. Everyone dressed quickly and headed out to the field to stretch and warm up. Frank was scheduled to pitch the opening-day game, so he headed to the pitcher's mound to get a feel for the diamond. Joe stepped up to the plate with a bat in his hand.

“Throw some warm-up pitches,” he hollered to Frank. “I'll use them for batting practice while we wait for Coach Tarkanian.”

Frank threw some pitches. The first ones were soft and straight as he loosened his muscles, so Joe put those balls into orbit. Then Frank got serious. He threw his patented Hardy Heater, smoking the fastball past his brother.

“There you go, bro,” Joe said. “Looking good.”

After a few more pitches and swings, some strikes and some hits, the brothers headed for the dugout.

The entire team gathered together. As they high-fived and whooped it up a bit, the Shoreham team took to the field to warm up.

“I wonder where Coach Tark is,” Joe said.

“He was in his office talking to somebody,” a
teammate said. “The blinds were pulled so I couldn't see who. But the coach didn't sound happy.”

“Ah, probably nothing,” Frank said, trying to keep his teammates loose. Then Frank turned to the team's catcher to discuss the pitch signs and strategy.

“Frank, Joe,” a voice boomed suddenly. The players all looked at the dugout entrance, which was filled by the form of their coach.

“Yes, Coach,” Frank said.

“You two get on over to the locker room. Somebody there to see you.”

“What's up?” Joe asked. “The game's going to start soon.”

“I know,” the coach replied. “You two are scrubbed for the day.”

“Scrubbed?” Michael Shannon, the team's catcher, echoed. “Frank's our number-one pitcher!”

“Yeah,” came the complaints of the other players. “And Joe . . .”

Coach Tarkanian silenced his team with a steely glare.

“Why are we scrubbed?” Frank asked. “It couldn't be because of bad grades. We're both good students.”

“It isn't grades,” Coach Tarkanian said. “Just go.” The coach turned to the other players. “Novick,” he said to the team's number-two starting
pitcher, “get to the bullpen and get warmed up. Gitenstein, you'll take Joe's spot.”

The team once more muttered their protests, but the discussion was closed. Frank and Joe left the dugout and headed for the locker room. Both were bewildered and very upset. When they reached the locker room, Officer Con Riley was waiting for them.

“Con?” Joe asked. “What's going on?”

“Has there been a break in the jewelry case?” Frank asked.

“In a way,” Con said sadly. “Look, I hate to do this, but, Frank and Joe Hardy, you are both under arrest.”

“Oh, now this seems familiar,” Joe said.

“It's not as if we didn't expect it.”

“What was that, Frank?” Con asked.

“I think we'll go with the right to remain silent for now,” Frank replied.

Riley read the brothers their Miranda Rights.

“You are being arrested for robbing Bayport Midtown Furriers,” Con said. “Do you wish to make a confession at this time?”

“Furriers? Not a jewelry store?” Frank was a little confused.

“Uh, we do not wish to make any statements,” Joe said. Frank nodded his agreement.

“Just sticking to procedure,” Con said. He allowed them to change out of their uniforms.

“Con,” Frank said as the man led them out to
his patrol car, “thanks for doing this yourself. I mean it. I know you'll stick by us.”

Con smiled. “I'll get you through booking as swiftly as possible. I've already arranged for your father to meet us at the station. It's bending procedure, but I'm willing to take a risk for you two.”

At the local precinct house, Con proved true to his word. The Hardy brothers were rushed through booking and led to an interrogation room. Con stayed with them the entire time. Soon Chief Collig, Fenton Hardy, and Brady Stelfreeze joined them.

“Well, well,” Collig said with a smirk. “I'm a bit surprised, I have to admit.”

“Glad to make your day,” Joe said.

“Let's just roll the evidence,” Collig said. “That should speed up a confession.”

“I will note comments like that as coercion and duress,” Stelfreeze warned.

Con went to a television console and pressed Play on the video machine. The screen lit up and displayed a scene taken from the Midtown Furriers' security camera. It plainly showed Joe and Frank entering a side door of the furriers' warehouse, finding some boxes of furs, and loading them into a truck through the loading-dock door.