Motocross Madness (2 page)

Corri pitched forward and almost tumbled out of her chair, just managing to hold on. Joe and Frank landed hard in the mud beside the racetrack. The cyclist hit the dirt at an angle and skidded sideways. Her wheels went out from under her, and she crashed into several bales of hay lining the side of the course.

Joe and Frank glanced at Corrine, who looked
pretty shook up. “Are you all right?” Joe asked.

Corri nodded, and ran one shaky hand through her tousled hair.

The brothers rose and headed toward the cyclist. She was lying prone beneath her pink and purple bike, covered with smashed hay. For a moment, she didn't move. Then she groaned and pushed weakly at the cycle, which was pinning her left leg.

Frank and Joe raced to her side and helped lift the machine.

“I'll be all right,” the pink-helmeted cyclist said. “The hay bales cushioned the crash. Thank heaven for body armor, too.” The brothers noticed that she had motocross impact plates woven into her pink and purple cycling outfit.

At that moment, another bike crested the jump hill. Its rider wore green, with a yellow bird motif painted on her cycle. She paused just a moment, then kept going.

The crashed cyclist snarled, “Amber Hawk . . . !”

“You should take it easy,” Joe suggested.

The young woman pulled off her helmet, revealing a pretty face surrounded by dark, wavy hair. “I'm okay,” she said.

“That was a pretty bad crash,” Frank noted. “You should keep still until we can call for an ambulance.”

The woman shook her head. “No need. I've been in worse spills. But thanks for helping. Who are you guys, anyway? Are you part of the staff?”

“Frank and Joe Hardy,” Frank replied. “We're signing up for the race and just happened to be here.”

“In the right place at the right time,” the woman said. “I'm Marissa Hayday.”

“Are you all okay?” Corri Fernandez asked. It had taken her some time to wheel across the rutted course shoulder to the scene of the accident.

“Yeah. We're fine,” Joe said. “It was a close call, though.”

Corri looked very concerned. “What happened?”

Before Marissa could answer, two men came running up to the group. They were both tall and dark-haired. One was younger, about the same age as Corrine. The other man was older, and wore glasses and a bushy mustache. Both bore a family resemblance to Corri.

“We saw what happened,” the younger man blurted.

“Corri, are you all right?” the older man asked. “If anything else happened to you—”

“I'm fine, Pops,” Corri said.

“I thought for sure that bike was going to clock you,” the younger man said. He glared angrily at Marissa Hayday.

“My friends pushed me out of the way in time,” Corri explained. “Dad, Paco, this is Joe and Frank Hardy. They're entering the race. Frank, Joe, this is my dad, Peter, and my brother, Paco.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Joe and Frank said.

The Fernandez men nodded acknowledgment but remained focused on the battered motorcycle rider and her bike. Marissa straightened the machine out and began checking it for damage.

“You could have killed someone, you know,” Paco said angrily.

“This is only a practice,” Pops added. “You shouldn't be taking those kinds of chances.”

“Don't tell
me,”
Marissa replied. “Tell that Hawk woman. She's the one who ran me off the course!”

“Amber Hawk?” Pops asked.

“Who else?” Marissa said angrily.

Paco grimaced. “I told you she was trouble, Pops,” he said. “We never should have invited her. We ought to kick her out of the competition right now!”

“You think I should throw out one of the best motocross riders on the word of this girl?” Pops asked skeptically.

“Look,” Marissa said, “I know I'm nobody important, but I'm telling the truth. Ask my sisters Elena and Kari if you don't believe me. They saw the whole thing.”

“Maybe you should flag Hawk down and ask her what happened,” Frank suggested.

“Good idea,” Pops said. He pulled a small walkie-talkie from his belt and called one of his assistants. A few moments later, he turned back to the group. “I called Stephenson up in the observation tower.
He'll flag down Hawk and send her over. Now, you're sure you're all right, Corrine?”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” Corri said.

Jamal's red and black bike crested the nearby hill. He came downslope and stopped near his friends. “How'd I do?” he asked, looking at Frank and Joe.

“Sorry, Jamal,” Frank said. He pulled the watch out of his pocket, but his dive had made it reset itself. “We had some trouble here. I completely lost track of your lap time.”

“What happened?” Jamal asked, concerned.

“Ms. Hayday nearly plowed into us,” Joe offered.

“It wasn't my fault,” Marissa said.

“Not your fault, how?” Jamal asked.

“That's what we're trying to determine,” Pops replied.

“Everyone's okay, though,” Corri added. “That's what's important.”

A moment later, a green and yellow bike topped the hill. It skidded to a halt beside the group. Amber Hawk pulled off her helmet and looked at the Fernandez family. “They told me you wanted to see me,” she said. “What about?”

“We want to find out what happened when Ms. Hayday here almost crashed,” Pops explained.

Hawk shrugged. “What's to know?” she said. “The girl can't handle her bike.”

“That's not true!” Marissa protested. “You practically plowed into me.”

“Tough competition is part of the game,” Hawk replied. “If you don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen.”

“Maybe I will,” Marissa shot back.

“Now, now,” Pops said. “No need to do anything hasty. This is just a misunderstanding.” Paco didn't say anything, but stood fuming near his father.

“You should take it easy during these practice runs, Ms. Hawk,” Corrine said. “Save something for the actual races.”

Amber Hawk sneered. “I've got
plenty
for race day,” she said. “Just keep the amateurs out of my way.” She pulled her helmet back on, revved her engine, and roared away.

“Nice girl,” Joe said, meaning just the opposite.

“We should throw her out of the race,” Paco said angrily.

“We can't afford to,” Pops replied. “She's one of our biggest draws.”

“But everyone
knows
she's a troublemaker,” Paco countered.

“Well, she's made enough trouble for me,” Marissa Hayday said. “My sisters and I are out of here.” Her bike wouldn't start, so she began walking it off the course.

“Paco, go after her,” Corri said. “We need all the racers we can get.”

“But I
agree
with her,” Paco said. “Hawk is a menace.”

“Do as your sister asked,” Pops said. “She's right. We can't have people dropping out the day before the competition starts. Marissa and her sisters have a lot of supporters.”

Paco shot an angry glance at his sister and his father, then jogged off after Marissa.

“Sorry about this,” Pops said to the Hardys and Jamal. “We don't usually have these kinds of troubles at our racecourse.”

“Everyone's on edge,” Jamal said. “Don't worry about it. My friends and I are still in. Aren't we, guys.”

Frank and Joe nodded. “We wouldn't miss it,” Frank said.

“We've got to finish filling out our entry forms first, though,” Joe noted. He looked around and found their papers in the mud nearby. They'd dropped them pushing Corri out of the way of the onrushing motorcycle. “They're ruined, I'm afraid,” he said.

Corri glanced at her clipboard, also in the mud nearby. “I'm out too,” she said. Jamal picked up the clipboard, dusted it off, and handed it to her. She took the ruined blank forms and threw them into a nearby trash can.

“No problem,” Pops said. “I've got plenty of forms in the office. Mr. Hawkins, if you'll take my daughter to the medical center, I'll see to your friends.”

“But, Pops,” Corrine said, “I'm okay. Really.”

Jamal smiled at her. “I promise to get you back on the racecourse in short order,” he said.

The wheelchair-bound girl smiled back. “I'll hold you to that promise, Hawkins,” she said. Jamal parked his bike out of the way, then wheeled Corri toward the medical center—a small, corrugated metal office near the track's starting line.

As the sun set, Peter Fernandez watched his daughter go. A mixture of admiration and concern washed over his craggy face.

“All this must be tough for you,” Frank said.

Mr. Fernandez nodded. “It's been difficult since Corri's accident,” he admitted. “Our insurance just wasn't enough to cover both her surgery and her rehab. But we're not about to give up now, not when she's so close to recovery.”

“I'm sure the race series will raise the money you need,” Joe said.

“I hope so,” Mr. Fernandez replied. He walked toward the office, a wide trailer home parked near the eastern perimeter of the property. The Hardys went with him.

“Organizing this benefit has been a lot harder than I thought it would be,” he continued. “There
are some tricky legalities—especially with the big-name racers.”

“Like what?” Joe asked as they walked past a line of garages. The buildings looked something like a long storage unit, with individual repair bays set up for each group of race teams.

“Well, the famous ones want to control their image,” Mr. Fernandez said. “And their publicity, too. They bring in sponsors, but they make a lot of demands as well. Setting everything up has cost a lot more money than I thought it would.”

“But not enough that you could have completed Corri's rehab with that money instead?” Frank asked.

Mr. Fernandez shook his head. “Not nearly enough,” he replied. “You know what they say: You have to spend money to make money. I just hope that the money we make is enough.”

“We'll do our best to help,” Frank said.

Mr. Fernandez smiled at the brothers. “Thanks,” he said. “We appreciate that. We appreciate everyone who's spent their time and energy to help Corri out.”

They reached the old trailer that rested atop cement blocks next to the chain-link fence that ran around three sides of the property. The fence separated the track from wilderness on the north side and an industrial park on the east. It enclosed everything in the complex except the racecourse itself, which stretched into the wooded hills behind the main property. Twilight was rapidly
descending, and long, dark shadows loomed over the grounds. The office was dark inside, too.

Mr. Fernandez took out his keys and grasped the doorknob. The door swung open in his hand. “That's funny,” he said to the brothers. “I'd swear I locked it.”

As he spoke, the Hardys spotted someone lurking inside the darkened office.

“Someone's in there,” Joe whispered.

“What?” Mr. Fernandez said, momentarily confused.

“Keep quiet,” Frank cautioned. “Maybe we can take whoever it is by surprise.”

“It's probably just Paco,” Mr. Fernandez replied.

“Rummaging around in your office with the lights off?” Joe asked.

“Do you really think he had time to get back here after talking to Marissa?” Frank added.

A look of deep concern drew over Mr. Fernandez's face.

“Do you have anything valuable in the office?” Joe asked.

“Not much,” Pops whispered back. “Some money and papers in the safe. Do you think we should call the police?”

“It'd be pretty embarrassing if it
does
just turn out to be your son,” Joe said.

“Let's take a look,” Frank agreed.

The brothers cautiously opened the door and
peered into the darkened office. At the far side of the room, a man with a flashlight was rummaging through some papers. The Hardys had no chance of recognizing him, as he wore leather riding gear and a motorcycle helmet. Black leather gloves covered his hands, and the helmet obscured his face.

Joe took a tentative step inside the room, but a floorboard creaked beneath his foot.

The helmeted man spun and charged toward them.

Surprised, Joe stepped back, right into Frank. The helmeted man shoved the off-balance teens, and both brothers tumbled to the floor. Then the intruder kept going.

He pushed past Mr. Fernandez, who stumbled down the short stairs in front of the trailer and landed in a heap on the ground. The helmeted man ran off into the gathering darkness.

Joe and Frank scrambled to their feet and gave chase.

“Are you okay?” Frank called to Mr. Fernandez as they ran.

The older man nodded and puffed, “Yeah.”

“Call the cops!” Joe shouted back to him.

The helmeted man ducked around a tall gravel
pile and between two locked metal sheds. The brothers followed.

The intruder, still a good distance ahead of them, headed toward a battered motorcycle parked near the edge of a dirt path.

“If he reaches that cycle,” Joe said, “we'll never catch him!”

“Too late!” Frank replied.

The helmeted man jumped on his cycle and kicked the starter. The brothers kept running, hoping they might catch the intruder before the helmeted man could get going, but then they heard the first kick of the engine.

The bandit opened the throttle, and the bike's back tire kicked up a cloud of dirt. The brothers made one last, desperate sprint, but the intruder zoomed away into the darkness.

“Rats!” Joe blurted. “Do you have any idea who he was?”

Frank shook his head. “I couldn't see his face under the mask. The bulky leather jacket hid his build pretty well, too. For all we know, it might even have been a woman under that outfit.”