Nowhere to Run (2 page)

Neither the Hardys nor Sims offered to shake hands. The tension in the air was thick.

"Sims is a private investigator from New York City," Fenton went on. "He's looking for Bob Conway."

"I had him until Joe jumped me. I would have stopped him, too."

"Stopped him?" Joe shot back. "You were going to blow him away!"

"Listen, sonny, I've been hired to nail him. Nobody cares how I bring him in."

Frank saw a muscle just above Joe's jaw flex and took a step to place himself between Sims and his younger brother. He didn't like Sims's attitude, but he wanted more information from the private detective.

"Who hired you?" Frank asked with a quick glance at Joe. Joe recognized his brother's silent signal to cool it and relaxed.

"Scott Dalton, founder and president of DalTime, the watch company Conway stole from."

"Why? Biker's innocent." Joe couldn't keep the words in.

"Yeah? Who made you judge and jury? Mr. Dalton had complete faith in Conway, even put up three hundred grand in bail money so Conway could be free during his trial. The old man was willing to help with Conway's appeal, too, until Conway escaped. Now the bail money's been forfeited, and Conway's charged on the company card. Mr. Dalton wants either Conway or his money back."

Joe stared at Sims as if he were some kind of very ugly bug. "You're nothing but a bounty hunter," he said.

Sims clamped his jaw. Joe had hit a nerve.

"What are you doing here?" Frank asked, trying to catch Sims off balance.

Sims laughed. "It's no secret that Conway's from Bayport. I figured I'd check the place out— and ask an old friend from the New York force to help look for this escaped con." Sims glanced at Fenton Hardy.

"Wh - what?" Joe stared at his father.

"Sims doesn't know Bayport," Fenton explained. "I'm a consultant on this case."

"But you can't — " Joe began.

"Can't what? Can't uphold the law?" Sims threw himself into a chair, the springs groaning under his bulk. "Can't be a bounty hunter?"

Frank saw that Joe was ready to jump on Sims again, and gave his brother a jab in the ribs. Joe glared back. "What were you two doing with Conway?"

Fenton asked. Frank looked at Joe, then answered for both of them.

"We met him in the park about an hour ago," Frank said. "He explained about the robbery and wanted us to clear him. We were bringing him here, hoping you could help."

"He was thinking of turning himself in before this creep here began waving his gun around," Joe added. His cold blue eyes bored into Sims.

"You were doing the right thing," Fenton said.

"But if you see Biker again, restrain him and call me. This is Sims's case, and he's within the law. In spite of your feelings, Joe, Biker is a convicted felon."

"Yeah. Let older, wiser heads handle this job," Sims added with a sarcastic smile.

Joe turned to Fenton. "You never did like Biker."

"What I didn't like," Fenton replied, an edge in his voice, "was his hot temper—and the way his wildness rubbed off on you."

"You won't even think about his side of this," Joe said, frustrated. "Look at the case against him. The watches were planted in Biker's garage, and anybody can deposit money into a bank account. It's obvious that the eyewitness was lying."

Sims jumped up to stand toe-to-toe with Joe.

"Just like that!" he shouted with a snap of his fingers. "You solved the case. You've decided that a judge and jury didn't do their jobs right — no, you know better." Sims stabbed a plump finger at Joe's chest. "Every punk in Queens knows you don't run out on the law. If you do, you answer to Mort Sims. My job is to bring Conway back—dead or alive!"

Joe exploded. He pushed Sims backward. Caught off guard, Sims fell over the chair. But on the way down he lashed out with a karate kick, knocking Joe's legs out from under him.

Frank and Fenton stepped between the two. "Break it up," Fenton snapped. Frank pushed Joe out the front door.

Before following Joe, Frank faced his father. "He'll cool down in a little while. In the meantime we'll be at Mr. Pizza."

"You understand what I said about dealing with Conway," Fenton said.

Frank paused in the doorway. "We understand," he said. "But we don't have to like it."

The boys drove in absolute silence. Both brothers were thinking. Joe didn't like the idea of his father working with a bounty hunter to trap one of his best friends. He knew he had to prove Biker's innocence before trigger-happy Sims got him in his sights again.

Frank's eyes flicked between the road ahead and Joe. His brother often blew up, and he usually could shrug it off quickly. But that wasn't happening. Now Joe seemed filled with cold fury.

A chilling thought flashed through Frank's mind. If it came down to a choice, would Joe stand by his friend and idol, Biker Conway, or his father, who had teamed up with a bounty hunter? Frank became determined that such a decision shouldn't have to be made.

"The pits!" Joe suddenly slammed his hand on the dashboard.

"I know," Frank replied. "But we'll solve this one — "

"No," Joe interrupted. "Remember the pits? Where Biker used to practice?" "You mean the old quarry outside of town?" "Yeah. He could be camping there." Frank shook his head. "Too obvious." "Only if you know that Biker used to practice there, and Sims doesn't know Bayport, remember?" Joe looked at his brother. "It's worth a try."

"Okay, we'll check it out." Frank turned the van toward the pits.

Joe smiled. Just as he'd done three years earlier, he intended to clear Biker of a crime. He would put Sims in his place and prove to his father that Biker wasn't a thief.

The pits consisted of five square miles of large and small holes left after a mining company had dug out all the profitable sandstone. The area of dirt and stones looked more like a moonscape or an air force bombing range than a part of Bayport. But it made a great motocross practice course.

Frank and Joe parked the van, then split up and began to search from opposite ends of the quarry.

Joe's high hopes of finding Biker at the pits soon vanished. He didn't see even a trace of evidence that Conway had been there. Frustrated, Joe kicked up a cloud of dust.

"Hey!" Frank yelled as he jogged toward Joe. "I saw your smoke signals."

"Find anything?" Joe asked, an expectant look on his face.

"Nothing. You?"

Joe shook his head.

"It's getting dark," Frank said with a glance at the sky. "I called Callie on the mobile phone, and she's going to meet us at Mr. Pizza in half an hour. Let's eat something and brainstorm."

"Yeah," Joe grunted and headed for the van.

Frank shook his head. After girl-collecting, eating good food was Joe's favorite pastime. When even an invitation to a hot pizza supreme couldn't cheer Joe up, he was in a bad way.

The sudden roar of an engine cut the air. Frank saw a big black cycle swerve out from behind a gravel mound and drive toward Joe. Lost in thought, Joe didn't notice the cycle or its black-clad rider.

The cyclist had noticed Joe, though. He was aiming straight for him, hefting something in his hand.

Frank stared for one quick second, wondering what was behind that reflective helmet. Then there was no time for thinking — only for acting. He leapt for Joe.

Joe felt someone shove him from behind, so hard that he was lifted into the air before he fell— hard—to the ground. He jumped to his feet as a motorcycle roared past him and out of the quarry.

JOE'S EYES WIDENED. "Frank!" he yelled, dropping to one knee.

He gingerly brushed away the dust from his brother's head. The bleeding had almost stopped, but the area around the gash was starting to swell. What could have caused this? Joe wondered.

Then he saw a small crowbar lying on the ground. "Another inch and it would have been over," he muttered.

He pressed a handkerchief against Frank's temple.

"Ouch!" Frank's eyes fluttered open.

"You'll have a good lump there." Joe gave his brother a quick smile.

But Frank didn't smile back. "Did you see who was driving that bike?"

"Couldn't tell. First I wasn't paying any attention. Then the only thing I saw was dust." Joe picked up the crowbar and examined it. "This is a standard motorcycle tool."

"Think it might have been Biker?" Frank forced the question out.

Joe's eyes flashed. "No way. Why would he do that?"

"I saw our attacker — he had the same type of motorcycle, same clothes. Who else do we know who dresses like that?"

Joe frowned. "I didn't see anything. But I did hear the engine. It sounded terrible."

"I was too busy saving you to listen. What does the sound of the engine mean?"

Joe walked over to the tire tracks and followed them around the gravel mound. "Over here!" he yelled at Frank.

Joe squatted down beside a black stain that stood out in the dead gray dirt of the quarry. He pinched some of the black stuff and rubbed it between his fingers.

"Oil," he announced. "And it's hot, as if it had just leaked out of a running engine." He glanced around, then smiled. "Notice anything about the tire tracks?"

"The tires are worn down, as if they'd been on a long trip." Frank was growing impatient.

"Worn down?" Joe said. "They're bald. And the footprints next to them prove that the driver was wearing regular street shoes."

"What's the point?"

"You know Biker. He wouldn't ride his cycle with an oil leak like this, or let his tires wear down. And he wouldn't wear street shoes even for casual riding. He may not be serious about a lot of things, but cycling is his religion."

"That was three years ago." Frank folded his arms across his chest.

"Don't give me that big-brother routine," Joe spat out angrily. "You did that the last time I wanted to help Biker, and you looked pretty foolish then, too.

Frank looked at the oil spot and the tire tracks and footprints. Then he looked at his brother.

"Okay," he said with a sigh. "I'll go along with you for now. I just want to be sure that we aren't on the wrong side of the law this time. But if it wasn't Biker, who was it?"

"Maybe the same person who framed Biker. Someone who wants to stop us from proving he's innocent."

"Or someone who wants to nail Biker before we can help him," Frank countered.

"What?"

"No one knew we were coming out here. We came looking for Biker. I'd guess whoever attacked us must have been waiting for Biker, too.

"We've got to find Biker and warn him." Joe raced for the van.

"First, let's get Callie at Mr. Pizza," Frank said as he hopped in the passenger door.

"She'll just get in the way," Joe protested.

"We can find Biker faster with three of us looking," Frank replied sternly. Even after all Callie had done to help the Hardys, Joe was still reluctant to involve her. Maybe it was because she was Frank's girlfriend. Or maybe it was simply because she was a girl.

The cool air of the Bayport Mall was a welcome relief to Frank's throbbing head. He didn't like Joe's automatic defense of Biker. If he began to get desperate, Joe might just do something stupid. Best to find Biker, get him to a safe place, and then concentrate on finding their attacker.

They walked into Mr. Pizza, the aroma of spices, cheese, and pepperoni reminding them that they hadn't eaten. Callie was waiting at their favorite booth, impatiently tapping her straw on an empty soda glass.

"It's about time you two — " Callie began. Then she noticed the lump on Frank's temple. "What happened?" she gasped.

Frank quickly explained about meeting Mort Sims and their encounter in the pits with the mysterious rider.

"I think your father's right," Callie said. "It looks as if Biker causes trouble wherever he goes."

"His main trouble is getting blamed for stuff by people who don't know him," Joe shot back.

"Settle down, Joe," Frank said with a frown. "No need to start jumping down our throats."

"Everyone's treating Biker like a hardened criminal," Joe said. "How can he expect us to help him if Callie and Dad are trying to put him back in jail?"

"I didn't say I wanted him back in jail," Callie said. "I only — "

"Excuse me," interrupted a tall, dark-haired young man wearing a leather cycle jacket. "The manager said you two are Frank and Joe Hardy."

The guy's jacket didn't really go with his pretty-boy good looks. He actually had a dimple in his chin, and his hair was carefully styled.

Joe was ready to tell the guy to beat it when he noticed a pretty auburn-haired girl standing next to him. Her blue jumpsuit showed off a great figure, and her green eyes were fixed on Joe — a nice feeling, since she had to be twenty-one or twenty-two.

"Can we help you?" Frank asked cordially, relieved that the verbal battle between Joe and Callie had reached a temporary cease-fire.

"My name is Brandon Dalton. This is Sue Murphy," he said with a nod toward the auburn-haired girl.

"Hi." Sue gave them a shy smile.

"Dalton," said Frank thoughtfully. "Any relation to Scott Dalton?"

"My father," Brandon replied. "You must be Frank." He stuck his hand out toward the older Hardy. "And you must be Joe. I'm told you're just about the best detectives around."

Brandon's pale blue eyes rested on Callie. "And who's your friend?" he asked with a big smile.

"This is Callie Shaw," Frank said, aware of Brandon's admiring stare at Callie.

"Who told you we were detectives?" Joe asked as Brandon and Sue squeezed into the booth.

"A close friend of both of ours," Brandon said. "Biker Conway. He means a lot to us at the watch company, and we want to find him before Sims does."

"Yeah. I'm — we're afraid that if Sims finds Biker first—well ... " Sue's voice broke off.

"Sims has a rotten reputation," Brandon said flatly. "We want to make sure Biker doesn't get hurt."

"How did you know we were here?" Frank asked.

"We stopped off at your house and spoke with your father," Brandon replied. "Sims told my dad yesterday that he suspected Biker might hide out in Bayport. We — that is, Sue and I—decided to follow him and make sure Sims brings Biker back in one piece." Brandon leaned back, unzipping his riding jacket. "You see, I'm his best friend, and Sue is his fiancee."