Nowhere to Run (3 page)

Joe felt a pang of disappointment. Then he silently congratulated Biker on having great taste in women.

"I'm the vice-president in charge of sales," Brandon said, folding his arms over his chest. "Sue works in the records and accounts section. I persuaded my dad to put up the bail money. No one really believed that Biker stole that shipment of watches, but when he escaped and used the company's charge account for running money, my dad blew his top. He hired this Sims character to track Biker down."

Brandon shook his head. "In Queens, they call Sims 'Old Dead-or-Alive.' He's a real hard-nosed character."

"We want to try to find Biker, talk him into coming back to appeal his case," Sue added softly, leaning forward.

"That's what we had in mind," Joe said. He liked the smile Sue gave him. "I don't think Frank and I will have too much trouble discrediting the evidence."

"We're not sure what we're going to do yet," Frank said, more to Joe than to anyone else.

"I don't know—the evidence seemed pretty conclusive," Brandon said. "The defense attorney did say that the money in the bank account and the watches in Biker's garage could have been planted. But after Nick Frost testified, everyone seemed convinced that Biker was guilty."

"Nick Frost?" Frank murmured to himself as if he had heard the name before somewhere.

"He was the driver of the truck that was hijacked — the eyewitness," Brandon said.

"He lied," Joe growled.

"To prove that, we'll have to find Frost," Sue said.

"He's missing?" Callie asked.

"About the same time that Biker escaped, Frost disappeared also," Brandon said. He suddenly rose. "If you'll excuse me, I have to call the company and check in with my dad."

"There's a pay phone by the counter," Callie told him.

"Thanks, babe." Brandon winked, and Callie blushed a deep red.

"Have you known Biker long?" Joe asked Sue.

"Almost three years." Sue stared at the table, twisting a paper napkin in her hands. "Practically from the day he began working at DalTime. At first I thought he was just a macho jerk."

"What made you change your mind?" Callie asked. Joe glared at her, but she just wrinkled her nose at him.

"Underneath all that leather and motorcycle oil is a gentle, caring man."

"When do you plan on being married?" Callie went on.

"Callie ... " Joe said sternly.

Sue fought back a sob. "Last week." She wiped her eyes with the napkin and turned to Joe, a fragile smile on her face. "Biker told me a lot about you."

"Really?"

"Yes. When he was teaching me about bike riding, he'd tell stories about this gawky kid who used to bug him about engines."

Joe felt his face turn hot from embarrassment.

"I think he made most of it up," Sue said.

"Was there any evidence that Biker was innocent?" Frank wanted to get back on track.

"I was called as a defense witness." Sue turned to Frank, her voice low. "Biker had been — " Sue finished her sentence in a scream.

Frank, Joe, and Callie turned to look where Sue was staring.

Biker Conway had Brandon Dalton pinned to the floor, his fist drawn back to let loose with a crushing blow.

TONY PRITO, the manager of Mr. Pizza, was the first to reach Biker and Brandon. He grabbed for Biker first, but Biker shrugged him off, thrusting Tony against the counter.

"Tony—" Frank began as he came up.

Tony was a friend of the Hardys, but right then his temper was up. "You know this clown? Well, tell him I'm calling security." Tony jumped over the counter and picked up his phone.

"Biker, stop!" Joe yelled.

"Back off, Joe," Biker growled. "This is between me and Dalton."

Joe was stunned by the fury in Biker's voice.

Dalton's handsome face was white with fear.

He looked at Frank with pleading eyes. "Get this maniac off me!"

"This isn't doing you any good," Frank said. The growing crowd of gawkers worried him.

"I'm tired of everyone telling me what's good for me." Biker's fist was still cocked, but he hadn't punched yet.

"The security guards are on their way, pal," Tony shouted from behind the counter.

"Let's get out of here, Biker," Joe said quickly. Biker wouldn't budge.

"Biker, please." Sue's voice was the only calm element in the rising storm.

Biker looked up, embarrassed. He lowered his fist and stood. Frank pulled Brandon up.

"Here come the guards," someone yelled.

Joe grabbed Biker's jacket sleeve and jerked him out the back exit of Mr. Pizza.

"Joe!" Frank shouted. He let go of Brandon and bolted after his brother. Joe's impulsiveness would lead him straight to jail.

Frank plunged down a dark flight of stairs to the loading dock. Voices led him toward the indoor parking garage of the mall. As he sprinted past a support pillar, an arm reached out and grabbed him around the throat.

"Joe! Hold it! It's Frank," yelled Biker.

Joe let go of his brother. "Sorry. I thought you were one of the security men."

"And what if I was?" Frank shouted. "Would you have punched me out?"

"I might have," Joe shouted back.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm trying to help Biker."

"How? By helping him escape? Remember what Dad said. We're to hold on to him and call Sims."

"You think turning Biker over to that bounty hunter is a good idea?" Joe's face turned a blazing red. "You heard what Dalton said about that guy."

"That's not our decision."

"Biker was framed!"

"I agree with you, Joe. But we've got to do this the right way or we could all end up in jail. In the eyes of the law, Biker's still an escaped felon. You're helping him escape."

"And you're turning your back on a friend, handing him over to a bloodthirsty bounty hunter."

Frank shoved Joe back against a Dumpster. Brother or not, Joe wasn't going to accuse him of being a coward or betraying a friend. Joe charged Frank.

Biker stepped in, holding the brothers away from each other. "Knock it off, you two. I don't need this kind of help."

Frank and Joe stared at each other until they heard running footsteps.

Callie came dashing up. Breathless, she gasped, "The security guys just entered Mr. Pizza. They'll be heading down here in a second."

Without hesitation, Joe and Biker raced for the van in the parking lot.

"You stay with Sue and Brandon," Frank said to Callie. "See if you can find out more about them and Biker." He backed toward the van. "I'll call you as soon as I can straighten out this crazy mess."

By the time Frank reached the van, Joe had slipped on Biker's jacket and gloves, and had the key's to Biker's cycle clutched in his hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" Frank asked.

"No time," Joe said, slipping on the black helmet and visor.

Two security men were coming down the stairs. One pointed at the group, and both men ran for them.

"You take Biker for a ride," Joe ordered, his voice reverberating in the echo chamber of the helmet. "I'll call you on the mobile phone once I get rid of the guards." He dashed to Biker's Harley before Frank could protest.

Frank made a move toward Joe, but decided against it as the guards drew closer. He hopped into the van and fired it up. He put the van in drive but kept his foot on the brake.

"What are we waiting for?" Biker asked.

"We're not going to leave Joe here if he can't get away," Frank replied.

Joe jumped on the Harley and jammed the key into the ignition. He punched the start button and the engine rumbled to life. The guards changed direction, turning from the van to the bike. Joe kicked up the stand. The guards were only twenty yards away. He squeezed in the hand clutch, pushed the foot lever to first, and twisted the throttle full open. The engine roared with power. When Joe popped the clutch, the Harley burned rubber and shot off through the underground garage.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Joe watched the guards recede and finally disappear. He crossed the parking lot, then raced up a ramp to the street. Joe planned to ride in circles and then head for the outskirts of town to call Frank.

Frank. Joe was shocked at how he had accused his brother of being less than loyal. But how could Frank cautiously step back when a friend needed help?

The glaring headlights of a beat-up old Chevy flashed in Joe's rear-view mirror. Joe made a right turn — the car followed. He sped up—so did the Chevy. Joe could see the shadowy forms of two men in the car's front seat.

"Enough of this playing around," he decided out loud, opening the throttle all the way and shifting into fourth. The bike whined and shot forward.

Joe was shocked to see the Chevy lurch forward and keep pace. Underneath that rusty, dented old body, he realized, was a fireball engine that exploded with power and speed.

Joe tapped the foot shifter into fifth, and the bike bolted forward. The car pounded along after the Harley. Joe crouched down to cut wind resistance. Even so, the Chevy caught up, bumping the bike's rear wheel. The cycle swerved, but Joe was able to maintain control.

How was he going to shake this tail? Joe realized he was near the railroad tracks. If he could keep the Chevy at bay for a few more minutes, he could zip down the embankment, hop onto the tracks, and follow them out of town. The car wouldn't be able to follow.

Joe heard a whine from the Chevy's engine. He turned to see the car leap forward and then felt it slam into the back of his cycle again. The bike pitched forward violently. Joe held on to the handlebars and kept himself from flipping off.

Now the cycle was weaving wildly down the street. Joe rode it out, steering into the erratic moves, going at high speed. He had almost regained control when the front tire struck a curb.

Moving at eighty miles an hour, the bike bucked like a wild bronco, unseating Joe and hurling him straight for a brick wall!

FRANK DECIDED TO HEAD in the opposite direction from Joe. With luck, the security men would be too busy chasing Joe to get a good look at the van and its license number.

A hollow feeling settled in Frank's stomach— and it wasn't from hunger. It wasn't enough that the police were after Biker. Now they were probably after Frank and Joe as well. Then there was the way he and Joe had deliberately disobeyed their father. The law was one thing to have to answer to — Fenton Hardy was quite another.

"Joe once told me that whenever anybody needed help, Frank Hardy would be there." Biker's words cut through Frank's uneasy thoughts.

Frank glared at Biker in silence.

"He also said that when the odds were all against him, he wouldn't want anyone but you in his corner."

"Fine," Frank mumbled. "But he didn't have to be so eager to test it out."

"I am innocent, Frank."

"I know, but your attack on Brandon back there doesn't do much for your case."

"Oh, that." Biker laughed.

"Just like Joe," Frank said, "always too cool underpressure."

"I was trying to scare Brandon, not kill him," Biker went on. "He's a nice enough guy, but he has this habit of moving in on other people's girlfriends. Maybe things come too easy for him, since he's rich and handsome. If he doesn't watch himself, he can become the biggest jerk in the world.

"If his daddy didn't own the company, he would've been fired a long time ago, and I'd be vice-president in charge of sales."

"Why? He seems competent enough to me."

Biker laughed. "He tries too hard to be the boss. Once he came up with the brilliant idea of having all the field representatives call in at nine A. M., to make sure they were 'on the job.' Of course, as an executive, he wouldn't come in until ten, so his secretary handled the mess. Every morning at nine o'clock sharp, the company switchboard lit up like the Fourth of July—then at one second past, the board would blow a fuse."

"Why didn't Mr. Dalton stop it?"

"I tried to warn him, but he couldn't believe that anybody would have given such a stupid order. Then one day Mr. Dalton tried to call out at one second past nine and zzzaaappp!" He laughed. "That day, Mr. Dalton was the one who blew a fuse."

"What happened?" Frank asked as they turned down another street.

"Mr. Dalton got furious at Brandon. After that, Brandon made it tougher for me to route my shipments. I could handle that. But then he started getting personal by hitting on Sue. Just now, when I saw his cycle next to hers in the mall parking lot, I lost it."

"Your temper just digs your hole deeper," Frank said.

"I've calmed down a lot since I met Sue."

Frank frowned at Biker. He hadn't noticed any sign of a change.

"I can't believe you were convicted on such slim evidence," Frank said, his brow furrowed. "What could that truck driver have said to convince ajury?"

"If I get my hands on that liar, I'll choke the truth out of him!" Biker slammed his fist against the dash. He looked out the window into the dark night. "Nick Frost testified that the hijacker was wearing black leather riding clothes exactly like mine, down to the emblems and logos I had sewn on from my junior motocross days. The only thing he couldn't see was my face — because of the racing mask."

"Racing mask?" Frank asked.

"Yeah. It looks like a ski mask, but it has one large oval for the eyes instead of two small holes."

"It still sounds like circumstantial evidence," Frank said.

"Frost claimed that he recognized the hijacker's voice as mine. I suppose he ought to know— I've chewed him out plenty of times for messing up my orders."

"Did you know Frost is missing now?"

"No."

Frank slowed the van to a halt.

"What's wrong, Frank?" Biker asked. He looked around, afraid that they had been stopped by the police.

"Nick Frost..." Frank said thoughtfully.

"What about him?"

"Each time I hear that name, a little bell rings." Frank hopped in the back of the van and unlocked the panel that held his laptop computer.

"Wow, High-tech Hardy," Biker said. "What are you trying to find in that little magic box?"