Nowhere to Run (8 page)

Frank and Joe glanced at each other. They'd always expected to go out with a bang.

Instead, they'd go out with a whisper—shot in a gangland-style execution by the silenced guns of two bored killers.

ROCK'S HEAD JERKED up as someone began banging loudly on the door.

"Hey! Open up! We know you two deadbeats are in there!" An angry voice shrilled from the other side of the door. It was Callie, yelling as loud as she could.

"Yeah. You're not getting away this time," Sue shouted through the door. "We want those paychecks before you gamble them all away!"

"Who's that?" Rock asked Frank.

"How should I know?" Frank replied sharply.

The pounding on the door grew louder.

"Knock off that noise!" someone yelled from another apartment.

"You tell those good-for-nothing husbands of ours to come out now!" Callie yelled.

"Yeah," Sue added. "They're not wasting their paychecks on card games this time!"

"Go away," Rock yelled back. "You got the wrong place."

The pounding continued. Somewhere down the hall a baby screamed itself awake and began crying loudly.

"Let's do it and get out of here," Hard Place said, nervousness showing in his voice.

Joe knew it was the right moment to make his move. Hard Place glanced over at Rock for a split second, and that was enough time for Joe to slam a steel fist into the thug's gut. Hard Place gagged and doubled over.

Frank grabbed one of the drawers Joe had taken out of the dresser and threw it at Rock. The drawer cracked against Rock's skull and shattered into tiny pieces.

Like twin bolts of lightning, Frank and Joe dashed for the open window. They scrambled down the metal steps and then jumped from the fire escape ladder and hit the asphalt pavement of the alley in a dead run toward the street.

A second later they heard the phfft, phfft, phfft of .45 slugs slamming into the ground behind them.

The Hardys' black van screeched to a halt at the end of the alley.

"Hurry!" Callie yelled from the front seat.

The side door of the van slid open. Sue waved frantically for Frank and Joe to run faster.

"Step on it!" Frank yelled as he and Joe leapt into the van.

Callie mashed the accelerator to the floor, sending Frank, Joe, and Sue tumbling around the back of the van. She turned the first corner and gunned the engine again.

"Slow down!" Joe shouted after several more two-wheel turns.

Callie stomped on the brake and Joe lurched toward the front of the van and fell forward against the dash. His injured arm smacked into the mobile phone, breaking it.

Joe let out a yell of anguish, cradling his arm. "I felt safer back there with those two thugs than I do with you."

"Oh, yeah?" Callie fumed. "Maybe you'd like me to take you back there."

"Crazy girl driver," Joe shouted back.

"Knock it off, you two!" Frank was in no mood for one of Joe and Callie's famous fights. "Let's get out of here before they catch up with us."

Joe jumped into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt.

"Ready," he said.

Callie huffed in exasperation, put the van into drive, and started forward at a normal pace.

"The least you could do is say thanks," Sue said from the back of the van. "Something terrible could have happened to you two if we hadn't thought so quickly."

Joe remained silent.

"How did you know we were in trouble?" Frank asked.

"Callie asked me to check out the alley. I spotted Fat Harold and his two bodyguards climbing up the fire escape. I called Callie over, and when she saw Fat Harold leave without his goons, she knew you two needed help and came up with the idea of pretending to be your wives. She's a real hero."

"How do you know Fat Harold?" Frank asked.

"He came around the company a few times, looking for Nick Frost. Mr. Dalton, Brandon's father, had to call security to run him off. Fat Harold's a real pain in the neck."

"Does he know Biker?" Joe asked.

"Only Biker's shoes." Sue laughed. "Biker almost took his head off one day at work," she explained. "We were walking out to the car, and Fat Harold was hanging around waiting for Frost. He whistled and made a rude remark to me. Biker took out Fat Harold's two bodyguards first and then started for Fat Harold. That guy is so thin that when he saw Biker heading for him, he crawled under his limousine and refused to come out till Biker left."

"Did Biker owe Fat Harold any money?" Joe wanted to know. "No."

"According to Fat Harold, Biker owes him two hundred fifty thousand dollars in gambling debts."

"That's impossible," Sue protested. "Frost was the only one at the company who placed bets with Fat Harold."

"Then why did Fat Harold say he was looking for Biker?" Joe said more to himself than to the others. "I wish we'd found something to help us make some sense of all this."

"Maybe we have." Frank pulled the DalTime envelope from his pocket.

"What's that?" Joe said, excitement in his voice.

"Let's find out." Frank ripped open the envelope, pulled out several sheets of paper, and scanned them.

"Well?" Joe was impatient.

"What do you make of these?" Frank handed the papers to Sue.

She took the papers and glanced through them.

"What are they?" Joe asked, unbuckling his seat belt and joining Sue and Frank in the back of the van.

"We have something here." Sue held up the first sheet. "This is a shipping invoice and schedule for three hundred cases of Watch Ya Wearing? watches to a large retail store chain in Kansas City. And," — she held up the second sheet — "this is a schedule of employee vacations with Biker's name underlined in red."

"And this," Frank said, holding up a third sheet, "is a road map with a major highway leading out of Queens and New York City outlined in red."

"So what does all this prove?" Callie asked.

Joe's attention was on Sue. "Did Frost have access to shipping invoices?"

"Only for the deliveries he made." Then she added, "But he had no business with the vacation schedules. Those are supposed to be confidential."

Joe noticed a look of disappointment come over Frank's face. "What's wrong?"

"The marks on this map end somewhere in northern New Jersey—on a highway in the middle of nowhere. There's March thirtieth and an X marked, and above that is 'B—seven-thirty.' " He looked grim. "B for Biker."

"March thirtieth at seven-thirty! That's when the hijacking took place, according to Frost's testimony," Sue said.

"Where was Biker on that date?" Joe asked Sue.

"He'd just returned from his crosscountry vacation. He got to my place at about eight, and we went out for dinner at eight-thirty."

"The spot where the truck was hijacked is a good thirty miles away," Frank said. "Biker couldn't have hijacked the truck, hidden it, and then gotten to your house by eight. Didn't his lawyer point that out to the jury?"

"Yes, but the prosecutor said that as an expert driver and a former motocross champion, Biker had the skill to just make it to my house from the highway."

"That stinks," Joe objected. "For all we know, that B could stand for 'Plan B' or Boise, Idaho, Frost hijacked his own truck. Let's just go back to Bayport and prove it." "We can't do that just yet," Frank said. "Why not?"

Frank ignored Joe's angry question and turned to Sue. "Could Frost access the vacation schedule from any of the company's computers?"

Sue shook her head. "Frost was a little slow. On his good days, he could barely remember his own address, much less try to figure out how to use a computer."

"Then somebody must have given him the information — somebody who knows the company's computer access codes and who needed half a million bucks' worth of designer watches." Frank stared at Sue.

She looked at him. "The only one who was in any sort of trouble was Frost."

"And his troubles are over now," Callie reminded them from the front seat.

"What are these numbers up here?" Frank asked as he pointed to the top of the shipping invoice.

"Sales rep's code number and shipping date," Sue replied.

Frank looked at the invoice sheet and then at the vacation schedule. A wide grin came across his face.

"What is it?" Joe asked.

"I'm not sure," Frank replied. He faced Sue. "I'll need to get into your company's computers and check something out first. Can we get in there without too many people finding out?"

Sue looked at her watch. "By the time we get to the offices, almost everybody should be gone for the day. But the security guards won't stop me from showing my cousins around," she added with a smile. "Problem is, we'll have to double back the way we came. Suppose Fat Harold is there and recognizes the van?"

"No problem," Frank said, heading for the van's storage space. "We've got a bag full of tricks back here."

Callie pulled the van into a vacant parking lot. Fifteen minutes later, plastic signs on both sides of the van advertised the Bug - B - Gone exterminating company. Atop the van was a four-foot- long black-and-orange inflatable bug, held securely to the van's roof by magnetic feet.

"That thing sure is ugly," Callie said as she looked at the bug through the van's sun roof.

"Yeah, but those two thugs are looking for an Acme Speedy Delivery van," Frank said.

"Don't you think the bug makes us a little too obvious?" Sue asked.

Frank smiled. "Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. Okay, Sue. Which way?"

The watch company was near the Queens-Brooklyn line in an old factory building that was being renovated. Frank was glad to see that the employee parking lot was nearly empty.

"Don't turn the light on," Frank said as they entered Sue's second-floor office. "I don't want to attract any attention."

Sue sat at her desk and booted up her computer. She typed in several security access codes. "It's all yours, Frank."

Frank took Sue's place at the terminal. He typed in the sales rep's code and Biker's Social Security number.

"Where's that door lead?" Joe asked, pointing to a large wooden door opposite Sue's desk.

"That's Mr. Dalton's office," Sue replied.

"What are you looking for?" Callie asked Frank impatiently.

"I'll let you know when I find it," Frank replied absently. He was looking for a microneedle in a computer haystack, and he didn't need any distractions.

Joe paced the small office. Biker was sitting in jail facing an assault charge for beating up Brandon and a murder charge for the death of Frost, and two hoodlums working for a small-time bookie were gunning for Biker, Frank, and Joe. The last two days hadn't been shining ones for the Hardys.

"Yeah!" Frank announced triumphantly.

"What is it?" Joe rushed around the desk and stared at the display terminal. The letters and numbers on the screen meant nothing to him. "Would you mind explaining this to me?"

Before Frank could answer, the door across from Sue's desk creaked open.

Joe turned—just in time to stare into the black eyes of a Doberman springing over the desk toward him, its sharp teeth aiming right for Joe's throat.

"JOE!" FRANK YELLED as he tossed a ruler to his younger brother.

Joe caught the ruler and smacked the Doberman on the nose. The dog fell to one side, sneezed, shook its head, and crouched to spring again.

"Sit, Trooper!" yelled Sue.

The black Doberman sat down and growled at Joe, exposing large yellow teeth.

"This is your dog?" Joe asked Sue, keeping his eyes on the Doberman and the ruler ready to smack the dog again.

"He's the company's dog," answered a silver-haired man from the open doorway.

"Mr. Dalton," Sue gasped.

"Sue," Mr. Dalton answered in a surprised yet relieved voice. "What are you doing here? Who are these people?"

"Frank, Joe, Callie," Sue said, "this is Scott Dalton, founder and president of DalTime, Inc." "Brandon's father?" Callie asked. "Looks that way," Joe muttered. "Why are you here? I thought you were looking for Biker," Mr. Dalton said.

"Frank and Joe are detectives from Bayport," Sue explained. "Biker asked them to help him. We came here looking for evidence that might prove Biker's innocence."

Joe moved toward Mr. Dalton and was about to explain why they had sneaked into the offices when Trooper stood up and growled.

"Out, Trooper," Mr. Dalton ordered, a deep scowl on his face. The black Doberman gave a small whine and meekly left the room. "Sorry about the dog, Joe," Mr. Dalton said. "I got him shortly after the trial, when the phone calls started." "What phone calls?" Joe asked. "Someone began threatening to hurt me. Although the voice was disguised, I thought it was Biker." Mr. Dalton sat in a chair opposite Sue's desk. Frank could read the weariness and worry on the older man's face. "I used to treat him like a second son."

"Did you really think it was Biker?" Frank asked.

"I know Biker's a pretty wild young man, and the evidence at the trial was damaging. I almost believed he was guilty myself."

"What made you change your mind?" Joe asked.

"The calls kept coming even after Biker's escape. Knowing Biker, I expected him to head for Canada or Mexico. He wouldn't waste time calling up to threaten me."

"What exactly did the caller say?" Frank said.

Mr. Dalton rubbed his forehead as if trying to forget a bad dream. "The caller said he would return the watches for two hundred fifty thousand dollars, about half their value. If I didn't go through with the deal, he would kill Brandon and then me. I'm no coward, but this guy really scared me."

"Mr. Dalton hates guns. That's why he takes Trooper with him wherever he goes now," Sue added.

"When I heard voices, male voices, coming from Sue's office, I naturally thought the caller was about to make good on his threats," Mr. Dalton said. "I'm really sorry if Trooper frightened you Joe."

"Forget it. No harm, no foul," Joe said lightly.

"Is Brandon okay?" Mr. Dalton asked Sue.

"He was before we left Bayport," Sue replied. "Why do you ask?"