Secret of the Red Arrow (10 page)

I sat up in bed and then climbed out, padding out of my room and down the hall to Joe’s room. I pushed open his door to the sound of loud snoring.

“Seriously?” I asked, flipping on Joe’s desk lamp.

Joe did not respond. He was curled up in the fetal position, hugging his comforter like a teddy bear. His mouth was open. A puddle of drool glistened on his pillow.

“JOE!” I shouted, moving closer to the bed. He jumped like he’d gotten an electrical shock. Sputtering, he looked around and spotted me sitting on the end of his bed.

“Wha?” he asked, leaning back against the headboard and wiping his mouth.

“I wanted to discuss the case,” I said.

Joe stared at me, his expression going from confused to incredulous to . . . uh-oh. Kind of murderous.

I may have misjudged this one.

But luckily—I guess—for me, we were interrupted by Britney Spears.

“Hit me baby one more time!”

Joe jumped again and scrambled for his phone on his nightstand. Grabbing it, he clicked it on and held it to his ear. “Uh . . . hello?”

He scrunched up his eyebrows as he listened to whoever was on the other line. I was stumped. Who would call at this hour? Unless . . .

Joe met my eyes. “Okay,” he was saying. “Okay, Seth. I know. We’ll meet you at your place.”

I heard squawking from the other line. Seth didn’t seem to like that idea.

“Okay, okay,” Joe said, nodding. “Sure. I got it. The walls have ears.” He paused. “Yeah, I know where you mean. Okay. See you there in ten.”

He clicked off the phone and turned to me, holding up one finger. “One,” he said.
“Do not ever wake me up in the middle of the night to discuss a case.”

I was feeling a little sheepish, I must admit. “Understood,” I said with a nod. “Sorry about that.”

Joe nodded. “Two,” he said, holding up a second finger, “we have to meet Seth Diller in the woods behind the football field. He wants to talk about the Red Arrow.”

•   •   •

Seth had sounded totally freaked out, Joe explained as we drove through the deserted streets of Bayport for the second time in two nights. He was afraid his house was bugged, his phone was bugged. That’s why he wanted to meet in person.

“Did something happen to him?” I asked, wondering what had prompted this sudden cry for help.

“I don’t think so, not yet,” Joe said, pulling into the parking lot behind the football field. We got out and started following a narrow path through the woods, toward a little clearing maybe half a mile in. The clearing was a popular hangout for kids to do all sorts of activities, not all of them legal. Joe and I had gotten to know it well during our investigative career.

When we reached the clearing, we saw Seth sitting on a big rock that had been covered in graffiti as long as I’d been alive. He looked nervous.

“Hey, Seth,” I said, nodding in greeting. “I’m glad you called. We want to try to help you.”

Seth stood. He still looked freaked. In fact, his eyes looked particularly buggy tonight. “Thanks, guys,” he said. “I’m glad you showed up. I’m ready to talk about the Red Arrow.”

That was weird.

“You don’t have to shout it,” Joe said. “The walls have ears, rememb—OOF!”

Suddenly a dark figure appeared out of the woods and tackled both Joe and me, pushing us to the ground. I wasn’t able to brace myself with my hands, and I went down hard on my chest and had the wind knocked out of me. I struggled to get my bearings.

This was a setup.

I could hear the thud of fist hitting muscle as the attacker pummeled Joe, and Joe fought back. I pushed myself up and the woods spun. I could see Seth standing nervously behind our attacker, looking every bit like the weasel he was.

“This is the thanks we get for trying to help you?” I managed, still struggling to get my breath.

But then I heard a buzzing sound and looked over at my brother and the attacker. He was wearing a David Letterman mask. And he had a Taser!

“No!” I shouted as I leaped forward, grabbing the thing out of his hand right before he applied the electrical current to my still-struggling brother. That got the attacker’s attention. He immediately turned to me, lunging to get the Taser back, but he only succeeded in knocking it out of my hand. He threw his whole weight on me, pinning me to the ground. I used all my best self-defense training (Dad insisted, back in the day) to get free, but this guy was all arms. I placed a few well-aimed punches, but at my odd angle, I was able to land only a few.

I could tell the guy was tiring out, though. Maybe whoever had sent him hadn’t mentioned that there would be two victims. He crawled forward, and I could tell he was going for the Taser.

But then Joe suddenly stood up behind him, the Taser in his right hand! He was panting, still trying to catch his breath from his own struggle with this guy.

Joe pressed the sides of the Taser, and the electrical current sizzled, bright blue-white.

“You want to tell us what the heck’s going on?” he asked. “Or would you like to meet my friend Mr. Sparky?”

I
DO NOT LIKE GETTING WOKEN UP. I MEAN, REALLY.

Aunt Trudy used to wake us for school in the mornings, but after a few well-aimed pillows to her head, she bought me an
extremely loud
alarm clock and said I was on my own.

So when I was woken from a sound sleep for the second night in a row—by Frank, technically, and I had not forgotten that, but really by that weasel Seth Diller—I was getting answers.

The Taser felt almost too good in my hands.

“Did you hear me?” I demanded, holding the Taser closer to our attacker and letting the current crackle. He shrank back.

I turned around and held the Taser out to Seth. I hadn’t
forgotten he was back there. “Or you?” I demanded. “You seem depressed, Seth. Maybe some nice electroshock therapy would help?”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Frank suddenly stood beside me and gently—very gently—reached out to take the Taser. “Why don’t we all just calm down? Nice and calm. Totally non-electrically calm.” He held out his hand, and reluctantly, I dropped the Taser into it.

“I want answers,” I whispered to my brother.

“Let’s not get arrested,” he hissed back.

Seth and Dave (Letterman) still looked pretty freaked, though. Seth’s eyes were the buggiest I’d ever seen them. And Dave was shaking.

“Take off the mask,” I ordered Dave, hoping that just knowing we had the Taser now would be enough.

It was, apparently. The attacker reached up and pushed the mask back over his head.

I saw his face and gasped.

Pett Macken!

“Neanderthal was right!” I cried. “This wasn’t too sophisticated for you after all!”

Pett’s dull eyes drilled into mine, mystified. “Sophisticated?” he asked.

Frank held out his hand. “Slow down, slow down,” he said, stepping forward and gesturing for Pett and Seth to sit down. “Why don’t you two tell us what happened—in your own words?”

The two boys sat, Seth sighing deeply.

“I don’t know exactly what happened,” he said, running a hand over his face.

“Tell us what you know,” I urged.

“Okay.” Seth looked at the ground. “I saw the Red Arrow on my car this evening, when you guys were there. You saw it with me.”

Frank nodded. “Why do you think you were targeted?”

Seth shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Really. My best guess, though, is that I’m being punished for talking about it with you two.”

That had me pretty skeptical. “Talking about it with us? How would anybody know?”

Seth glared at me. “You really are naive, aren’t you?” he asked. “It’s like I told you just now. The walls have ears. I’m sure somebody is listening to this conversation as we speak.”

I’m not proud of this, but those words sent a little chill down my spine.

“Okay,” said Frank. “So you see that you’re targeted. What then? How did we get here?”

Seth looked down at his hands. “I was woken up in the middle of the night by a phone call,” he replied.

“Sounds familiar,” I said. “And?”

Seth shivered. “It was this creepy voice,” he replied. “Distorted, like someone talking through a pipe. It was from a number I’d never seen before. The voice told me that if I did something for him—if I helped him get you
two—he’d let me off. The Mark of the Red Arrow would be lifted.”

I glanced at my brother. So the Red Arrow knew about us. They—or he—knew enough to want to stop us.

That wasn’t good.

I turned to Pett, who was sitting there like a bump on a log (literally). “What about you?”

Pett looked up, like he’d just remembered he was part of this conversation. “What about me?”

“How did you get involved with the Red Arrow, Pett?” Frank spelled out slowly.

Pett shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what I did to make him mad. I came home one day, and there was a mark on my motorcycle.”

“You have no idea what you did to prompt it?” I asked.

Pett shook his head.

“Pett probably does all kinds of despicable things every day,” Frank said quietly to me.

I sighed. Man, I was tired. “Okay, okay. You don’t know why you got Red Arrowed. But how did you get here?”

Pett looked confused. “I rode my bike?”

Frank groaned. “Why did you beat us up, Pett?”

“Oh!” Pett, seeming to grasp his place in this investigation at last, sat straighter on the log. “Well, a couple of months ago, I got a call like Seth here,” he said, gesturing to Seth. Seth shrank back, like he didn’t want to be associated.

“Same distorted voice?” Frank asked. “Same unfamiliar number?”

Pett nodded. “The voice told me that I could avoid any further punishment—that’s what it said—by doing some jobs for him.” He paused. “Or her. It could be a her, I guess.”

“Odd jobs?” I asked. “Like pummeling people?”

Pett nodded again. “I beat some people up, sure,” he said. He held up his left arm and flexed it. “I guess I’m lucky I’ve got some muscle.”

Frank caught my eye. I could tell he was disgusted. “And that’s why you came here tonight?” he said.

“That’s right,” said Pett. “I got a call telling me I had another odd job. And then it turned out to be you guys.” He grinned.

“That was lucky,” I said, trying to interpret the grin.

“Sure,” said Pett. “It was a job I enjoyed, after what you boys did to me.”

Frank held up the Taser and sparked it, once. “Didn’t exactly turn out great for you,” he pointed out.

Pett just glared at him, then looked away.

I closed my eyes for a moment. “All right,” I said, holding up my hands. “I think we’re done for the night, gentlemen. Let’s all go home and get some sleep.”

Seth looked surprised. “That’s it?” he asked.

I was about to say yes—or
We’ll talk about it in the morning
—when I was interrupted by the blaring of a police siren.

Seth’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

It was coming from the parking lot. I looked at Frank.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered.

Before we could move, I heard footsteps running down the path.

“Freeze!” Olaf’s voice came through the trees before he even surfaced at the path’s end.

I looked at Frank and slowly held up my hands. He followed suit. No need to anger Olaf in the wee hours of the morning, I figured.

Again. We were having a really banner week.

Olaf appeared at the end of the path, his rookie partner behind him. Both were brandishing weapons.

“Hands up!” Olaf yelled. Frank and I were way ahead of him, but Seth and Pett slowly followed suit.

Olaf moved in and slowly circled the four of us, casing the location. “Okay,” he said after a few seconds. “I’m going to march you all back to the cruiser, and you’re coming back to the station with me. Understand?”

“What?” Pett asked in a surly tone. “Why? For what?”

Olaf glared at him. “Oh, it’s you,” he said snootily. “Back to jail so soon? We’ve received noise complaints about a fight going on out here.” He paused and looked me right in the eye. “We’re taking you all in for criminal mischief.”

Criminal mischief. A charge that can conveniently encompass basically any reason a cop might take a dislike to you. Frank and I had been brought in for criminal mischief
before. Most likely, we’d be brought in again . . . and again. And again.

That didn’t mean our parents liked it much, of course.

As we all marched behind Olaf and his partner back to the cruiser, I caught Frank’s eye again. He cocked an eyebrow. “Does this seem like a place with a lot of neighbors to you?” he whispered.

He was right. The reason kids could get away with all kinds of various activities in these woods was that they were completely secluded . . . from everything. The nearest houses were at least a half mile away. Too far to hear the fight we’d had.

So what was really going on here?

I
WAS STARTING TO GET RED ARROW VISION.
Everyone who appeared in front of me, I imagined as the Red Arrow. Officer Olaf. Chief Gomez. Even Hattie, the kindly longtime receptionist at the Bayport Police Department.

Clearly, I was losing it.

Joe and I were almost immediately ushered into Chief Gomez’s office as Pett and Seth were led into a different room.

He didn’t exactly look thrilled to see us. But then, we rarely met on happy occasions.

“Boys,” he said, inclining his head and looking from Joe to me.

“Chief Gomez,” Joe said, “this is all a big misunderstanding.”

Gomez laughed. “Oh, sure. I’ve never heard that from you boys before.”

“It’s true,” I threw in. I didn’t actually expect him to believe me, but it was worth a shot. “We were just having a conversation with Pett and Seth when Officer Olaf showed up.”

Gomez rolled his eyes at me. “Just a conversation,” he said, deadpan. “At three o’clock in the morning. In a deserted part of town.”

“That reminds me,” Joe piped up, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “Who called in the noise complaint? There aren’t any houses anywhere near those woods.”