The Mark of the Blue Tattoo (3 page)

“Joe, our tail's back,” Frank said. “Make a quick U-turn, and let's see if we can get a good look at him.”

Even before Frank finished his sentence, Joe
cranked the wheel over and hit the gas. The rear end of the van fishtailed, then straightened out.

As they barreled down the street toward the red car, Joe switched on the headlights, on high beam. Frank got a solid look at the car's driver before he, in turn, floored his accelerator and roared away, tires squealing.

“Male, white, about thirty-five,” Frank said aloud. “Round face, balding, gold stud in left earlobe.”

Joe added, “Wearing designer sunglasses and a red-and-green Hawaiian shirt. And the missing letters on the license plate are
T
and
M
.”

“You guys are amazing,” Callie said with admiration. “I only got about half of that.”

“Early training,” Frank explained. “Dad used to play Kim's Game with us when we were little.”

“What's that?” asked Iola.

“It's from a book by Kipling,” Joe replied. “The way the hero, Kim, learned to be observant was, they'd show him a tray with a couple of dozen gemstones on it for a minute or so. Then they'd cover it, and he'd have to name as many as he could—from memory.”

“Dad didn't use gemstones, though,” Frank added. “He used all kinds of other stuff—stamps, paper clips, matchbooks, ballpoint pens. It was fun.”

“Especially when we finally started getting everything right,” Joe said with a laugh. “Until
then, I thought it was the pits. Uh-oh,” he said, looking at his watch. “We'd better be getting home.”

Callie was planning to give Iola a ride home, but her car was still at school. Joe drove to the parking lot. As the girls were getting out, Joe said, “Iola, will you tell Chet that we'll drop by to see him after dinner?”

Iola smiled. “Are you planning to grill him?” she asked, teasing.

“Just a few routine questions, ma'am,” Joe replied.

More seriously, Frank said, “At the start of a case, you never know what information might give you the clue you need to solve it.”

“By the way,” Callie said, “Iola and I were in at the beginning, and we plan to stay in until we solve this case. Right, Iola?”

“Of course,” Iola said emphatically. “And don't forget about Chet himself. You'll hurt his feelings if you don't let him help.”

“We'll remember that,” Frank promised.

When Frank and Joe reached home, they booted their computer and logged on to the Net. Ten minutes later, they had traced the license-plate number they needed. The red compact car belonged to a car-rental agency in Martin's Landing, a town about twenty miles from Bayport.

Joe looked at Frank. “Looks like we'll have to
find out who our tail is the old-fashioned way—by asking him.”

“And hope we can keep him in one place long enough for us to find out the answer,” Frank added with a grin.

•   •   •

After dinner the Hardys drove over to the Morton house. Chet met them at the door. “Come on back to the family room,” he said. “Iola's upstairs doing homework. I just made some popcorn.”

Joe sniffed the air. “With extra butter,” he said. “It smells great.”

The three friends settled around the table in the family room with the bowl of popcorn in the middle.

“What kind of reception did you get when you went back to Freddy Frost?” Joe asked Chet.

“Pretty normal, I guess,” Chet replied. “Nobody showed any sign of knowing what had happened. No funny looks, no snickers, nothing.”

“Did you tell anybody what happened?” Joe asked. “How did they respond?”

“I had to tell Sal,” Chet replied. “Sal Vitello, he's my supervisor. It's funny. At first he was pretty nice about everything. When I came in late, he said not to worry about it. But then, after he heard my story, he turned cold. Maybe he thought I was making up the whole thing as an excuse.”

“What about the other drivers? Have you gotten to know any of them yet?” Frank asked.

Chet frowned. “I've seen most of them and met a few,” he said. “A lot of us are new, you know—not just me. A lot of the Freddy Frost people work just over the summer. Then around September, when the ice-cream season is ending, they have to fill in with new people. There are some familiar faces from school.”

“People you know?” Joe asked.

“Not exactly,” Chet said, shaking his head. “But the three guys that Sal seems especially chummy with—I know who they are. And guess what—they're all Starz members.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “You're sure of that?” he demanded. “That's a pretty serious allegation.”

“I didn't ask to see their membership cards,” Chet said. “And I didn't get close enough to see if they had those blue tattoos on their wrists. But I know them all by sight, and I know who they hang with. It was enough to make me wonder if Sal has some kind of connection to the Starz.”

“Because three out of, say, twenty Freddy Frost drivers are gang members?” Joe said. “You know how it goes. Somebody gets a job. He knows when there are openings, so he tells his buddies. They apply and get jobs there, too.”

“Sure, I know,” Chet replied. “But I still think
it's funny that Sal's favorites all turn out to be Starz guys.”

Frank tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “I'm with you there, Chet,” he said. “What bothers me is the fact that the guys who hijacked your truck this afternoon apparently had a key to it. They must have some close connection to Freddy Frost. And since they didn't take anything, the whole point must have been to send you a message.”

“Yeah. 'Get lost—and fast,' ” Chet said. “But why me? Today was my first day. I haven't had time to get under anybody's skin.”

“How's this?” Joe said. “They want to scare you off. Then, when you quit, there'll be another opening that one of their friends can fill.”

Chet opened a can of soda. He finished a gulp, then said, “Listen, Joe. I'm glad to have this job. I think it may even turn out to be fun. But it's not as if I'm making a fortune. I don't see people lining up around the block to take my place, never mind staging a kidnapping.”

“There's another possibility, Chet,” Frank said. “Everybody at Bayport High knows the three of us are friends. What if the message wasn't aimed just at you? What if Marlon Masters and his gang wanted to send a warning to all of us not to give them any trouble?”

Joe smiled grimly. “If that's the case, they sure
went about it the wrong way,” he said. “Because if they start trying to lean on our friends, we're going to give them plenty of trouble!”

•   •   •

The next morning Joe drove the van into the school parking lot and found a space near the tennis courts. He and Frank grabbed their backpacks, locked the van, and started up the walk toward the front door.

“Uh-oh,” Frank murmured. “Battle stations.”

Up ahead, standing between them and the school entrance, half a dozen people were forming a solid line that blocked the whole sidewalk. At one end of the line stood Marlon Masters.

Gus French, the guy who had tangled with Joe in the lunch room the day before, moved forward to stand a pace in front of the others.

“You chumps are toast!” he said, fiddling with the studded leather band on his left wrist. “You just stuck your noses into Starz business for the last time. Now we're going to rearrange your faces. By the time we're done, you won't need a mask for Halloween.

Even before Gus finished his threat, Frank was taking a half step to the side. He didn't want a fight, but if a fight began, he needed to give himself room. He breathed slowly and deeply, guiding his mind and body toward the state of unfocused attention of a trained martial artist. He knew that right next to him, Joe was doing the same.

Frank looked across the space that separated the Hardys from the Starz. The boy directly opposite him was about sixteen. He almost matched Frank's own six-foot-one, but his torso looked thin, as if all his strength had gone into gaining height. The boy's dark blond hair flopped over his forehead, partly hiding his
small, pale blue eyes. As if he knew that Frank was watching him, he put on a fierce scowl. It didn't quite manage to conceal his nervousness, though, Frank thought.

“Let them come to us,” Frank muttered to Joe out of the side of his mouth.

“Let 'em come. I'm ready anytime,” Joe replied easily.

The face-off continued. With each passing second, Frank knew that he and Joe were building up more of the moral superiority that is as important in combat as physical strength. Their opponents could see that the Hardys were ready and unfrightened by the unfair odds. That knowledge was draining their own will. Unless they could bring themselves to attack in the next few moments, they would be defeated without a single blow exchanged.

Gus seemed to realize that, too. His face reddened. Clenching his fists, he took a step forward. “What are we waiting for?” he shouted. “Let's teach these suckers a lesson they won't forget!”

Frank bent his knees slightly and balanced on the balls of his feet. With so many attackers, he would need to rely on kicks to keep them at a distance.

“Wait!” a voice yelled. “Stop it!”

A woman in a green blouse and a denim skirt
came running across the schoolyard. Her shoulder-length hair was steel gray, but when Joe saw her face, he realized that she couldn't be older than thirty. Was she a teacher? He didn't think he'd ever seen her before.

The woman dashed into the space between the Hardys and the Starz that was about to become a battleground. She positioned herself directly in front of Gus. “We have a contract,” she said breathlessly. “No trouble, especially not on school grounds. Remember?”

Gus looked past the woman and directly at Frank. “This is different, Hedda,” he said. “We have to teach these guys respect.”

“You don't teach people respect, you earn it from them,” Hedda replied. She looked to her left. “Marlon, I know you understand. Tell him.”

Marlon looked uncomfortable at this appeal, but after a moment he said, “Hedda's right, Gus. Beating up these guys won't prove anything. Let's go. We've got better things to do.”

Marlon turned on his heel and walked toward the school entrance. The others seemed to hesitate, then they followed him. Gus was the last to go. Before leaving, he gave both Frank and Joe samples of his best dirty look.

The woman in the denim skirt watched the Starz drift away. Then she turned and walked up to Frank and Joe.

“I haven't met you fellows yet,” she said. “My
name's Hedda Moon. I'm a counselor with an organization called Teen Peace. I'll be here at Bayport High for the next couple of months, working with young people like yourselves.”

She offered her hand. Frank and Joe, in turn, shook hands and introduced themselves.

“So you're brothers,” Hedda said. “I should have guessed, even if you don't look very much alike. And what's the name of your social club?”

Frank caught a confused glance from Joe. Social club? What did Hedda mean? Then it hit him. Hedda Moon must think that he and Joe were part of a teen gang like the Starz, Frank thought. He was tempted to laugh at her mistake. But that wouldn't have been polite. Instead, he said, “We're not part of a club.”

“No rules, no colors, just a bunch of friends who hang together?” Hedda said, with a knowing smile. “Sure, I get it. Well, it doesn't matter. I can still help you. But you have to help me, too. You have to be willing to see your common interests with other clubs. Working together is the key. Are you with me?”

“Uh, sure,” Joe said.

“And no battles like the one you almost had just now,” Hedda added. “If you start beating each other up, there are no winners, only losers. And you guys don't look like losers to me.”

“Thanks,” Frank said. “But really, we're not—”

Hedda dug into her purse. “Here's my card,” she said. “Be smart. Keep in touch with me.”

As she walked away, Joe turned to Frank. “What was all that about?” he asked.

Frank explained his theory about Hedda's mistake. Joe shook his head. “Us? A gang?” he said. “That is so ridiculous!”

“Of course it is,” Frank replied. “But think of it from her point of view. The two of us were standing here, and six or seven Starz were getting ready to pound on us. I can understand her mistake. What I don't understand is why Marlon and Gus wanted to sic their buddies on us.”

“Maybe they think we're a gang, too,” Joe suggested with a laugh. “Or—seriously—maybe they heard a rumor that the school's asked us to investigate the shakedowns.”

Frank rubbed his chin. “You may have hit on something there,” he said. “The sooner we find out what's going on, the better off we'll be. We've still got ten minutes before first period. Let's hunt up a few friends and ask them to keep their eyes open.”

Joe headed off to look for Iola. Frank went into the building and started up to his homeroom. On the stairs, he spotted Biff Hooper talking to Tony Prito.

“Listen, you guys,” he began, then told them about the near-battle with the Starz. “Do either of you know anything about them?”

“I know some of them from my classes,” Biff said. “Tell you what—I'll make some notes on them and give them to you at lunch.”

“Same here,” Tony said. “I can tell you one thing right now. They're growing pretty fast. A couple of months ago, I only knew one guy who's a Starz. Now I know five or six.”

Frank was about to reply when, over Biff's shoulder, he noticed Hedda Moon. She was watching them intently and jotting something in a small notebook. When she realized that Frank was looking at her, she put the notebook in her purse and turned to look in another direction.