Boardwalk Bust (14 page)

That scum
, I thought.
He thinks he's killed a couple of kids, and that makes him want to burst into song!

I knew Joe felt like jumping him then and there, so I put my hand on his arm, reminding him that we had to wait until we had the evidence we needed.

Bump got the engine going and nosed the Cessna onto the runway. Soon we were airborne—but not without a struggle. With me and Joe on board, the plane was about 300 pounds heavier than Bump realized, and he had to give it a bit more lift than he thought.

“What the—?” I heard him grunt. “What's wrong with this thing?”

After a minute, he'd figured out how to get us
up to a safe altitude. He circled around, no doubt heading for the beach.

Two minutes later we heard the pilot's side canopy window open. Then there was the jingling of the sack of jewels he was carrying with him.

“Now!” Joe mouthed.

I sprang up, camera in hand, and fired off three pictures before Bump knew what hit him.

“What the—? HEY!”

He dropped the bag and tried to hide his face. The plane yawed and pitched crazily, and Bump had to grab the controls—which kept him from going after us.

“Who's that?” he shouted. “Who's that back there?”

But we weren't back there any more. Leapfrogging the seats, we were now right behind him.

“You!” he gasped.

“Sorry we're not dead,” Joe said.

With that, he grabbed Bump's left arm, twisting it behind his back. Bump's right hand came off the controls, and I grabbed it—but only until his foot lashed out and caught me in the head.

I let go, reeling backward, and the plane did a full, sickening rollover. Joe almost wound up going out the open window.

And Bump had time to recover his wits.

He backed into Joe, trying to force him out the window, while flailing at me with his feet.

The plane was still rolling over, and it was all I could do to steady myself. Finally I twisted around and sat on Bump's outstretched legs.

My back was toward him, but now I could grab the throttle and try to steady the plane. I mean, there was no point in catching Bump if we all wound up dead in a plane crash, was there?

Maybe we should have thought this through a little better.

But then, this was the fun part.

Joe was dangling out the window, but Bump was too busy choking me to push him the rest of the way out.

I elbowed Bump in the ribs until he let go, then swung back around, dodging a punch on the way.

Joe had managed to fall back into the plane, and Bump was climbing over the seats, headed for the rear. I kept hold of the throttle while Joe faced him down.

“It's two against one, Mayor,” Joe said, balling his fists and slowly closing in for the finish. “I think you should give up.”

Bump reached down behind the backseat—right
where we'd been crouching down in the dark—and drew out a big, fat pistol.

“Maybe this evens things up,” he said, pointing it right at Joe's face.

18.
Defying Gravity

It was a little too dark, and I was a little too distracted, to tell exactly what kind of pistol was staring me down. Believe me when I tell you, though, that it was plenty big enough to blow my head off.

Especially from three feet away, which is where Bump was standing.

Frank was busy with the controls, but if he didn't do something fast, it wouldn't matter if we crashed or not.

But what was he supposed to do? If he made a move, it was the big bang, and
good-bye, Joe Hardy
!

“So,” Frank said to Bump, “you're going to shoot us?”

“Only if I have to,” Bump answered, wiping the blood off his mouth. “I'd rather not mess up my plane. I'd much prefer it if you boys would jump. You know, I thought you two had washed away with the tide.”

“We got lucky,” I said.

Bump laughed. “Right. Well, I guess your luck has just run out.” He cocked the gun. “Now, are you gonna make me shoot you? Or are you gonna cooperate?”

We didn't answer. I was pinned down and couldn't risk moving, and Frank was steering the plane.

“Out that window will do,” Bump said, pointing to it with one hand while the other held the gun right at me.

“You first,” he said to Frank.

I saw Frank's eyes shift, and I knew what he was thinking. A quick jerk on the throttle, and maybe it would throw Bump off balance enough for us to overpower him.

But there was no guarantee of success. And if he messed up, I was dead.

“And no funny business,” Bump said quickly, “or your brother gets a big fat bullet in the head.”

Obviously, he'd read Frank's mind, same as I had.

“Slowly, now,” Bump told him. “Not one false move. Hands off the controls.”

Frank did as he was told. He gave me a long look, then climbed out the window. Headfirst.

Nice acting, bro. Nice.

I could see him clinging to the wing. The plane, dragged by his weight, started to bank to the left.

“Now you,” Bump said to me. “Turn around and start moving.”

I followed Frank out the window, and I didn't try jumping Bump. I didn't know how we were going to get out of this alive. All I knew was, I trusted my brother and his convoluted brain. I had faith that Frank, as always, had a plan.

“So long, boys!” Bump yelled before closing the window behind us. He grabbed the controls, but he was still fighting our weight, which was now dragging the plane to one side.

“Quick!” Frank yelled to me. “We've got to get to the center. Climb on top of the fuselage.”

I followed his instructions. It was hard to hold on—the plane had to be going eighty miles an hour, and we were at least a thousand feet up.

The wind was so powerful it pushed me back along the top of the plane. I slid until I hit the tail—which was right between my legs.

OW!!

I winced in pain. Could it be worse?

At least I wasn't going to fall off from this position. I guess.

Now I saw Frank, sliding back toward me. His right foot hit me square in the head. Right into my black eyes.

OW!!

Yeah. It could be worse.

At least now we were both firmly attached to the plane, with good footholds and handholds.

Just in time, too, because Bump had realized we were there and was trying his best to shake us off.

He was doing rollovers.

We held on with sheer muscle power, fighting gravity, until Bump had to right the plane or risk crashing.

In fact, now that Frank and I were firmly attached to the tail section, the whole plane was dragging—so much so that it might tip upward and stall out at any moment.

Frank looked back at me.

“What do we do now?” I asked him.

“Look behind you!” he yelled.

I did—and there, trailing behind us, was a big,
long banner.
EAT AT RON'S LOBSTER SHACK
, it said.

“How did that get there?” I shouted.

“One of us must have hit the release button by accident! Joe—it's our way out of this!”

“What?”

“Climb out on the banner!”

“Are you crazy?”

“We'll make it into a parachute!”

“A parachute?”

“Aunt Trudy, Joe! Remember? Bottom left corner, top right corner …”

Now I saw what he was getting at.

It was a long shot, all right. But it just might work.

I waited for a moment when Bump wasn't trying to shake us off. Then I eased myself around the tail, grabbed onto the banner, and swung myself off the plane. Gradually, little by little, hand over hand, I let myself out toward the far end, while Frank followed behind me.

I watched as he took out his pocketknife and flipped it open. “Ready?” he called to me.

I nodded.

“Grab your two corners!” he shouted. “And hold on!”

He cut the cord holding the banner to the plane, and with a sudden snap, we were floating free.

Plummeting
free is more like it, really.

I spread my hands wide, trying to keep the banner as open as possible.

The tug on my arms was tremendous. Good thing I'd worked out before we left.

Across from me, Frank was grimacing as he held his corners. The veins in his neck looked like they were going to pop out.

The ocean was getting closer by the second. I could see it in the dawn's early light. We were right over the shore and drifting toward the beach. If we hit the sand at this speed, we were goners.

I looked up for a second, and I saw Bump's plane spinning downward, out of control. The shock when we'd cut our weight loose must have made him stall out!

As we got closer to a deadly crash-landing, I stared at the beach below us. I was more terrified than I'd ever been in my life.

Was this it? Were we really going to die like this?

My whole life flashed before my eyes in a second. Dad, Mom, Aunt Trudy, all my friends … and most of all, Frank, who was going through the same thing, I'm sure.

BOOM!!

I heard the explosion—Bump and his plane
hitting the water at 100 miles an hour.
Well, he got what he deserved
, I thought.

Small satisfaction, though. In about five seconds, we'd be as dead as he was.

I closed my eyes and braced for impact….

KATHUNK!!!

Am I dead?

My mouth was full of sand. So were my eyes. They stung.

I hurt all over.

But … if everything hurt, I couldn't be dead, right?

“Joe, are you okay?” It was Frank's voice.

He was alive too!

I spat a wad of sand out of my mouth. I still seemed to have all my teeth. This was good.

I tried to open my eyes. It took a while to get the sand out of them and actually see anything.

Finally, I saw Frank standing over me, covered with sand—but very much alive.

I stood up—slowly, carefully—and stared at the mound of soft sand that had saved both me and Frank from certain death….

It was the Taj Mahal. Carl Jardine's amazing sand sculpture!

Funny.

Perfect.

His masterpiece was totaled, all right—but we were still whole. Which proves one thing: It's lucky to be smart, but it's even smarter to be lucky.

19.
There's No Place Like Home

We paid a big chunk of money to get driven back to Bayport by limo. Both Joe and I were way too sore to drive, and neither of us wanted to hop in a plane again anytime soon.

We'd spent the whole day being checked over at the Ocean Point Community Hospital (lots of bruises, but amazingly, no broken bones—thanks to Aunt Trudy and her Code of Perfect Sheet-Folding).

The police didn't believe our story at first, but when they found some of the stolen loot in the desk drawer of Bump's office at city hall, they decided to let us go.

We could have hung around for a real vacation, but Ocean Point was the last place we wanted to be
right then. Both of us felt like Dorothy at the end of
The Wizard of Oz
: “There's no place like home.”

We rolled up in front of our house and slowly, painfully, got out of the limo. Mom and Aunt Trudy were out front, weeding the flower garden. Playback was perched on Trudy's shoulder, as usual.

“What the—?” Mom gasped when she caught sight of us.

I knew we were in for it.

“What have you boys been up to
this
time?” Aunt Trudy asked. “Look at them, Laura—they're black and blue all over. You boys have been getting into fights again, haven't you? Don't deny it!”

“Now, Trudy,” said good old Mom, “I'm sure if the boys were fighting, it's only because they were provoked.”

“Oh,
right
,” said Trudy. “‘They're good boys, your honor!'
Hmph
!”

“Now, Trudy,” Mom said, “let's not jump to conclusions. I'm sure Frank and Joe can explain everything. Let's go inside and have some lemonade, and they can tell us all about their adventures on the Shore.”