The Demolition Mission (9 page)

“We're going to miss Joe's derby,” Chet said.

“Wait a minute,” Frank said, stopping short. “The man at the gate said he'd only been on duty a few minutes.”

“So what?” Chet said in a puzzled tone.

“He just came on duty,” Frank said. “That means someone else was there when Callie might have picked up her ticket. We've got to talk with that man again.” Frank hurried back to the pass gate.

The ticket taker looked irritated. “I told you, I didn't see your friend.”

“You said you'd only been on duty here a few minutes,” Frank said. “That means there was someone here before you. Who was it?”

“Okay, okay,” the man said. “For all I know your friend came in before I got here.”

“Who was on this gate before you?” Frank demanded.

“It was a guy named Marvin Tarpley. He works
for Stock and for the demolition derby, but I'd heard he quit. Anyway,” the ticket taker continued, “that's who was taking tickets when I returned from the office.”

“Why did you go to the office?” Frank asked.

“They said they'd lost my Social Security number. They needed it for my payroll records.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“Mr. Dain.”

Frank thanked the man and turned to Chet. “Marvin Tarpley's on the grounds somewhere,” Frank said grimly. “And I'll bet you he's got Callie. And I think Jason Dain is in on whatever this scheme is.”

“What do we do?” Chet asked.

“Tarpley's home turf is the demolition derby,” Frank said. “So let's leave the van here and walk over to that area.” Frank and Chet began threading their way through the crowd still making their way to the grandstand.

“If Tarpley's done anything to Callie,” Frank said evenly, “I'll make sure he spends the rest of his life in prison.”

“We'll find her,” Chet said reassuringly.

Frank heard the loudspeaker overhead welcome the crowd to the big demolition derby. People cheered over the roar of the engines.

The derby pits were indistinguishable from the rest of the round dirt arena. Frank counted eight
brightly colored junkers. Their drivers and mechanics were tinkering with the engines.

“I thought you guys were going to miss the start,” Joe said, sprinting over to Frank and Chet.

“I think that Callie's been kidnapped,” he told his brother in a low voice, then filled him in on the details.

“Last call for the first race,” the voice on the loudspeaker announced.

“That's me,” Joe said. “Do you want me to bag the race and help you find Callie?”

“Go ahead and race,” Frank told him. “Chet and I will look for Tarpley.”

“Come on, rookie, let's go!” Dwaine Rusk shouted as he came running up to Joe. “You want to wreck a few junkers or not?”

“I'm ready,” Joe told him.

“I've got you in the sweetest little candy apple red bomb you ever saw,” Rusk went on. “That's why it's called the Red Bomb.” He chuckled, then added, “And it's got four hundred horses.”

Joe ran off toward the arena where the cars were lined up facing the grandstand. As Rusk turned to leave, Frank said, “I hear your good buddy Tarpley is back.”

“He isn't my buddy,” Rusk insisted.

“Have you seen him here?”

“Sure,” Rusk said. “After all, he's a good mechanic. When I told him your brother was going to
drive the Red Bomb, he insisted on setting it up for him. He even put the weights in the trunk.”

“Weights?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, we put cement blocks and stuff in the trunk to give the cars more stability,” Rusk explained. “One reason the Purple Machine rolled over so easily this morning was because it wasn't weighted.”

“Where's Marvin Tarpley now?” Frank asked.

“He could be anywhere. He wants to drive in the derby once more for old time's sake.” Rusk started to leave, then turned back to Frank and added, “He's in the last round.”

“One more question,” Frank said. “I'm looking for a young woman.” Frank showed him the picture of Callie. “She was supposed to meet me here tonight, and I have reason to believe she came in when Marvin Tarpley was working the pass gate.”

“Could be,” Rusk said with a shrug. “But I haven't seen her.” Without giving Frank the chance to ask any more questions, Rusk headed for the pit area.

Frank glanced out into the arena and saw that Joe, helmet and goggles in place, was revving up the Red Bomb's engine. The starter dropped his flags. According to tradition, the cars backed away from the line, then began ramming into each other.

Frank watched the mayhem for a few moments, saw that Joe was doing well, then turned to scan the crowd in the stands. He didn't spot Marvin Tarpley.

He looked over at the infield and drew his breath in sharply. Marvin Tarpley was lounging at the corner of a garage.

Frank rounded the grandstand and hurried over to Tarpley.

“Marvin Tarpley?” Frank asked. The man turned. Frank thought Tarpley was surprised to see him.

“Did this young woman come through the pass gate earlier tonight while you were on duty here?” Frank held up Callie's picture.

Tarpley looked at the picture, then at Frank. “I don't think that's any of your business,” he said, and turned back to watch the derby.

“I think it is,” Frank said quietly, grabbing Tarpley's left arm and wrenching it behind his back. “Now, let's have an answer. Did you see her, yes or no?”

Tarpley winced. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Did you let her in?” Frank continued.

“She's in, all right,” Tarpley said as he writhed in Frank's grasp. He tried to chop down on Frank's forearm, but Frank twisted Tarpley's arm higher up his back.

“Right now,” Tarpley gasped, “your precious girlfriend's taking a ride, and you better hope that
hotshot brother of yours avoids rear-end collisions.”

“What are you talking about?” Frank demanded.

“We ran out of cement blocks for weight,” Tarpley said, sneering, “so I threw her in the trunk instead. Right this very minute your girlfriend's in the demolition derby.”

Frank was momentarily gripped by shock. He couldn't believe that Callie was locked in the trunk of Joe's demolition derby junker.

In hesitating, Frank gave Marvin Tarpley the opening he wanted. Tarpley pulled free and took off.

“I've got to get Callie out of there!” Frank exclaimed, turning toward the derby arena. The deafening sound of crunching metal told Frank that he had no time to waste.

Frank had counted eight cars at the start to the derby. Surveying the wreckage strewn around the arena, he saw that Joe's Red Bomb was one of only three remaining junkers. The winner, he knew, was the last car that could still be driven.

Meanwhile, in the arena, Joe was impressed that the Red Bomb's engine was still running. But he had taken a bad hit in his right front wheel. He felt the old car pull to the right and figured the axle was badly bent.

“Don't fall apart on me now,” Joe told the car. He slammed it into reverse. Wheels spinning, he shot out of the path of a faded green sedan. The green car grazed Joe's front fender. Joe felt the jolt. He knew that if he were not securely held in his seat by the safety harness, he might be thrown against the door and window frames or the metal dashboard.

And whatever it was that was rolling around loose back in his trunk, he thought to himself, was going to be reduced to powder by the time the race was over.

Seeing an opportunity to nail the green car, Joe shifted his car into drive and floored it. He rocketed forward, the green car in his sights. The Red Bomb crashed full speed into the green car's front fender.

The green car stalled. Joe smiled with satisfaction when he saw steam rise from its punctured radiator.

“One to go,” he said to himself. He shifted into reverse. Then his eyes widened in alarm as he saw Frank hop over the fence into the arena. Frank was waving frantically. Seeing his brother made Joe hesitate. He saw his last rival, a battered orange sedan. It was coming from the far side of the arena.

“Break off your flag!” Frank yelled.

Joe's goggles were splattered with mud and oil, but he took them off instinctively, as if they were somehow keeping him from hearing Frank.

“Break your flag!” Frank shouted again, pointing toward the roof of the Red Bomb.

Joe couldn't make out what Frank was saying, but it was clear something was wrong. And a quick glance in the other direction showed him he was seconds from being rear-ended.

Joe reached up and snapped off the red flag. The orange car veered off at the last moment. There was wild cheering from the grandstand as the winner began his victory lap.

“Joe!” Frank cried as he ran up to the Red Bomb. “Callie's in the trunk!”

Joe immediately pushed the automatic trunk release button. Nothing happened. “It's jammed!” Joe exclaimed as he jumped out of the car.

Dwaine Rusk came running out into the arena. “What's going on out here?” he shouted at Joe.

“There's a woman in the trunk of this car,” Frank said. “Callie!” he shouted at the trunk. There was no answer.

“Get a crowbar.” Frank gestured frantically to Chet, who had been watching from the sidelines. Chet grabbed a tire iron from the pit and ran into the arena.

Frank rapped the trunk lid a couple of times with the crowbar. Suddenly the lid popped open. The
cheering crowd suddenly fell silent as they watched what was taking place in the arena.

Callie lay on an old carpet. Her eyes were blindfolded, and her face and arms were scratched and covered with dust. Her hands and legs were tied.

“Callie, I'll get you out of here as soon as possible.”

Frank removed the adhesive-tape gag from her mouth and the blindfold. “Are you all right?” Frank asked anxiously, as he began untying the ropes.

“When you invited me to the demolition derby,” she said dryly, pushing her hair out of her face, “I never thought
I
was going to be demolished.”

While Frank helped her out of the trunk, Callie explained how the ticket taker had told her he had been instructed to escort her to the main office.

“As soon as we were inside the office,” Callie continued, “someone clamped his hand over my mouth from behind, and the ticket taker tied me up.

“Marvin Tarpley,” Frank said grimly.

“Did you see the other person?” Joe asked Callie.

“I tried, but they had me gagged and blindfolded before I had the chance,” she answered.

“How about voices?” Frank asked. “Did they talk to each other?”

“All I heard was ‘We warned the Hardys, and now they're going to pay,' ” Callie said.

“This is awful,” Dwaine Rusk said nervously. “I
mean, we run a reputable business around here. Callie could have been seriously injured.”

“It's not your fault,” Frank told the derby manager. “And we'll get Tarpley soon enough.”

“I'll bring the van over,” Chet said.

Frank gave Chet the keys and told him to meet the group at the front gate.

“It didn't mean anything at the time,” Callie told Frank as they left the arena, “but I saw Tarpley over at Miyagi Motors early this morning.”

“You're sure?” Frank asked. “Do you know what he was there for?”

“I heard him say Takeo Ota was expecting him,” Callie replied. “The receptionist said there was a misunderstanding, because Tarpley didn't have an appointment.”

“Maybe Joe and I were too hasty when we ruled out Miyagi Motors,” Frank said thoughtfully.

“Tarpley was pretty insistent. He told the receptionist that he'd be back,” Callie said.

“Since Callie was kidnapped right in the speedway's front office,” Frank said to Joe, “that's the place to check before the staff reports for work tomorrow morning.”

“We've got more problems,” Chet told them when the Hardys and Callie reached the gate. “Someone punctured holes in all four tires on the van.”

“And I think I know who did it,” Frank said with a sigh.

Just then, Joe spotted Jason Dain in his golf cart. Joe waved him over.

“Something wrong?” Jason Dain asked as he pulled to a stop.

“Our tires were slashed,” Joe said angrily.

“That's too bad,” Dain said, glancing at the tires. “I'll tell Curt about this.”

“Do you think you could loan us a speedway truck?” Chet asked.

Dain shook his head. “Sorry, guys,” he said. “The only thing we've got is that white panel truck over there, and our insurance won't permit anyone but a speedway employee to drive it.”

“Dain,” Frank said, trying to hold his temper, “what do you know about the letter Katie delivered to me today? She said she got it from you.”

“Yeah, I found it in my desk, so I asked her to give it to you,” Dain said. “Why do you ask?”

Frank ignored the question and, instead, posed one of his own. “Why did you switch the ticket takers before the demo derby when Callie was due to pick up her ticket?”

“I don't know anything about her ticket, but I do know that I'm trying to run a business and that's no business of yours,” Dain retorted. Before Frank could press him for further information, Dain sped off on his cart.

“Well, so much for the direct approach,” Frank muttered. As he glanced over at the panel truck, his attention was caught by a striking gun metal gray
sports car darting around the speedway access road toward them. It screeched to a halt.

“Which do you like better, the red or the silver?” Felix Stock asked proudly as he got out of the Saurion. “This is the one we were trying to prepare for the race before you found the prototype.” Stock looked at Frank and Joe. “You guys don't look so happy.”

“Somebody slashed our tires,” Joe told him.