1.
"Hello, Chet," Frank Hardy said to his stout friend.
"Hi, fellows," Chet replied through a mouthful of food.
Chet was sitting in the cafeteria. He had two trays of food in front of him. He bought one with the free lunch ticket provided to needy students, the other with money he had gotten panhandling.
Joe and Frank Hardy, teenage sleuths, sat down at the table.
"Say, Chet," said dark-haired Frank, "we were wondering if--ghaaaa! What are you doing?"
Chet had started choking. Since his mouth was full, he sputtered out little gobs of partially chewed food.
"Pardon me," Chet said wiping his double chin.
"God, Chet!" Frank said angrily. "What is wrong with you? Look at how much food you're eating! Why don't you lose some weight, for crying out loud! Think of your constitution!"
"My constitution has room for a lot of amendments," Chet quipped.
"I don't know why we stay friends with you!" Joe Hardy, the blond teenage detective said. "Look at you! You're fat! You're out of shape! All you do is eat all the time! You're repulsive."
"Callie Shaw doesn't think I'm repulsive," Chet said simply.
"Callie Shaw!" Frank ejaculated. "She's the hottest girl in school! What are you talking about, Chet?"
"She thinks I'm good-lookin'," Chet said stuffing more food into his mouth. "She's m'girlfriend."
"Ridiculous!" Joe said.
"Big 'n' fat," Chet said. "That's the way she likes 'em."
"Yeah?" Joe said, "well, here comes Callie now."
Chet didn't look up. He just kept eating. Callie walked past the table without looking at him.
"Ha!" Frank said.
"So that was your girlfriend, eh?" Joe said.
"She says she wants to keep our relationship a secret," Chet explained.
"That's the first remotely plausible thing you've said all day," Frank said.
"We talked with Chet like you said, coach," Joe said. He and his brother, Frank, were in Coach Stevenson's office. The coach had asked the Hardy boys to investigate the disappearance of some wrestling mats.
"So what did that fatso friend of yours say?" the coach demanded as he began taking hamburgers out of a greasy paper bag. He put the three hamburgers on the desk in front of him.
"We got kind of sidetracked, coach, and we didn't ask him about the mats," Frank explained.
"Didn't ask!" the coach exclaimed. "That fat ass has my mats! I want you to get him! I'm tellin' you, look in his garage! You'll find those mats in his garage!"
"What makes you so sure Chet has them?" Frank asked.
"Well, uh, I could tell he coveted them," the coach said, "from the way he was always looking at them."
"We'll go question Chet, coach," Joe said looking suspiciously at the coach's milkshake. "We'll get to the bottom of this. Don't you worry."
The two sleuths left the office.
"That was no milkshake!" Joe said quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Those hamburgers came from Larry's Burger Barn," Joe explained.
"So?" Frank said.
"Larry's Burger Barn doesn't serve milkshakes! And why was the coach eating three quarter pounders?"
"Maybe he was hungry," Frank said.
"He's hungry, alright," Joe agreed, "but not for hamburgers! That was one of those weight-gain shakes bodybuilders use. He's trying to put on weight."
"You mean--?"
"Yes. Let's go look in Chet's garage. We'll find the missing mats--right where the coach left them."
"Of course!" Frank said. "The coach found out about Callie Shaw and that fat thing, so he's trying to get Chet out of the way so he can move in on his territory, just as soon as he gains enough weight!"
"He knows Chet is still on probation from the time he stole all those burritos," Joe said. "If Chet gets arrested now, they'll send him to boot camp."
Joe and Frank Hardy went to the parking lot. Frank climbed into his red convertible.
"I'm going to go to Chet's house and check out that garage," Frank said.
"Right, Frank!" Joe said.
Frank drove away. Joe Hardy went and climbed into his yellow roadster and drove off.
Frank parked in front of the shanty Chet shared with his parents, grandfather and his sister, Iola. He got out of the car and walked around the house to the broken down shack that served as a garage.
"Hmm," the teenage sleuth thought. "The lock on this door has been tampered with! That could be a clue!"
He opened the door and went into the darkened garage. There was an old pick-up inside piled with debris.
"Aha!" Frank said when he found the mats rolled up on the floor alongside the car. "Just as I--"
Whack!
"Argh!" Frank said as he was hit over the back of the head with a blackjack.
When Frank regained conciousness, he found himself tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse.
"Callie Shaw!" he exclaimed when he saw his classmate. She was standing over him with several Asian men in black business suits.
"Hello, Frank," Callie said. "It's too bad you had to snoop."
"I was trying to save your boyfriend," Frank gasped. "Coach Stevenson planted those mats on Chet to get him out of the way! He's trying to gain weight to steal you away from him!"
"Oh! Hi, Frank!" Chet said jovially as two Asian men in dark suits lead him into the room. It took a moment for Chet to realize that Frank was tied up. Chet appeared confused. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Frank was snooping, Chet," Callie said. "He almost uncovered our operation."
"So?" Chet said.
"That means we have to finish him off," Callie explained. She lifted the hem of her skirt revealing the holster strapped to her thigh. Out of the holster she took a small automatic pistol. "And we want you to do the honors." She held the gun out to Chet.
"Okay," Chet said grabbing the gun and putting it to Frank's head.
"Chet! No!" Frank cried.
Chet pulled the trigger.
Click! The gun didn't fire. So Chet cocked it tried again several times becoming increasingly frustrated that it didn't work.
"It's not loaded, Chet," Callie said.
Chet looked confused.
Callie motioned to the men standing behind Frank. One of them put a plastic bag over Frank's head and put a rubber band around his neck. Frank began thrashing about.
"You see, Chet," Callie said, "we were testing you. We're your new friends. We wanted to see if you were more loyal to us, or to your old friends, like Frank."
"A test?" Chet said confusedly.
"Yes, Chet," Callie said. "And you did wonderfully! You didn't hesitate a moment to kill Frank."
Chet smiled proudly. "I passed the test?"
"You sure did!" Callie said.
Chet looked confused again.
"Well," he said, "don't I get to shoot him?"
"No, Chet," Callie said. "This way is cleaner."
"So I didn't pass the test?" Chet said, heartbroken.
"You passed the test, Chet," Callie said. "You passed with flying colors."
Chet smiled proudly.
"So now we're going to kill Frank this way," Callie said.
Chet looked hurt and confused again.
"I didn't pass the test?" Chet said.
"Yes, Chet. You passed the test."
"Don't I get to shoot him?"
"No, Chet," Callie explained. "You passed the test, but now we're going to kill Frank this way."
"You mean I didn't pass the test," Chet said, his double chin quivvering with emotion.
"Oh, alright!" Callie said annoyedly. "Take the bag off his head."
They took the plastic bag off Frank's head. Frank gasped for breath. His lips had begun to turn blue.
Chet beamed proudly as Callie shoved a loaded clip into the pistol. She snapped back the slide and handed the gun to Chet who immediately fired a shot into each of the men. Callie made a run for it and Chet sqeezed off a couple of shots at her and missed.
Chet took a switchblade from his back pocket and cut the ropes holding Frank.
Frank was still in a daze. Chet was behind the wheel of the red convertible as they sped away from the warehouse.
"I still say we should call the police," Frank Hardy said. "I'll explain what happened."
"Yeah, you'll fix everything!" Chet said sarcastically. "I'm still on probation, remember? You know what they'd do to me in boot camp?"
"You just make it worse by running away," Frank said. "It was justifiable homicide."
"Yeah, well, there are other things," Chet said.
"What other things?" Frank asked.
"I thought Callie said you uncovered our operation."
"I found the wrestling mats," Frank said.
"Wrestling mats are the least of it, baby!" Chet said.
"Did you steal the wrestling mats, Chet?" Frank asked.
"Sure I did," Chet said.
"What for?"
"Callie wanted them," Chet said. "I don't know what for."
"Mmmmph--wha'--?" Joe said as he regained conciousness. "Wh-where am I? Gasp! I'm in the trunk of a car!"
It all came back to him.
The black Cadillac had been tailing him so Joe pulled into the marina parking lot. He stopped in front of the Harbormaster's office so he could race inside and call for help, but when he tried to jump out of his convertible without opening the door, he tripped and landed face-first on the pavement. Before he could scramble to his feet, the men from the Cadillac were on top of him injecting him with a sedative.
"Did you inject him with enough sedative?" Dr. Samarian asked.
"I'm sure the dosage was adequate," Wo Wong replied. "He is weak. Like all Americans."
Stretched out on the table before them was young Joe Hardy, apparently unconcious.
"As soon as he awakens," Dr Samarian said, "we can begin our interrogation."
Wo Wong left the examination room leaving Dr. Samarian alone with Joe.
Dr Samarian turned his back to Joe and looked through the items that had been removed from the teenage sleuth's pockets. There was his wallet, keys, a five inch butterfly knife. The doctor unfolded a small slip of paper.
"Hmm. A prescription for Ritalin," the doctor said thoughtfully. "Gasp! Ritalin!"
"That's right, doc," Joe said grabbing Dr Samarian by the throat with one hand and grabbing his butterfly knife with the other. "Ritalin. A stimulant. It counteracted the sedative your goons injected me with." Joe opened the knife and held it to the doctor's throat.
"Now, Joe, take it easy," Dr Samarian said. "I'm working for the government."
"Which one?" Joe said cleverly. "Obviously not Uncle Sam!"
"You--you're right about that, Joe," Dr Samarian said. "I'm working for the county government. I know about you, Joe. You're father is Fenton Hardy, a top private detective and you and your brother are amateur sleuths. We had to stop you from exposing our investigation. If your father were here instead of in Washington working with the FBI on that spy ring case, he would explain it all to you."
Soon...
"I'm just glad we were able to clear all this up, Joe," Dr Samarian said. "Wo Wong, would you give our young friend a ride home?"
"Sure, doc," Wo Wong replied.
"I'll explain it all to Frank when I get home, Dr Samarian," Joe said. "I'm certain he'll want to cooperate."
"Thank you, Joe," Dr Samarian said. "God bless you!"
Joe left with Wo Wong.
"That's amazing, Dr Samarian," one of the men said. "We kidnapped that boy, drugged him, locked him in a trunk and brought him here, then it turned out he was awake the entire time listening to us talk about how we were going to torture him. How on earth did you convince him we were his friends?"
"Very simple," Dr Samarian said. "Joe Hardy has attention deficit disorder. His Ritalin counteracted the sedative, but the sedative counteracted the Ritalin as well. All I needed to do was stall him. I knew that I would quickly exceed the limits of his attention span and, once I did, he was putty in my hands."
Wo Wong pulled off the highway into a parking area along the beach.
"What are we stopping here for?" Joe asked.
"You like the beach, don't you?" Wo Wong said.
"Do I!" Joe exclaimed. He opened the door and sprang from the car. Wo Wong thought he was trying to escape, but all Joe did was run out to the beach and run around in circles holding his arms out and making airplane noises.
Wo Wong looked around nervously. There were no other cars in the parking lot. He didn't see any witnesses.
"Settle down, Joe," he said. "Let's walk down to th--hey!"
"Wheeeee!" Joe squealed as he ran off down the beach.
Wo Wong reached for the Luger in his shoulder holster but Joe was already too far away to get a good shot. Wo Wong began running after him.
Frank Hardy knocked on the door. A bald guy answered.
"Hello, Mr Shaw," he said. "Is your daughter home?"
"My daughter?" the man said. "I ain't got no daughter."
"Isn't Callie Shaw your daughter, sir?"
"She's my tenant," Mr Shaw said. "I ain't related to her. She just happens to have the same last name as me. What do you boys want with her?"
"She's my girlfriend," Chet said.
"Ha!" Mr. Shaw said. "A likely story!"
"It's true!" Frank Hardy said defending his friend. "She likes 'em fat."
"Aren't you a little young for her, sonny?" Mr. Shaw asked.
"We're the same age," Chet retorted.
"She's twenty-six!" Mr Shaw said.
Chet looked confused and bewildered.
"That's how old she is," Mr. Shaw said.
The red convertible stopped in front of Chet's shanty. Chet climbed out.
"You better take this," stout Chet said handing the pistol to Frank Hardy. "I can't have a gun. It's one of the conditions of my probation."
"You may need it, Chet, if Callie and her goons come after you," dark-haired Frank suggested.
"I got my crossbow and my martial arts weapons," Chet said.
Frank took the gun and drove away.
Chet went into the shanty.
"Hi, Gran'pappy," Chet said.
Chet's grandfather was sitting in a rocking chair in the living room smoking a corncob pipe.
Chet sat on a small milk crate and picked up the princess model phone. He dialed 9-1-1.
"Hello--Frank Hardy just shot a bunch of Chinese guys in the old warehouse! He's driving around in his red convertible! His license plate says 'SLEUTH'! He has the murder weapon with him! You've got to catch him before he disposes of it! Frank Hardy! He's a killer!--Huh?--Who am I? Er--uh--I don't want to get involved!"
Chet hung up the phone.
"You're a real man, Coach Stevenson," Callie said, "not like that fat Chet!"
"Thanks, baby," the coach said.
"Chet's bad," Callie said. "Did you know that he stole your wrestling mats."
"I suspected as much," the coach said. "Do you know that for a fact?"
"Yes. He told me. He was bragging about it," Callie said. "He was going all over school telling everybody that he made a monkey out of you. He said you couldn't do anything about it because you were just a washed up old man."
"He did, did he!" the coach said angrily.
"I told him that he shouldn't talk that way," Callie said. "I told him that if you found out, you'd probably get the whole wrestling team and have them break his fat neck for him."
"Now, honey," the coach said, "you shouldn't say things like that. Wrestling in a sport. I can't use the wrestling team for personal vendettas, even against a fatso like Chet."
"Oh, I know that, silly," Callie giggled. "Chet told me. He said you couldn't do anything. He said that wrestlers are all homosexuals and that their homosexuality renders them incapable of hurting him."
"He did, eh," the coach said. He went to his desk, opened the drawer and took out his list of the names and phone numbers of the school wrestling team. "We'll see about that!" he said picking up the phone.
"Oooh!" Callie enthused. "You are a real man!"
"I may have to flee the country, Gran'pappy," Chet said.
"What in tarnation fer?" Gran'pappy inquired.
"I--I'm the eyewitness to--to a mass murder," Chet said. "Frank Hardy did it. Killed a bunch of Chinese guys in the old warehouse."
"He could get the gas chamber," Gran'pappy said.
"I--I know," Chet said. "I don't want to have to testify against him."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Frank," Gran'pappy said. "His pa's a detective--his police buddies will fix things up for him. But they might fix it by framing you. That's what I'd worry about."
"They wouldn't do that, Gran'pappy," Chet said.
"Like hell they wouldn't. That's what happened to me. That crazy captain tried to frame me for stealing the strawberries. It's a good thing Fred MacMurray was there."
"That was The Caine Mutiny, not real life," Chet said. "It's just another one of your crazy Navy stories, like the time you said you stole an Atom bomb."
"I didn't steal it! They was gonna dismantle it. It was going to waste so I took it with me and deserted. It'll be your inheritance when I'm gone."
"What's that?" Chet said. "I heard a noise outside."
"Maybe it's the cops," Gran'pappy suggested.
Plump Chet struggled to his feet and waddled to the window. Outside was Coach Stevenson's minivan. Several wrestlers were climbing out through the sliding door.
"It's the wrestling team!" Chet said peering through the filthy, tattered curtains. "Uh oh! There's Callie Shaw with them."
"Fine lookin' gal, that Callie," Gran'pappy said. "What's she always hangin' around you fer?"
Chet lumbered to the large shipping crate in the corner which served as he bedroom. With some difficulty, he managed to go inside. He came out a moment later with his crossbow.
"When they come in, Gran'pappy," Chet said, "tell them I haven't been here and you don't know where I am! I'm going to hide in the bushes in back behind the garage."
"Okay."
Chet ran out the back door. Seconds later, the front door was kicked in.
"Chet's out back in the bushes behind the garage," Gran'pappy said. "Careful, though! He's got a crossbow!"
"Thanks, old timer," Coach Stevenson said.
Soon, Chet found himself standing in the back yard holding the wrestlers at bay with his crossbow.
"There are six of us, Chet," the coach said, "and you've only got one shot. Even if you shoot one of us, the other five with pile on top of you and break your fat neck!"
"Give it up, Chet," Callie Shaw sneered. "It's only going to end one way."
"Yeah, then you'll be the first one to go!" Chet said aiming the crossbow at Callie.
"Eeek!" Callie screeched. She ran to take cover behind Coach Stevenson and Chet pulled the trigger. Before anyone realized what had happened, the coach was standing with an arrow sticking out of his gut.
"Get him, men!" Callie shouted.
The captain of the wrestling team ran to help the coach. The other wrestlers piled on top of Chet.
"Ghaa! Ow! No! My spine!" Chet shouted.
"Break his fat neck!" one wrestler grunted.
The captain of the wrestling team came over and tapped each wrestler and said, "C'mon. The Coach wants to go to the doctor."
"You fat pig!" Callie shouted at Chet as the wrestlers climbed into the mini-van. "You're the most disgusting fat pig I've ever seen!"
"At least I'm not twenty-six and still going high school," Chet said.
"Wha'? Who-who told you that?" Callie asked.
"You think I'm not hip to you and your Chinese buddies?" Chet said knowingly. "That's not even your father you live with."
"How--how long have you known?" Callie asked.
"From the beginning," Chet said. "I know what you're up to."
"Then--you know what we're after," Callie said.
"Absolutely," Chet said.
"And you know that we'll use whatever means necessary to get it," Callie said.
"Uh, sure," Chet said. "I know aaall about it."
Callie looked at Chet suspiciously. "What do you know, Chet?"
"Everything, baby," Chet said.
"Then tell me what we're really after," the girl demanded.
"Uh. Wh-why should I?" the plump boy stammered.
"I thought as much!" Callie said. "You are as dumb as you look! You don't know anything!"
"I do, too!" Chet exclaimed.
"What is it then?" Callie said.
"Why should I tell you? Don't you know?"
"Of course I know, you idiot!" Callie snapped. "I'm the one who's after it."
"Uh. Mmm. It's a, uh--"
"Just admit you don't know, fatty!"
"It's, uh, on the tip of my, uh--"
"You half-wit!" Callie said angrily.
"Heh heh heh," Chet chuckled. "I was just stalling, baby. Look behind you!"
Callie looked behind her then looked back at Chet.
"There's nothing behind me, you fat dullard!" she said.
"That's just it," Chet said cleverly. "There's nothing behind you! It looks like your wrestling buddies have driven away and left you all by your lonesome!"
"I know they drove away, you fat dummy," Callie said. "You think I can't handle a big fat doofus like you?"
To prove her point, Callie sprang forward with lightning speed and karate-kicked Chet in his bloated face. The plump boy staggered back and Callie began batting him about the yard with a series of kicks and karate chops. Chet managed to pull the nunchucks out of his belt, but Callie just took them away from him and started beating him with them.
"Stop! Stop! I give up! Ow!" Chet said.
"You admit you don't know what it is we're looking for?" Callie demanded.
"Yes, ma'am," Chet said. "I swear! I swear to God!"
"I guess I can go ahead and kill you then," Callie said pulling a knife from her belt. "You're clearly of no value!"
"Wait! Wait! I do know!" Chet squealed as Callie raised the knife up to plunge into his heart.
"What is it then?" Callie demanded.
"It's--uh--it's--"
Callie raised her the knife again.
"It's Gran'pappy's atomic bomb!" Chet said blurting out the first thought to bubble up from his subconcious. "You want the atomic bomb Gran'pappy stole!"
"Gran'pappy," Chet said. "Callie is going to kill me if we don't give her the atom bomb."
"What do you want with it, Missy?" Gran'pappy asked.
"You'll see. You and everyone else," Callie said. "Now where is it, old man?"
"I got it hid," Gran'pappy said. "It was leakin' radiation all over the place so I had to stash it somewheres."
"Where?" Callie said.
"Let's see," Gran'pappy said thoughtfully stroking his chin. "I don't remember so good. One thing might refresh my memory, though. Say--a hundred dollars?"
Callie pulled a large wad of bills from her pocket, peeled off a hundred dollar bill and handed it to Gran'pappy.
"Yes, ma'am--it's all coming back to me now. I buried it."
"Buried it where?" Callie demanded.
"I'll have to show you," Gran'pappy said. He started to climb out of his rocking chair but had great difficulty. "Ooh," he moaned. "My rheumatis' is actin' up! I need my rheumatis' medicine."
Gran'pappy picked a jug up off the floor. The jug was marked XXX.
"Get me my big drinkin' cup, boy," he told Chet.
Chet found the big drinking cup on the coffee table under some garbage.
Gran'pappy poured some moonshine into the cup. He raised the cup as if to take a drink when he suddenly yelled "It's acid!" and threw it in Callie's face. Callie screamed and, before she could realize it was only corn squeezin's, Gran'pappy smashed her over the head with the jug.
"I hated to do it," Gran'pappy said as he dug into the unconcious girl's pocket, "but what in tarnation did she expect a body to do when she flashes a wad of greenbacks like that at ya? Lookit that!" he said holding up the roll of bills. "There must be four, five hundred dollars there."
"What do we do with her, Gran'pappy?" Chet said.
"Hog tie her! We'll take her out on the old logging road and dump her."
The old pick-up drove along the winding, narrow logging road. In the back was Callie Shaw, hogtied. Chet was driving, his sister Iola sitting between him and Gran'pappy.
"Here I am mixed up in international intrigue and I have to take my dumb ol' sister along," complained Chet.
"Where are we gonna dump her, Gran'pappy?" Iola asked cheerily.
"I don't know but we'd best decide quick," Gran'pappy said, "before we run into--uh-oh! Punch it, boy! That's a forest service vehicle a-comin' after us!"
"We can't outrace them," Chet said. "Let's play it cool. Maybe they won't stop us."
Chet, Iola and Gran'pappy sat on the ground, their hands cuffed behind their backs.
"I'm tellin' ya," Gran'pappy told the two forest rangers, "we caught that lady out there in the woods growin' marijuana! She's a marijuana farmer so we made us a citizen's arrest and we were just takin' her into custody!"
"Yeah, and what were you doing out here?" the ranger asked.
"We was on a nature hike," Gran'pappy said. "I was teaching the young'uns forest survival skills, like the ones I learned back in the hills."
The rangers looked at each other and nodded knowingly.
"It looks like you're a couple of those crazy mountain men who come to town to kidnap yourselves a bride," one of them said. "Which one of you is married to this girl?" he said nodding to Iola.
"That's my sister!" Chet said.
"You married your sister?" the ranger said.
"We're not married!" Iola said.
"Officers," Callie said weakly.
Callie sat in the back of the Jeep Cherokee.
"Yes, what is it, ma'am?"
Thwack!
"Argh!"
Callie knocked the ranger out with a karate chop to the neck.
"Hey!" the other ranger shouted as he reached for his gun. "You can't--argh!"
Callie knocked the second ranger out with a flying side kick.
"Well," she said brandishing one of the ranger's revolvers. "It looks like I have the upper hand. Now! On your feet and into the Jeep! You're taking me to the bomb!"
In spite of having their hands cuffed behind their backs, Gran'pappy and Iola managed to struggle to their feet and walk to the Jeep. Chet struggled and rolled around on the ground like a turtle on its back.
"I said get up!" Callie said brandishing the gun.
"Grunt! I can't!" Chet said. "Help me!"
"Get up and hurry it up!" Callie snapped.
Chet flopped around some more.
"I caaaaan't" he whined.
Callie rolled her eyes. She stuck the gun in her belt and walked around behind Chet, put her hands under his arms and started lifting his enormous weight. Her face turned red with the strain. Suddenly she dropped him and clutched her lower abdomen.
"I've ruptured myself!" she cried.
"You fat pig! You gave me a hernia!" Callie said angrily. She was perched sideways on the edge of the front passenger seat leaning against the dashboard. She sat sideways so she could hold the gun on Chet who was driving and on Gran'pappy and Iola in back. "I ought to kill you! And what are you laughing at, old man?"
"Nothin'," Gran'pappy cackled.
Chet started the engine. He thought about warning Callie that she sitting perilously close to the passenger-side airbag, but he didn't think she wanted his advice. And, besides, it gave him an idea.
Chet put the gear shift in Drive, then looked back over his shoulder as if he was going to back up. He stomped down on the gas. The jeep plowed into the back of the pick-up and seting off the airbags.
Chet took the revolver away from the now semi-concious Callie. She started to struggle so he pistol-whipped her. Then Chet, Gran'pappy and Iola handcuffed Callie to the Jeep's steering wheel, got in their pick-up and sped away.
Frank Hardy was driving home when he was pulled over by police.
"Hello, Frank," said Officer Trimble.
"Hi, Mr Trimble," Frank said. Officer Trimble was friends with Frank and Joe's father, private detective Fenton Hardy. "Did I do something wrong, sir?"
"Oh, nothing like that, Frank," Trimble said. "We just had a 9-1-1 call that you killed some men down at the old warehouse."
"What! Who said that?" Frank asked.
"The caller didn't leave his name, but the call was traced to Chet Morton's residence," Trimble said.
"Darn that Chet!" Frank said. "No, I didn't kill them. Chet did. Here's the gun he used. I haven't fired it and I can prove it if you take me in for a paraffin test."
"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary," Officer Trimble said. "We all know about Chet and his ways."
"Chet killed those men," Frank said, "but he did it to rescue me. Those men kidnapped me and intended to kill me, but Chet got hold of the gun. He didn't want to report it because--because--well, I can't go into that."
"Why not, Frank?" Trimble asked. "You're not trying to protect Chet, are you? Not after he reported you for a mass murder. What sort of mischief is that plump boy into now?"
"Well, Chet stole the wrestling mats from school," Frank admitted.
"Aha!" Trimble said.
"And it goes deeper than that," Frank said. "Those dead guys were part of a deeper conspiracy--a conspiracy involving Callie Shaw!"
"What sort of conspiracy?" Trimble asked.
"That's what I'm investigating now, sir," Frank said.
"From what you've told me, we have enough to pick Chet up right now," Trimble said. "I'll put out an APB for him."
"That will be good for Chet's own protection," Frank said. "Even if they send him to bootcamp, it's the only way he'll ever lose weight. I'm going to try to find Callie Shaw and I think I know where she'll be."
"Where's that?" Trimble asked.
"Well, with her Chinese buddies out of the picture, she'll need to find another man to protect her. I let it slip that Coach Stevenson was warm for her form, so she'll probably--"
"Coach Stevenson!" Trimble exclaimed. "He's in the hospital undergoing emergency surgery! Someone shot him with an arrow! The school wrestling team witnessed the whole thing! They said the perpetrator was a heavy-set man in his mid- to late-forties armed with a crossbow! Do you know anyone matching that description, Frank?"
"No," Frank said truthfully. His experience as a teenage sleuth had taught him that eyewitness accounts are often wildly unreliable.
After talking with Officer Trimble, Frank decided he wanted Joe's help on the case. He drove home.
"Hello, Mother," Frank said as he came in. "Have you seen Joe?"
"No, I haven't," Mrs Laura Hardy said, "and I'm worried what with all the goings on here in Bayport. There were those men killed at the old warehouse and a teacher from your school was shot by an obese man with a crossbow."
"That obese man was Chet Morton, Mother," Frank said. "He shot the men in the warehouse, too."
"I knew it!" Mrs Hardy said. "I knew it was just a matter of time before that fat boy went nutzo! I'm just thankful he didn't shoot up the school like those other boys!"
"We'd better find Joe right away," Frank said. "You haven't heard from him at all?"
"No," Mrs Hardy said, "but I did get a mysterious phone call from Bob's Towing. They said they impounded Joe's roadster because he left it parked illegally at the marina."
"Joe would never park illegally unless he was in danger!" Frank exclaimed. "I'm going down there right now!"
"There he is!" Wo Wong thought. He had chased Joe for over a mile along the beach. He had taken off his suit jacket and tie as he ran and now he lay in the sand gasping for breath as Joe ran around in circles dragging a piece of driftwood.
Joe was a long way off, Wong thought, but he took careful aim with his Luger.
"Death to dogs of democracy!" he muttered as he squeezed the trigger.
The shot missed. Joe lobbed the piece of driftwood in Wong's direction and ran for his life.
"I'm hungry," Joe thought. "I wonder where I can--no, no, I've got to get away from Wo Wong! I've got to stay focused! I've got to concentrate!"
Joe ran to a little trail that lead from the beach to the highway.
"Gasp! Puff puff!" Joe said.
He ran across the highway and hid behind some brush. He watched as Wo Wong ran out to the highway, looked frantically for Joe, then ran off down the road.
"I lost him," Joe thought. "I've got to call the police! They'll stop that maniac!"
Joe noticed his shoe was untied. He started to tie it, but he became distracted and played with the shoelace. Then he noticed there were some little pieces of gravel stuck in the tread.
"I could use a stick to flick those out," he thought.
Joe began looking for a stick, but by the time he found one he had forgotten what he wanted it for and decided he should start walking home. He stepped from the bushes and started along the shoulder of the road.
"Hey! I think I know that guy," he thought when he saw a man walking toward him some distance up the road. "I don't know many Chinese. You'd think I'd remember...hmm. And he knows me, too. He's running toward me. And what's that in his hand? It looks like a--a Luger. Why is he aiming it at me? Oh!"
Joe started running.
"I've got to get some Ritalin! My very life depends on it!"
Joe paced nervously. He was standing in front of the Tastee Freeze down by the beach. He had used the phone inside to call one of his friends for a ride. He had been waiting several minutes. A couple of times, Joe had started to wander away, but each time, before he got very far, he would remember that he was supposed to wait at that spot, and he would go back.
Finally, the Volkswagen pulled up.
"Hi, Joe," Smitty Halloway said as Joe climbed in.
"Thanks for getting me Smitty," Joe said. "I've got to feed my monkey. Did you bring the stuff?"
Smitty handed Joe the Ritalin tablets.
"Thank God," Joe said.
Smitty handed him a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew to wash them down with.
"Didn't they give you your Ritalin at school today?" Smitty asked.
"Uh. I don't know. I--I think they might have," Joe said. "Do you like jello?"
"How did you get here, Joe?" Smitty asked. "Where's your car?"
"I parked it, uh. Let me see. I was on the beach. I was running. Then I, uh--what was the question?"
"You were telling me about your car, Joe."
"Oh--yeah!" Joe exclaimed. "There's this guy trying to kill me! A Chinese guy!"
"Chinese!" Smitty guffawed. "Now I know you didn't get your Ritalin!"
It all started to come back to Joe as the Ritalin started to kick in.
"We've got to get the police, quick!"
"Did the police find Chet, boys?" Mrs Hardy asked as Frank and Joe came home late that evening.
"Nope," Frank Hardy said.
"What about those horrible men who kidnapped Joe?" she asked.
"They're still at large," Joe reported. "They took me out there to try to find them, but I couldn't remember a thing. Damn this Attention Deficit Disorder!"
"Now, Joe," Frank said, "it wasn't your fault. In fact, you said yourself that it was the Ritalin that saved your life. They'd be using the thumb screws on you right now if it weren't for you Attention Deficit Disorder."
"That's true, I guess," Joe admitted.
"God made you that way for a reason, Joe," Mrs Hardy said. "God realized that people were needed to perform manual labor, so He made Attention Deficit Disorder. God knew that Ritalin would be discovered and available to the upper-classes by the time we achieved a post-industrial society.
"But look at the time," Mrs Hardy said. "You boys had better get to bed! You've had such a busy day."
"You're right, Mother!" Frank said. "I'm exhausted!"
A short time later, Joe and Frank were in their pajamas and lying in their twin beds.
"I'm going to read for a few minutes, Frank," Joe said.
"Okay."
Joe sat and read his book until Frank was asleep. Then Joe slipped out of bed, quietly dressed and placed several pillows under the covers.
Joe used his pen light to work his way through the darkened house. He slipped out the back door. His motor scooter was parked outside. He pushed it down the street until he was half a block from his house, then he started the motor and drove off.
"Hi, fellows," Joe said as he entered the club house.
Inside, a few of the guys were playing bumper pool. Some others were watching The Tonight Show on the old black and white set, and a few were sitting around reading or doing homework.
They were all in junior high and high school, all were male and all were middle-class. They were all turned into hopeless insomniacs by the Ritalin they were forced to take.
"Hi, Joe," said Smitty. "You're going to be up all night, you took your Ritalin so late."
"I know," Joe said, "That'll give me an edge."
"An edge?" Smitty said.
"Yes," Joe said. "I'm going out tonight. I need some heat."
Joe and Smitty sat down on the sofa. Smitty brought out his briefcase and opened it on the coffee table. In the padded interior were a variety of weapons.
"I'll take this one," Joe said picking up a large black automatic pistol.
"You realize that's a BB gun," Smitty said.
"Oh," Joe said returning it to the case. "I'll take this one then." Joe selected a Walther .32 automatic.
"That's three hundred dollars," Smitty said.
"Three hundred!" Joe said.
"It's just like the one James Bond used," Smitty explained.
"What have you got for, say, thirty dollars?"
"Here you go," Smitty said picking out a saturday night special. "It's an Iver Johnson Cadet."
"Iver Johnson?" Joe asked looking at the cheap plastic grips. "Is it any good?"
"Sirhan Sirhan certainly thought so," Smitty said proudly.
"Sirhan! Really?" Joe said.
"He used one just like it," Smitty said.
Joe dug out his thirty dollars.
"Be careful of the prisoner, men," Police Chief Ezra Collig told the two officers guarding Callie Shaw's hospital room. "That woman is dynamite."
"Yes, sir," said officer Trimble.
"Yes, sir," agreed Biff Hooper, Trimble's new rookie partner.
The two men watched the chief walk off, then Trimble plopped himself down in a chair.
"Heh--dynamite," Trimble muttered dismissively.
"They say she beat up two forest rangers and that there are three missing hillbillies she may have done away with," Biff said.
Trimble chuckled derisively. "Forest rangers! Anybody could beat them up! They're tree huggers! Environmentalists! Sissies! That girl's handcuffed to her bed. She's not going anywhere. We may as well take it easy."
A nurse walked up with a small tray. She started to go into the room but Trimble stopped her.
"I have medication for Miss Shaw," the nurse said.
"Medication?" Trimble said. "What kind of medication?"
"An analgesic."
"Analgesic, eh?" Trimble said. "Well, I'll have to administer the drug to prisoner myself. You just leave the tray here with me."
Trimble took the tray and watched as the nurse walked away. As soon as she was gone, he popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the small cup of water.
"Heh heh!" he chuckled when he saw his partner's look of stunned disbelief. "What's a matter, boy? Haven't you ever seen--gasp! Choke! Ghaaaa!"
"Nurse! Nurse!" Biff shouted frantically.
Two nurses rushed over.
"He--he just took the pills, and then he collapsed!" Biff said.
"What pills?" the nurse said.
"They were the pills that that other nurse brought here for the prisoner--for Miss Shaw!"
"Other nurse? What other nurse?" the nurse said. "We're the only ones on duty here. And there are no pills prescribed for Miss Shaw!"
"There aren't, eh?" Biff said drawing his service revolver.
Biff ran off down the hall.
"Did you see a nurse around here?" he asked a janitor.
"Saw one go down th' elevator yonder," the janitor replied.
Biff burst through the door to the stairway and ran down the four flights of stairs. He came out into the lobby just in time to glimpse a women climb into a black Cadillac and speed away.
Biff waved down a passing car.
"Police emergency," he said. "We've got to get after that car!"
"Hop in," the driver said.
Biff ran around to the passenger side. The door was locked. The driver started to lean across to unlock the door but he couldn't reach it, so he unfastened his seatbelt and leaned across again. His foot slipped off the brake and the car started to roll forward so he stoped the car and put the transmission in Park. Then he leaned across and unlocked the door.
Biff jumped in.
"Hurry!" Biff said. "He's getting away!"
"Okay," the driver said carefully refastening his seatbelt.
"I thought I told you to guard the prisoner!" Police Chief Ezra Collig snapped when Biff Hooper returned to the hospital.
"You did, sir," Biff said, "But a nurse gave Officer Trimble some medication for the prisoner. Officer Trimble took the pills himself and collapsed. I realized the nurse was an imposter trying to poison the prisoner."
"Nurse Higgins!" the chief called.
"Yes, chief," Nurse Higgins said stepping into the hallway.
"Is this the so-called imposter you saw?" Collig asked.
"Yes!" Biff said. "That's her! She gave Trimble the poison!"
"She gave Trimble prescription medication meant for the prisoner!" Collig said. "I don't know what Trimble was doing taking them, but he suffered a sudden allergic reaction and collapsed. The two nurses you left him with were the imposters. And look what they did the minute you ran off!" He pushed open the door to Callie's room.
"Gasp!" Biff said.
"Dead as a doornail," Collig said grimly. "Still shackled to her bed. Trimble died, too. He would have survived if you had gotten him some help instead of running off."
"I--I mean't well," Biff said.
"Tell that to Trimble's wife and child," Collig said.
Biff went to Officer Trimble's home. It was very late but the lights were on. He knocked on the door. Trimble's drunken, whore-like wife answered.
"Yeah?" she said.
"Hello, Mrs Trimble," Biff said. "I'm Biff Hooper. I'm--I was your husband's partner."
"Oh yeah," she said looking him up and down and chuckling derisively. "He said something about you. Come on in."
It was nearly three a.m. but the Trimbles' ten-year-old son, dressed in a pajama top and a diaper, was watching TV.
"Wendell, get Mommy a cigarette," Mrs Trimble said to her son.
Wendell got a pack of Dorals off the credenza, put one in his mouth, lit it, took a few puffs on it to get it going and gave it to his mother.
"So," she said blowing smoke in Biff's direction. "What do you want?"
"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am, ma'am," Biff said.
"What about?" she asked.
"What about?" Biff said. "Y-you mean they haven't told you?"
"Told me what?" Mrs Trimble asked.
"Mrs Trimble, I--I'm sorry, but your husband--your husband is dead, ma'am. He died a few hours ago while on duty down at the hospital."
"Yeah, yeah, they told me," Mrs Trimble said. "I know all about that. The way you said it, I thought it must be something else. My husband--well, you've seen him."
"Was he a drug addict, ma'am?" Biff asked.
"I don't know," Mrs Trimble said. "He was always doin' stuff like that. He took all of Wendell's bed-wetting pills. That's why he has to wear the diaper. I want you to do me a favor."
"Yes, ma'am?" Biff said.
"Don't go blabbin' all over town about the drugs," she said.
"Oh, I won't, ma'am," Biff assured her.
"Good," she said, "because the chief is going to go down to the morgue and pump a couple of slugs into the body so it'll look like he died in a shoot-out. I get a big insurance claim that way and it makes the force look good."
Joe Hardy spent the night driving up and down the coast highway on his motor scooter. He stopped at a filling station to fuel up.
"Hello, Joe," said Tony Prito, gas station attendant and Joe and Frank Hardy's friend. "You must be crazy driving around on that thing in the middle of the night."
"You must be crazy working the night shift," Joe said, "after those other gas station attendants were robbed and murdered."
"You and Frank solved that mystery and caught the killers," Tony said. "I'm not worried."
Tony filled the scooter's tank.
"That'll be a dollar seventy-five," he said.
"Have you seen anything suspicious tonight, Tony?" Joe asked.
"Other than you?" Tony said. "Well, I don't know if it's suspicious, but there's been a lot of activity going on at the Seashell Warehouse across the road there."
"What sort of activity?" Joe asked.
"I don't know. There was just a lot of traffic over there earlier tonight. It's died down now, though."
"Thanks, Tony," Joe said handing him two dollars. "Keep the change."
Joe crossed the road and stashed his scooter in the bushes. He approached the warehouse on foot. The only vehicle in the parking lot was a black Cadillac.
Joe found an unlocked door on the side of the building. The pulled the revolver from his pocket and walked in.
Inside the darkened warehouse were high shelves with boxes and boxes of seashells to be distributed to souvenir stands up and down the coast.
The lights were on in a glass-enclosed office. Inside, Joe saw Wo Wong asleep on a sofa. He had his suit jacket over him and his shoulder holster was hanging on a coatrack.
Joe walked in. He got the Luger from the holster and prodded Wo Wong with it.
"Grunt! Snort!" Wo Wong said.
"Remember me?" Joe said.
Wong stared up at Joe in horror then tried to leap up from the couch, but Joe pistol whipped him.
"Ow!" Wong said holding his head. "What do you want here, anyway? Haven't you done enough damage?"
"I haven't even started," Joe said.
"I didn't want to shoot you back there, but you see," Wong said, "it was all Dr Samarian's doing."
"Samarian was a liar," Joe said. "He doesn't work for the county."
"I know," Wong said. "I wanted to tell you that but you ran away."
"You didn't want to tell me anything," Joe said.
"Yes, I did," Wong said. "You see, Joe, you're a fine young man. Hard working. Resourceful. Intelligent. I know it's sometimes difficult for young people in today's world with all the TV and the radio and the crazy rock and roll music you kids listen to today, and I'm sure there are times when you..."
Wong rambled on for several minutes. He was trying to do what Dr Samarian had done, overtax the young sleuth's attention span.
"Aw, nuts," Wong finally said, giving up under Joe's steely, unwavering gaze. "I know why you came here and it's too late. Your buddy's long gone."
"What buddy?" Joe said.
"What buddy? You mean you didn't come here for--um--nothing."
"No, no," Joe insisted, "you said my buddy was long gone. What did you mean by that?"
"My Englsh not so good," Wong said. "I meant my buddy. Dr Samarian. Dr Samarian is long gone."
Joe fired a shot from the revolver into the wall over Wong's head.
"I swear! I swear!" Wong pleaded. "Dr Samarian is gone! He's not here! You can search the place!"
"You weren't talking about him," Joe said. "You said my buddy. Who did you mean?"
"Nobody."
"Come on! Talk, you yellow-skinned devil!" Joe said.
"Gasp! That's racist!" Wong said.
"Yes, okay," Joe agreed. "I'm sorry I called you a 'yellow-skinned devil'. But I want to know what you Chinese are up to."
"I'm Tiawanese," Wong said, "and I don't see what my nationality has to do with it."
"Come on! Talk! Who did you mean when you said my buddy!"
"I'm not talking," Wong said, "and there's nothing you can do. You won't shoot an unarmed man. It would violate your American sense of fair play."
Bang!
Joe shot Wong in the leg.
"Ow!" Wong cried. "Have you gone crazy! Get me a doctor! Quick!"
"You said my buddy was long gone!" Joe said. "Who did you mean! Tell me or I'll shoot you again!"
"Your buddy!" Wongs said. "Chet Morton! And his sister and his grandfather. They're gone!"
"You killed them?" Joe said.
"No, no, we took them away on a ship! Samarian went, too. Everybody cleared out."
Joe picked up the phone to call the police.
"The phone's already disconnected," Wong said. "That's why they left me behind. I have to cancel the newspaper subscription, too."
Joe flipped open his cel phone and dialed 9-1-1.
"Good work, Joe," Chief Collig said. "You've busted another spy ring."
"Thank you, chief," Joe said.
"Call the Coast Guard," the Chief told his assistant. "Tell them three American citizens have been Shanghaied and are being taken to Taiwan against their will."
"Right, Chief."
"What about me?" Wong said.
"Oh, yes," the Chief sneered "And call an ambulance for our 'friend' here."
"That brat shot me!" Wong said angrily.
"Is that true, Joe?" the Chief asked.
"Of course," Joe said. "He went for his gun."
"Hmm," the chief said. "It was obviously self-defense."
"And after I shot him he freely confessed," Joe added.
"That's understandable," the Chief said thoughtfully.
The ship carrying Chet and Iola was never found. Wong was taken to jail but was soon released. His alleged confession was brought into doubt since Joe was the only one who heard it, he had apparently shot him to force him to confess and the confession was clearly false since no ship was ever found.
Joe was taken into custody and charged with possession of a stolen Iver Johnson Cadet revolver. Charges against him were dropped when he turned state's evidence and testified against Smitty who pleaded guilty and was sent to boot camp.
The case brought to light the existence of the Ritalin Club. The club house was shut down and Old Zeke, the kindly old man who allowed the boys to use his property, was fined thousands of dollars for zoning violations and for contributing to the delinquency of a minor for allowing kids to visit the propety past Bayport's 9 p.m. curfew.
Joe found himself a pariah among his fellow Ritalin users. Every day at school, when he and the others went to the nurse's office for their Ritalin, they would refuse to speak to him.
At home, Joe's older brother, Frank, was angry at him for going off an investigating without him and envious that Joe had broken up a spy ring by himself.
The Hardy boys' father, private detective Fenton Hardy, was upset that Joe had been arrested on gun charges. There were more problems when Fenton Hardy came under investigation on child abuse charges for allegedly slapping Joe around for getting arrested.
"If they charge me with domestic battery and convict me, that means I lose my gun lisence," Mr Hardy told Joe. "That means my career as a private detective will be over and our family will be financially ruined, thanks to you!"
Wong stayed in the United States for a few days before being deported to Taiwan.
One day, Joe was hanging around the house. The phone rang.
"Hardy residence," Joe said picking up the phone.
"Hello, Joe," a voice said. "You know who this is?"
"No."
"It's Wo Wong. I'm calling long distance. From Taiwan. I just called to say, 'Ha ha ha'. You never found your fat friend, did you?"
"No," Joe said simply.
"Ha!" Wong said. "You thought we were taking him to Taiwan!"
"You said you were a Taiwanese agent," Joe said.
"I'm not a Taiwanese agent. I'm an agent who happens to be Taiwanese."
"So where did you take Chet?" Joe demanded.
"Wouldn't you like to know!"
"How's your leg?" Joe asked bitterly.
"My leg--why you little--my leg is just fine, no thanks to you! I'm on medication. I have post-traumatic stress disorder because of you, you little--oh! Oh! I'm having a flashback! Oh no! No!"
Joe started making gun noises into the phone.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Wong screeched.
"Tell ne where Chet is!" Joe demanded.
"None of your business!" Wong said.
Joe made more gun noises.
Wong whimpered something in Chinese.
"Come on! Talk! Where is he?" Joe demanded.
Wong hung up.
