Nowhere to Run

by Franklin W. Dixon

  A chilling thought flashed through Frank's mind. If it came down to a choice, would Joe stand by his friend and idol, Biker Conway, or his father, who had teamed up with a bounty hunter? Frank became determined that such a decision shouldn't have to be made.

  "The pits!" Joe suddenly slammed his hand on the dashboard.

  "I know," Frank replied. "But we'll solve this one — "

  "No," Joe interrupted. "Remember the pits? Where Biker used to practice?" "You mean the old quarry outside of town?" "Yeah. He could be camping there." Frank shook his head. "Too obvious." "Only if you know that Biker used to practice there, and Sims doesn't know Bayport, remember?" Joe looked at his brother. "It's worth a try."

  "Okay, we'll check it out." Frank turned the van toward the pits.

  Joe smiled. Just as he'd done three years earlier, he intended to clear Biker of a crime. He would put Sims in his place and prove to his father that Biker wasn't a thief.

  The pits consisted of five square miles of large and small holes left after a mining company had dug out all the profitable sandstone. The area of dirt and stones looked more like a moonscape or an air force bombing range than a part of Bayport. But it made a great motocross practice course.

  Frank and Joe parked the van, then split up and began to search from opposite ends of the quarry.

  Joe's high hopes of finding Biker at the pits soon vanished. He didn't see even a trace of evidence that Conway had been there. Frustrated, Joe kicked up a cloud of dust.

  "Hey!" Frank yelled as he jogged toward Joe. "I saw your smoke signals."

  "Find anything?" Joe asked, an expectant look on his face.

  "Nothing. You?"

  Joe shook his head.

  "It's getting dark," Frank said with a glance at the sky. "I called Callie on the mobile phone, and she's going to meet us at Mr. Pizza in half an hour. Let's eat something and brainstorm."

  "Yeah," Joe grunted and headed for the van.

  Frank shook his head. After girl-collecting, eating good food was Joe's favorite pastime. When even an invitation to a hot pizza supreme couldn't cheer Joe up, he was in a bad way.

  The sudden roar of an engine cut the air. Frank saw a big black cycle swerve out from behind a gravel mound and drive toward Joe. Lost in thought, Joe didn't notice the cycle or its black-clad rider.

  The cyclist had noticed Joe, though. He was aiming straight for him, hefting something in his hand.

  Frank stared for one quick second, wondering what was behind that reflective helmet. Then there was no time for thinking — only for acting. He leapt for Joe.

  Joe felt someone shove him from behind, so hard that he was lifted into the air before he fell— hard—to the ground. He jumped to his feet as a motorcycle roared past him and out of the quarry.

  Chapter 3

  JOE'S EYES WIDENED. "Frank!" he yelled, dropping to one knee.

  He gingerly brushed away the dust from his brother's head. The bleeding had almost stopped, but the area around the gash was starting to swell. What could have caused this? Joe wondered.

  Then he saw a small crowbar lying on the ground. "Another inch and it would have been over," he muttered.

  He pressed a handkerchief against Frank's temple.

  "Ouch!" Frank's eyes fluttered open.

  "You'll have a good lump there." Joe gave his brother a quick smile.

  But Frank didn't smile back. "Did you see who was driving that bike?"

  "Couldn't tell. First I wasn't paying any attention. Then the only thing I saw was dust." Joe picked up the crowbar and examined it. "This is a standard motorcycle tool."

  "Think it might have been Biker?" Frank forced the question out.

  Joe's eyes flashed. "No way. Why would he do that?"

  "I saw our attacker — he had the same type of motorcycle, same clothes. Who else do we know who dresses like that?"

  Joe frowned. "I didn't see anything. But I did hear the engine. It sounded terrible."

  "I was too busy saving you to listen. What does the sound of the engine mean?"

  Joe walked over to the tire tracks and followed them around the gravel mound. "Over here!" he yelled at Frank.

  Joe squatted down beside a black stain that stood out in the dead gray dirt of the quarry. He pinched some of the black stuff and rubbed it between his fingers.

  "Oil," he announced. "And it's hot, as if it had just leaked out of a running engine." He glanced around, then smiled. "Notice anything about the tire tracks?"

  "The tires are worn down, as if they'd been on a long trip." Frank was growing impatient.

  "Worn down?" Joe said. "They're bald. And the footprints next to them prove that the driver was wearing regular street shoes."

  "What's the point?"

  "You know Biker. He wouldn't ride his cycle with an oil leak like this, or let his tires wear down. And he wouldn't wear street shoes even for casual riding. He may not be serious about a lot of things, but cycling is his religion."

  "That was three years ago." Frank folded his arms across his chest.

  "Don't give me that big-brother routine," Joe spat out angrily. "You did that the last time I wanted to help Biker, and you looked pretty foolish then, too.

  Frank looked at the oil spot and the tire tracks and footprints. Then he looked at his brother.

  "Okay," he said with a sigh. "I'll go along with you for now. I just want to be sure that we aren't on the wrong side of the law this time. But if it wasn't Biker, who was it?"

  "Maybe the same person who framed Biker. Someone who wants to stop us from proving he's innocent."

  "Or someone who wants to nail Biker before we can help him," Frank countered.

  "What?"

  "No one knew we were coming out here. We came looking for Biker. I'd guess whoever attacked us must have been waiting for Biker, too.

  "We've got to find Biker and warn him." Joe raced for the van.

  "First, let's get Callie at Mr. Pizza," Frank said as he hopped in the passenger door.

  "She'll just get in the way," Joe protested.

  "We can find Biker faster with three of us looking," Frank replied sternly. Even after all Callie had done to help the Hardys, Joe was still reluctant to involve her. Maybe it was because she was Frank's girlfriend. Or maybe it was simply because she was a girl.

  The cool air of the Bayport Mall was a welcome relief to Frank's throbbing head. He didn't like Joe's automatic defense of Biker. If he began to get desperate, Joe might just do something stupid. Best to find Biker, get him to a safe place, and then concentrate on finding their attacker.

  They walked into Mr. Pizza, the aroma of spices, cheese, and pepperoni reminding them that they hadn't eaten. Callie was waiting at their favorite booth, impatiently tapping her straw on an empty soda glass.

  "It's about time you two — " Callie began. Then she noticed the lump on Frank's temple. "What happened?" she gasped.

  Frank quickly explained about meeting Mort Sims and their encounter in the pits with the mysterious rider.

  "I think your father's right," Callie said. "It looks as if Biker causes trouble wherever he goes."

  "His main trouble is getting blamed for stuff by people who don't know him," Joe shot back.

  "Settle down, Joe," Frank said with a frown. "No need to start jumping down our throats."

  "Everyone's treating Biker like a hardened criminal," Joe said. "How can he expect us to help him if Callie and Dad are trying to put him back in jail?"

  "I didn't say I wanted him back in jail," Callie said. "I only — "

  "Excuse me," interrupted a tall, dark-haired young man wearing a leather cycle jacket. "The manager said you two are Frank and Joe Hardy."

  The guy's jacket didn't really go with his pretty-boy good looks. He actually had a dimple in his chin, and his hair was carefully styled.

  Joe was ready to tell the guy to beat it when he noticed a pretty auburn-haired girl standing next to him. Her blue jumpsuit showed off a great figure, and her green eyes we
re fixed on Joe — a nice feeling, since she had to be twenty-one or twenty-two.

  "Can we help you?" Frank asked cordially, relieved that the verbal battle between Joe and Callie had reached a temporary cease-fire.

  "My name is Brandon Dalton. This is Sue Murphy," he said with a nod toward the auburn-haired girl.

  "Hi." Sue gave them a shy smile.

  "Dalton," said Frank thoughtfully. "Any relation to Scott Dalton?"

  "My father," Brandon replied. "You must be Frank." He stuck his hand out toward the older Hardy. "And you must be Joe. I'm told you're just about the best detectives around."

  Brandon's pale blue eyes rested on Callie. "And who's your friend?" he asked with a big smile.

  "This is Callie Shaw," Frank said, aware of Brandon's admiring stare at Callie.

  "Who told you we were detectives?" Joe asked as Brandon and Sue squeezed into the booth.

  "A close friend of both of ours," Brandon said. "Biker Conway. He means a lot to us at the watch company, and we want to find him before Sims does."

  "Yeah. I'm — we're afraid that if Sims finds Biker first—well ... " Sue's voice broke off.

  "Sims has a rotten reputation," Brandon said flatly. "We want to make sure Biker doesn't get hurt."

  "How did you know we were here?" Frank asked.

  "We stopped off at your house and spoke with your father," Brandon replied. "Sims told my dad yesterday that he suspected Biker might hide out in Bayport. We — that is, Sue and I—decided to follow him and make sure Sims brings Biker back in one piece." Brandon leaned back, unzipping his riding jacket. "You see, I'm his best friend, and Sue is his fiancee."

  Joe felt a pang of disappointment. Then he silently congratulated Biker on having great taste in women.

  "I'm the vice-president in charge of sales," Brandon said, folding his arms over his chest. "Sue works in the records and accounts section. I persuaded my dad to put up the bail money. No one really believed that Biker stole that shipment of watches, but when he escaped and used the company's charge account for running money, my dad blew his top. He hired this Sims character to track Biker down."

  Brandon shook his head. "In Queens, they call Sims 'Old Dead-or-Alive.' He's a real hard-nosed character."

  "We want to try to find Biker, talk him into coming back to appeal his case," Sue added softly, leaning forward.

  "That's what we had in mind," Joe said. He liked the smile Sue gave him. "I don't think Frank and I will have too much trouble discrediting the evidence."

  "We're not sure what we're going to do yet," Frank said, more to Joe than to anyone else.

  "I don't know—the evidence seemed pretty conclusive," Brandon said. "The defense attorney did say that the money in the bank account and the watches in Biker's garage could have been planted. But after Nick Frost testified, everyone seemed convinced that Biker was guilty."

  "Nick Frost?" Frank murmured to himself as if he had heard the name before somewhere.

  "He was the driver of the truck that was hijacked — the eyewitness," Brandon said.

  "He lied," Joe growled.

  "To prove that, we'll have to find Frost," Sue said.

  "He's missing?" Callie asked.

  "About the same time that Biker escaped, Frost disappeared also," Brandon said. He suddenly rose. "If you'll excuse me, I have to call the company and check in with my dad."

  "There's a pay phone by the counter," Callie told him.

  "Thanks, babe." Brandon winked, and Callie blushed a deep red.

  "Have you known Biker long?" Joe asked Sue.

  "Almost three years." Sue stared at the table, twisting a paper napkin in her hands. "Practically from the day he began working at DalTime. At first I thought he was just a macho jerk."

  "What made you change your mind?" Callie asked. Joe glared at her, but she just wrinkled her nose at him.

  "Underneath all that leather and motorcycle oil is a gentle, caring man."

  "When do you plan on being married?" Callie went on.

  "Callie ... " Joe said sternly.

  Sue fought back a sob. "Last week." She wiped her eyes with the napkin and turned to Joe, a fragile smile on her face. "Biker told me a lot about you."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. When he was teaching me about bike riding, he'd tell stories about this gawky kid who used to bug him about engines."

  Joe felt his face turn hot from embarrassment.

  "I think he made most of it up," Sue said.

  "Was there any evidence that Biker was innocent?" Frank wanted to get back on track.

  "I was called as a defense witness." Sue turned to Frank, her voice low. "Biker had been — " Sue finished her sentence in a scream.

  Frank, Joe, and Callie turned to look where Sue was staring.

  Biker Conway had Brandon Dalton pinned to the floor, his fist drawn back to let loose with a crushing blow.

  Chapter 4

  TONY PRITO, the manager of Mr. Pizza, was the first to reach Biker and Brandon. He grabbed for Biker first, but Biker shrugged him off, thrusting Tony against the counter.

  "Tony—" Frank began as he came up.

  Tony was a friend of the Hardys, but right then his temper was up. "You know this clown? Well, tell him I'm calling security." Tony jumped over the counter and picked up his phone.

  "Biker, stop!" Joe yelled.

  "Back off, Joe," Biker growled. "This is between me and Dalton."

  Joe was stunned by the fury in Biker's voice.

  Dalton's handsome face was white with fear.

  He looked at Frank with pleading eyes. "Get this maniac off me!"

  "This isn't doing you any good," Frank said. The growing crowd of gawkers worried him.

  "I'm tired of everyone telling me what's good for me." Biker's fist was still cocked, but he hadn't punched yet.

  "The security guards are on their way, pal," Tony shouted from behind the counter.

  "Let's get out of here, Biker," Joe said quickly. Biker wouldn't budge.

  "Biker, please." Sue's voice was the only calm element in the rising storm.

  Biker looked up, embarrassed. He lowered his fist and stood. Frank pulled Brandon up.

  "Here come the guards," someone yelled.

  Joe grabbed Biker's jacket sleeve and jerked him out the back exit of Mr. Pizza.

  "Joe!" Frank shouted. He let go of Brandon and bolted after his brother. Joe's impulsiveness would lead him straight to jail.

  Frank plunged down a dark flight of stairs to the loading dock. Voices led him toward the indoor parking garage of the mall. As he sprinted past a support pillar, an arm reached out and grabbed him around the throat.

  "Joe! Hold it! It's Frank," yelled Biker.

  Joe let go of his brother. "Sorry. I thought you were one of the security men."

  "And what if I was?" Frank shouted. "Would you have punched me out?"

  "I might have," Joe shouted back.

  "What's wrong with you?"

  "I'm trying to help Biker."

  "How? By helping him escape? Remember what Dad said. We're to hold on to him and call Sims."

  "You think turning Biker over to that bounty hunter is a good idea?" Joe's face turned a blazing red. "You heard what Dalton said about that guy."

  "That's not our decision."

  "Biker was framed!"

  "I agree with you, Joe. But we've got to do this the right way or we could all end up in jail. In the eyes of the law, Biker's still an escaped felon. You're helping him escape."

  "And you're turning your back on a friend, handing him over to a bloodthirsty bounty hunter."

  Frank shoved Joe back against a Dumpster. Brother or not, Joe wasn't going to accuse him of being a coward or betraying a friend. Joe charged Frank.

  Biker stepped in, holding the brothers away from each other. "Knock it off, you two. I don't need this kind of help."

  Frank and Joe stared at each other until they heard running footsteps.

  Callie came dashing up. Breathless
, she gasped, "The security guys just entered Mr. Pizza. They'll be heading down here in a second."

  Without hesitation, Joe and Biker raced for the van in the parking lot.

  "You stay with Sue and Brandon," Frank said to Callie. "See if you can find out more about them and Biker." He backed toward the van. "I'll call you as soon as I can straighten out this crazy mess."

  By the time Frank reached the van, Joe had slipped on Biker's jacket and gloves, and had the key's to Biker's cycle clutched in his hand.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Frank asked.

  "No time," Joe said, slipping on the black helmet and visor.

  Two security men were coming down the stairs. One pointed at the group, and both men ran for them.

  "You take Biker for a ride," Joe ordered, his voice reverberating in the echo chamber of the helmet. "I'll call you on the mobile phone once I get rid of the guards." He dashed to Biker's Harley before Frank could protest.

  Frank made a move toward Joe, but decided against it as the guards drew closer. He hopped into the van and fired it up. He put the van in drive but kept his foot on the brake.

  "What are we waiting for?" Biker asked.

  "We're not going to leave Joe here if he can't get away," Frank replied.

  Joe jumped on the Harley and jammed the key into the ignition. He punched the start button and the engine rumbled to life. The guards changed direction, turning from the van to the bike. Joe kicked up the stand. The guards were only twenty yards away. He squeezed in the hand clutch, pushed the foot lever to first, and twisted the throttle full open. The engine roared with power. When Joe popped the clutch, the Harley burned rubber and shot off through the underground garage.

  Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Joe watched the guards recede and finally disappear. He crossed the parking lot, then raced up a ramp to the street. Joe planned to ride in circles and then head for the outskirts of town to call Frank.

  Frank. Joe was shocked at how he had accused his brother of being less than loyal. But how could Frank cautiously step back when a friend needed help?

  The glaring headlights of a beat-up old Chevy flashed in Joe's rear-view mirror. Joe made a right turn — the car followed. He sped up—so did the Chevy. Joe could see the shadowy forms of two men in the car's front seat.