Nightmare in Angel City

by Franklin W. Dixon

  With a tortured whine of metal scraping cement, Joe backed the van out of the alley, leaving trails of silver paint along the alley wall. Frank and Callie followed him out, and were waiting for him when Joe climbed out of the van.

  "Who was driving?" Joe asked. "Patch or the policeman?"

  "We didn't get a chance to look," Frank replied. "Our next job is going to be finding out who this so-called policeman is."

  "How do we do that?" Callie said. "Head for Meteoric Studios?"

  "No," Frank said sternly. "Joe and I go. You go into hiding, somewhere safe." Callie got ready to argue.

  Joe stepped in. "Frank, you know under most circumstances I'd agree with you. But you know Callie's not going to leave the city. It's her case, her story. We'd never let anyone cut us out of a case, and you know Callie's no different. Anyway, there's nowhere for her to go. She wasn't safe with the street people, and she won't be safe with her aunt. At least with us she'll be protected."

  For a long moment Frank stared at Joe. "Okay," he said finally. Callie smiled.

  "Thanks, Joe," she said.

  "Don't mention it," Joe replied. "And I mean that. Don't ever mention it again."

  In a valley between two mountains in the Hollywood Hills lay Meteor Town. In the 1970s it had almost closed, saved at the last minute by the surprise success of one of its low-budget movies. Since then Meteoric Studios had grown to be one of the largest film production companies in the world, so large that now it brought in thousands of tourists daily.

  Frank stood at the ticket booth at the main gate. "Three adult tickets, please," he said politely. When money and tickets had changed hands, he joined Joe and Callie at the entrance.

  "We're in," said Joe. "Any ideas on where we start looking for this policeman?"

  "I think we should join a tour group," Frank said. "They'll take us everywhere, and that way we won't attract any attention. Just three more tourists sight-seeing." Callie had her sunglasses propped on her head. Frank gently lowered them over her eyes, saying, "Keep yourself disguised as much as possible. Remember, the cop knows what you look like. We don't want to tip him off."

  Callie removed the sunglasses and put them in her purse. "He knows your faces too. Who'll blow whose cover? Anyway, what are the odds we'll run into him?"

  "That's just it," Joe reminded her. "We won't know until it's too late. We don't really know what he looks like now, without his sunglasses and mustache, only what he looked like ten years ago."

  Silently, the three of them got in line behind a group of people being corralled into small railway cars. The small railway, Frank could see, looped all through Meteor Town. In keeping with the studio's outer-space image, the cars were designed as rocket ships, with a dozen or so people to a car. Frank, Callie, and Joe got into the first car and sat down. Metal bars folded down over their laps to keep them in their seats.

  "You may get out at each rocket stop," said the tour guide, a slender, dark-haired woman in a shiny silver suit who stood at the front of the rocket. "But while the rocket is in motion, it's very important you stay seated for your own safety."

  ;· She cleared her throat. "Welcome to the Meteoric Studios tour. For the next two hours you'll be learning all about the wonderful world of movies, and how the things you see on the big screen are done. There will be a refreshment stop halfway through, and if we're lucky, we may see some actual filming. If you have any questions, be sure to ask. Now, if everyone's ready, let's blastoff." She sounds like she's reading a script, Joe thought. A loud roar came over the loudspeakers then a hiss like a rush of air, and the car lurched forward, throwing everyone back in their seats. After a second the pressure died, and the car wobbled slowly along the tracks.

  To his left Joe saw a small arena, where other tourists were gathered to watch stunt cars crashing.

  The rocket train chugged along the edge of the Meteor Town parking lot, then turned sharply to the left. Suddenly the car sped up, rushing headlong toward solid rock ahead. Surprised passengers began to scream and tug at the braces holding them in their seats, but the braces held firm.

  The rock parted into strips of cloth that spread harmlessly around the car, and the train pass through a man-made tunnel.

  "You've been tricked by illusions," the tour guide revealed. "We never sped up. Images were projected onto a screen," — she gestured at the strips of cloth now hanging straight down again to look like a solid wall — "and we increased the speed at which those images changed."

  "In other words," Frank piped up, "because it looked like we were going faster, we thought it felt like we were going faster."

  "Right," said the tour guide, looking at him approvingly. Frank smiled back at her, and Callie gave him a slight nudge with her elbow.

  They left the tunnel and stopped in front of a concrete building, with large sliding doors, that looked like an airplane hangar. The train's seat braces slid aside. "Everyone follow me," the tour guide said. The group filed into the building and stood in front of a stage.

  A blond young man in a jumpsuit, with a smile as bright as the tour guide's, stepped onto the stage. He wore a holster with a six-shooter in it. "Hi," he said loudly, and all the tourists shouted, "Hi!" back. "I'm Peter," he continued. "Ever wonder how we do those shootouts on television?" A resounding yes roared from the group, and the young man named Peter rambled on.

  As Peter spoke, a rope dropped from the ceiling behind him, and a ninja, garbed head to toe in black, slithered down it to the floor. The audience made warning noises, but Peter seemed not to notice. Drawing a sword from a scabbard strapped to his leg, the ninja raised it to plunge into Peter's back.

  Suddenly Peter drew his six-gun and spun. Two shots went off, and the ninja fell backward, blood spreading across his chest. The hall filled with screams.

  The ninja leapt to his feet, and he and the young man bowed to the crowd. "That was done with something we call a squib," said Peter. He set the six-shooter down behind him and drew a small wad out of his pocket as the ninja left the stage. "It's a little packet of jelly with a tiny explosive charge that we sew into clothing. When a gunshot using blanks is fired, these little packs of jelly are exploded with a radio signal. It makes it look like someone has been shot. Come on, I want two volunteers to try it."

  No one moved, but the tour guide stepped behind Frank and Joe and cocked her head toward them. "How about you?" Peter asked Frank and Joe, and amid a hail of applause the Hardys took the stage.

  Peter slipped a quilted jacket onto Joe. "This young man wears a jacket filled with squibs," he told the audience. He stepped to Frank and handed him the gun. "Now this young man is going to kill him, just as he would on TV."

  As Peter cried, "Ready!" Frank aimed the gun. "Aim!"

  Joe grinned broadly and swaggered a little, hamming it up for the audience. Then he looked back at Frank and his grin froze. He blinked in astonishment. Frank didn't have the prop six-gun in his hands, but a .44 revolver. The gun aimed at his chest was real.

  "Frank — " he cried, reaching out toward his brother.

  "Fire!" commanded Peter.

  Frank's finger squeezed the trigger.

  Chapter 12

  THE GUNSHOT ROARED in Joe's ears. He felt something explode against his chest, knocking him backward. Stunned, he staggered two paces, touched his hand to his collarbone, and looked at the smear leaking across his fingers.

  Red jelly. The gun was a phony after all.

  "Quite a kick, eh?" said Peter cheerfully, and the audience began to laugh and clap. He slipped the squib jacket off Joe. "Even the tiny blast you get from a squib will make you totter if you're not ready for it. Our actors are trained so that they know what to expect." He shook hands first with Joe, then with Frank, and led them to the stairs and off the stage. "Let's have a big round of applause for my two partners."

  "Frank, you're as white as a ghost," Callie said as the Hardys returned to the floor. "It was just a stunt."

  "Callie," Frank began, then turned
to look at Joe with horrified eyes. He whispered, "You know, I almost killed you just now. That was a real gun."

  "I thought so." A shiver rippled through Joe. "I suspected it was, but when nothing happened..."

  "You didn't see what I saw," Frank continued. "I wasn't aiming at you. I'd never do that, not even as a joke. I shot to one side, and I saw dust fly up where the bullet hit the wall. We're just lucky a curtain kept the audience from seeing. It was real all right."

  "I doubt that forty-fours are a regular part of the act," Joe concluded. "That means we've been spotted."

  "This way," the tour guide said, pointing the tourists out the door. "We have lots more to see before we go back to the rockets."

  Frank and Joe hung back, watching as the rest of the audience left. "Go with them, Callie," Frank said. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "We'll catch up as soon as we can, but someone needs to stick with the tour in case we don't find anything."

  "Oh, all right," Callie said with a sigh. "Be careful."

  "We will," Frank replied. "Whatever you do, don't get separated from the tour."

  After one last, doubtful look, Callie followed the others out. Frank and Joe started back up to the stage as Peter reappeared from the curtains.

  "What are you boys doing here?" he asked uncertainly. "The tour's moved on." Peter wasn't smiling now.

  "We want to talk to you about your gun," Frank said.

  Suddenly Peter spun and bolted through the curtains. The Hardys ran up the stairs, pushing through the black cloth backing the stage. The backstage area was cluttered with mannequins and half-finished sets. Smears of paint had been carelessly left everywhere. "There he goes!" said Joe as Peter ducked behind some woodwork. Sprinting, Joe began closing the gap between them. Peter reached an emergency door. It swung open, and Joe knew they'd lose him if Peter got outside.

  He dove, sliding across the smooth, paint-spattered floor, and tackled Peter. They fell together to the floor. Desperately, Peter kicked Joe away. Joe scrambled to his feet and watched in awe as Peter performed a perfect backflip. In one motion he stood up and swung at Joe. Joe ducked the blow and slammed his fist into the young man's stomach, forcing the wind out of him. Peter dropped to his knees, clutching his gut.

  "Now can we talk about the gun?" Joe asked as he and Frank surrounded him.

  Still kneeling, Peter held up his hand. "I didn't know it was real," he said. "Not until you shot it during the act."

  "You didn't seem too surprised about it," Joe said, and raised his fist menacingly.

  "It's part of my job," Peter protested. "Even when things don't go right I have to make everything seem routine."

  "Is killing tourists routine around here?" Joe shouted at him. "How come it happened when we were onstage? Why'd you choose us?"

  "I didn't," Peter said. "I follow signals. The tour guides figure out who's the likeliest to go along with us, and they point out volunteers to me.

  "So our tour guide set us up?"

  "I don't know," Peter insisted. "She checked with Mr. Bates first, and he okayed it."

  "Bates?" Frank said, puzzled. "Who's that?"

  Peter stared at him. "You never heard of Stuart Bates? He's chairman of the board. He runs Meteoric Studios."

  "Why would he bother with something like this?" Joe asked.

  "He likes to come around to watch the crowds," Peter explained. "I don't know why. He never talks to me."

  "You saw him okay us for the act?"

  "It was funny. It looked to me like he suggested you, and your guide went along with it."

  Frank took it all in. "When did Bates take over Meteoric Studios?"

  "Eight or nine years ago," Peter said. "He saved the studio when it was about to go bankrupt. He financed the picture that put Meteoric back on its feet."

  Joe unclenched his hand. To Frank he said, "Remember what we heard? That was almost a decade ago."

  Frank nodded. "Two million dollars would go a long way toward financing a small movie. I bet the chairman of the board can get into the wardrobe anytime he wants "So he gets us into a deadly situation and switches the gun," Joe guessed. "Makes sense."

  "No," said Peter. "Mr. Bates was in the audience the whole time. He couldn't have touched the gun."

  Both of them turned to Peter. Joe grabbed his collar and jerked him to his feet. "You've been lying to us. You were the one who rigged the gun."

  "No!" Peter insisted. "I don't touch the guns. It's Jim. The ninja. He sets up all the props."

  "So where — " Joe began. But he had no chance to finish.

  "Joe," Frank yelled.

  A black-gloved hand had shoved a stiletto through a flat that Joe was standing in front of.

  Joe threw himself to the floor and rolled away just in time to see the knife slash down at him.

  Frank caught the hand, slammed it twice against his leg, and the hand dropped the knife. Joe kicked it away. With a shout Frank spun and jerked the arm over his shoulder. The ninja tore through the flat and landed with a thud on his back.

  He kicked up, catching Frank in the shin and knocking him off balance. Joe clipped the ninja in the arm with a right hook, and the ninja stumbled back, stopping in front of a chair. He picked it up and brought it down hard against Joe's shoulder.

  Joe stood there, as surprised as the ninja was that he was unharmed. "A breakaway chair," he said amazed. "Another prop."

  The ninja ducked Joe's punch, only to walk into a karate chop from Frank. He reeled back into some more flats. Frantically, he pulled on them, and they cascaded down on the Hardys. By the time Frank and Joe freed themselves, the ninja was gone.

  "That solves the mystery of the switched guns," Joe said, getting to his feet. He picked up the fallen switchblade. "At least he lost his toothpick."

  "Oh, no," said Peter. His eyes rested on a young man, who lay unconscious in his underwear, bound and gagged behind the fallen screens. "That's Jim!"

  "Then who was in the ninja suit?" Frank wondered out loud. Quickly, they untied the young man and slapped his cheek to wake him up. His eyes finally fluttered open.

  "Who did this to you?" Joe asked.

  "Never saw him before," the young man said weakly. "Never."

  "You'll be okay," Frank comforted. "What did he look like?"

  "Didn't see much. Only a patch over an eye."

  Frank and Joe looked at each other in dismay. "Patch!" said Frank. To Peter he said, "Can you take care of your friend?"

  "Sure."

  "How do we get to where the tour is now?"

  "They should be looking at the computerized special effects generators now," Peter said. He gave them directions, and the Hardys ran through the emergency door.

  "Great," said Joe. "If we're right about Bates, we've got two killers loose on the grounds."

  "And we left Callie alone." Frank's voice was tight as he led the way. "We've got to find her." They reached another building and flung open the door.

  The tour was gathered around a television screen, watching pictures of people chosen from their group being projected into computer-generated backgrounds. Frank grabbed the tour guide's arm.

  "Where's Callie?" he whispered.

  Confused, she replied, "Who?"

  "The girl I came with," he snapped impatiently. "She's supposed to be here."

  The tour guide gazed across the crowd and pointed toward an open door at the far end of the hall. "She was over there just a minute ago. I have to ask you not to leave the tour again. If there's any problem — "

  Before she could finish, Frank hurried out the door. It opened onto a small green lawn lined with food stands. Frank turned in circles, surveying the area, but Callie was nowhere.

  "Callie," he called out. There was no answer. "Callie!"

  "Frank," Joe said. He stopped by a waste basket, pulled out a videocassette, and held it up for Frank to see.

  Frank's heart sank. "She would never have given that up unless she — unless she — "

&
nbsp; He couldn't bring himself to say it. Callie was gone.

  Chapter 13

  "HEY!" A MAN in a work suit shouted. "You can't go in there!"

  Callie Shaw ignored the warning. Her lungs burned and her legs ached from running, and she needed a place to rest. From the moment she had seen Patch, dressed all in black except for his head, she had been on the move, racing from set to set in Meteor Town.

  The sign on the barricade said Out of Order. No Admittance. Recklessly, Callie climbed over the gate, rolled onto the ground, and looked behind her to see if the man decided to pursue her. She was safe. And there was no sign of Patch.

  She relaxed and sat with her back to the gate.

  Would anyone find the tape, she wondered. Even if Patch caught her, she suspected, he wouldn't kill her until he knew where it was. If she escaped, chances were she could collect it before anyone noticed it was there. In the meantime she had time to think. Had Patch run into Frank and Joe? If so, what had he done with them?

  Just then a black-gloved hand clapped onto her shoulder through the chain-link gate, and Callie screamed. "Callie," Patch whispered triumphantly. "Come out and play." His fingers dug into her skin.

  She drove her fingernails into the back of Patch's hand. He snapped it away, and Callie was on her feet, running again. She didn't need to look to know Patch would quickly be over the fence and on her trail.

  Think, she told herself as she ran for her life. What would Frank and Joe do?

  She came to the top of a hill. Below were the tracks for the tourist trains. She scampered toward them. Eventually, the tracks would loop back to the exit, showing her the way out.

  All I have to do, she told herself, is stay ahead of Patch until I get there. Easy to think, she knew from experience, but harder to do.

  The tracks led into the set of a small town. To her left Callie saw a library, and to her right a town hall with a bell tower on top. The streets were lined with stores: a five-and-dime, a pharmacy, a grocer's at the end of the block. Quickly, she dashed across the square and up the steps of the town hall.