The Mark of the Blue Tattoo

by Franklin W. Dixon

Riley dropped a tip on the table and left. Joe looked over at Frank. After a moment they both laughed.

  “I guess we didn’t put anything over on him,” Joe said. “He knew we came here looking for him, and he had a pretty good idea why.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Frank said. “But did you notice? When I mentioned Sal Vitello, he didn’t react at all. I don’t think he even knew the name.”

  “But if Vitello is this mysterious crime boss Callie told us about, you wouldn’t expect the police to know him,” Joe pointed out.

  “The Lunatic . . .” Frank said in a faraway voice. “I wonder. . . .”

  “What?” Joe asked.

  Frank shook his head. “Think about what Con told us. Gangs are growing fast around here, but they’re not battling each other the way you’d expect. Doesn’t that sound as if what Callie learned from Stephanie is right? This Lunatic is getting the gangs to join together and become a supergang.”

  “You think it’s Marlon?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t know,” Frank admitted. “Marlon’s got the leadership abilities, but I don’t see members of other gangs going along with being led by the head of the Starz. There’s probably too much bad feeling already built up. Somebody from outside, who doesn’t have ties with any particular gang, might have better luck.”

  “Someone like Sal, you mean,” Joe said. “Or—I know this may sound crazy—someone like Aaron McCay. After all, his research for this so-called article has put him in touch with all the different gangs in the area. What if the article is just a cover for the Lunatic’s work?”

  Frank frowned. “I guess it’s possible,” he said. “But then why would he have told us about the pact between the Gimps and the Gutfighters?”

  Joe grinned. “You mean, the Mad Martians and the—what was it?—the Comets. Maybe he just felt like bragging about his latest success. Or maybe he really is a lunatic.”

  Frank stood up. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “But we’d better see if we can eliminate him. I doubt if we’ll be able to reach him until later, but we can use the computer to dig a little deeper.”

  The Hardys drove home and went to work.

  An hour later Joe straightened up from the computer monitor and said, “So what do we have?”

  Frank scanned his notes. “McCay’s not married. His driver’s license is fairly clean—one ticket for running a stop sign and one for speeding in the last two years. He has half a dozen credit cards, but he carries a big balance on only one of them and his payments are on time. Ditto his utility bills.”

  “One odd thing—his car was registered new just seven months ago, but there’s no record of an auto loan. Did he pay cash? And if he did, where did it come from? Most people don’t have that kind of lump sum sitting around.”

  “Numbers operators do,” Joe said. Then he added, “Face it, we don’t have anything here to tie McCay to criminal activity. If only—”

  The phone rang. Joe picked it up on the first ring.

  “What are you doing home?” It was Chet.

  “Answering the phone,” Joe said, then laughed at his own joke.

  “Now I’m not in the mood,” Chet said. “Listen, remember yesterday, when I told you Iola was feeling left out of the investigation? And you guys promised to find her something to do?”

  “Oh, right,” Joe said. “I’m sorry, Chet. I forgot. We’ll get on it right away.”

  “But that’s just it,” Chet said. “Iola went off first thing this morning to check out a lead over at Freddy Frost. I thought she was meeting you there. But if you’re home . . .”

  Joe felt the first stirring of fear. “I don’t know anything about it, Chet,” he said. “What was this lead she was going to check?”

  “She wouldn’t say,” Chet replied. “But she did say she’d be back by nine. Joe. That’s more than an hour ago, and she’s still not here. Something must have happened to her!”

  14 Iola Plays It Cool

  * * *

  Joe told Frank the shocking news that Iola was missing after going off to the Freddy Frost plant.

  “We’d better go over to the plant and check it out,” Frank said, looking worried. “Can Chet meet us there in fifteen minutes?”

  Joe passed on the request, and Chet agreed. As soon as he got off the phone, Joe told Frank, “I think we should bring Callie, too.”

  “I’ll call her,” Frank said, reaching for the phone. After a brief exchange, he hung up and said, “Okay. She’ll be waiting in front of her house. Let’s roll!”

  Fifteen minutes later Joe pulled up behind Chet’s car, and they got out. Chet hurried over to join them. “Iola’s car is parked up near the gate,” he blurted. “She must still be inside.”

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” Frank said. “We go in together. If Sal is there, Chet will distract him while Joe and I sneak inside and search for Iola.”

  “And, Callie,” Frank continued, “you’re our early warning signal. Stay to one side and keep a sharp lookout. If you spot anything that looks like trouble, yell at the top of your lungs.”

  “I think I can handle that,” Callie said. “They’ll be able to hear me down at the police station.”

  The four friends walked along the chain-link fence surrounding the Freddy Frost parking lot. The gate to the driveway was locked, but the smaller sidewalk gate stood ajar. They pushed through it. Frank motioned to Callie to move off to the left. While Chet walked openly toward the loading dock, Joe and Frank sneaked in, using the parked trucks as cover.

  Joe grabbed Frank’s arm. Sal had just walked out onto the loading platform and seen Chet. The Hardys ducked behind a truck and listened.

  “You’re here way too early, Morton,” Sal called. “I can’t let you take out a truck for another half hour.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Chet replied. “I wanted to get some help from you about our product line. Sometimes kids ask for stuff and don’t call it by the name we use. I don’t always know what to give them. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

  Joe peeped over the hood of the truck. Sal was walking down through the lot to the spot where Chet was standing. His back was to the Hardys. “Now!” Joe whispered. He sprinted between the trucks to the loading dock, then put both palms on the platform and vaulted up. He dashed inside and waited, flat against the inside of the loading-dock door, catching his breath. An instant later Frank ducked through the door.

  “I don’t think anybody spotted us,” Frank said, panting.

  Joe took a hasty look around. Just ahead were parallel rows of stainless steel machines. Pipes and plastic tubes linked them to tall insulated tanks along the side walls. A maze of roller belts led from one bank of machines to another. No one was in sight. Nothing moved.

  “Take the left aisle,” Frank breathed. “I’ll go right. Meet me at the back.”

  Joe nodded. He glanced both ways, then sprinted over to the left aisle and ducked behind a machine that smelled strongly of vanilla. He heard no shouts of discovery, only silence. He was more and more convinced that the plant was empty.

  Still keeping a watch to both sides, Joe straightened up and walked toward the far wall. Iola was nowhere in sight. Anger and hopelessness warred in Joe’s mind. If anyone had harmed Iola, he would pay them back with whatever it took. But where was she?

  Joe noticed four heavy wooden doors set into the back wall at regular intervals. Racks between every two doors held long, thick coats. Joe gave the wall a puzzled look, then muttered to himself, “Oh, sure. At an ice-cream plant, you have to have cold rooms.”

  Joe was starting to look around for Frank when a spot of color drew his attention. At the base of the machine closest to the back was a scrap of material. Joe hurried over and picked it up. It was a filmy scarf. He was certain he had seen it before, on Iola’s shoulders.

  A faint noise made him start. He spun around, his hands raised for combat. Frank was hurrying toward him. “She’s here somewhere,” Joe whispered, holding up the scarf. “See?
”

  Frank scanned the area. “Joe, look,” he said, pointing toward the nearest locker. “The door is wedged shut!”

  A triangular piece of wood had been jammed under the handle of the door latch. Joe looked left and right. None of the other locker doors was wedged that way.

  “Quick!” Joe said, dashing across to the door. “Iola may be in here!”

  Joe grasped the wedge and pulled, but the piece of wood was lodged in place. When he tried to wiggle it, it wouldn’t budge. Desperate, he took a step to the side, balanced on one foot, and kicked it with all his might. The wooden wedge tilted sideways. Another kick, and it clattered to the floor.

  Frank grabbed the door handle and pulled. The heavy door began to swing open, but too slowly for Joe. The moment the gap was wide enough, he darted inside, then stopped, stunned by the cold. “Iola?” he called into the pitch-black room. “Iola!”

  A shaft of light from the doorway penetrated the space and fell on Iola, huddled on the floor, clutching a blanket.

  Joe rushed over. “Iola! Are you okay!?”

  Frank was beside him, helping him lift a shivering Iola to her feet. Through chattering teeth, she spoke. “Joe? Frank? I was sure no one would come in time.”

  The two Hardys carried Iola out into the warmth of the plant. Gradually, the color returned to her face. She glanced from Frank to Joe. “Thanks for saving me from my own crazy scheme,” she said.

  “What happened?” Joe asked.

  “I thought I could find out something by searching the plant,” Iola said. “So I sneaked in a little while ago. The next thing I knew, somebody threw a blanket over my head and shoved me into this huge freezer. I tried to get out, but the door must have been jammed. I won’t tell you how I felt.”

  “I can imagine,” Joe said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “You didn’t get a look at whoever did this?”

  Iola shook her head. “Sorry. I can’t tell you a thing.”

  “I can tell you one thing,” Frank said. “We’re going to find them and see that they get what they deserve.”

  Joe heard a yell from the loading dock.

  “That’s Callie, warning us,” Frank said. “We have to get out of here fast!”

  Joe took Iola’s left arm and Frank took the right. They started running toward the doors. But before they were even halfway there, the aisle was blocked by a line of grim foes. One, the grimmest of them all, was Marlon Masters.

  “So you thought you could frame us,” Marlon called. “Make out that we’re some kind of crooks. That I’m some kind of crime boss. But we’re not sitting still for your dirty tricks.”

  Joe scanned the area, looking for an escape route. It was then that he noticed, to one side of the Starz, Chet, held firmly by Sal Vitello, and Callie, in the grasp of—Hedda Moon.

  “Come on, guys,” Marlon yelled. “Grab them!”

  The group of Starz started down the aisle. Joe reached over, grasped the handle of a cart stacked with steel milk cans, and gave it a shove. The cart careered ten feet, then scraped to a stop against a machine. The milk cans cascaded to the floor and rolled toward the Starz. By the time they had dodged around them, Joe, Frank, and Iola were almost to the back wall of the factory.

  Frank dashed into the freezer locker. When he reemerged, he had two big cardboard cartons in his arms.

  “Whatever’s in these,” he said, gasping, “throw it!”

  Joe grabbed a carton and ripped it open. He instantly recognized rows of Freddy Fudgies. Too bad—that was one of his favorite flavors, he thought as he pulled one out. It was frozen as hard as a rock. He launched it in the direction of the Starz. Not waiting to see where it landed or what effect it had, he grabbed another and threw it, too. Next to him, Frank and Iola were doing their part, using Rainbow Ripple cones as their ammunition. From down the aisle came cries of pain and anger as the missiles hit their mark.

  Frank shouted, “Hold it. Truce!”

  Joe stopped with a Freddy Fudgie in each hand.

  “Marlon?” Frank said, taking a step forward. “You think we’re trying to frame you and take over the Starz, right?”

  “You know it, you creep,” Marlon shouted back.

  “Then who is the Lunatic?” Frank countered. Silence.

  “Who made the Gutfighters become the Comets, and the Gimps become the Mad Martians?” Frank continued. “That was the Lunatic’s work, wasn’t it? And who decided that your name was going to be the Starz?”

  “We did,” Marlon said, in a voice that now sounded indecisive.

  “Oh, sure,” Frank said scornfully. “Don’t kid me. That was the Lunatic’s work, too. And it’s the Lunatic who’s been trying to frame you, to push you aside and take over the Starz, not us. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

  Marlon strode forward, ahead of his paralyzed troops. He stuck out his chin and stared at Frank. “Prove it—right now,” he said. “Or I’m going to grind you into a new flavor.”

  Frank gave a short laugh, then said, “How are you with Romance languages, Marlon? Don’t you know what a lunatic is? It’s someone who’s under the influence of . . .”

  Marlon’s face changed. In a low voice he said, “The moon.” He stood still for a moment. Then he whirled and pointed at Hedda Moon. “You? This is all your doing!”

  In the tense silence that followed, the scene looked to Joe like a still photo in an old album. Then Hedda released her grip on Callie and ran toward the loading dock. Joe was next to break the spell. He ran after her. He reached the open air just as Hedda jumped into the driver’s seat of the nearest Freddy Frost truck. The engine howled as the truck accelerated toward the closed gate.

  Joe reached deep inside himself and found a spare bit of energy. Sprinting as never before, elbows high and knees pumping, he dashed after the truck and leaped up onto the rear bumper. He flattened his body against the back of the truck and braced himself. He knew that at any moment the truck was going to crash into the factory gate.

  15 A Wild Ride

  * * *

  As the Freddy Frost truck picked up speed, Joe groped desperately for a handhold. He saw a narrow gap between the top of the rear door and the truck body. He wedged his fingertips into it—just in time. With a lurch, the truck crashed through the gate, then bottomed on its springs as it swerved onto the street.

  At the next rough movement, Joe knew he’d be thrown to the pavement. He had to find a better grip, but where? He craned his neck and saw the frame that encircled the roof and held the Freddy Frost lights and sign. How solid was the frame? he wondered. He knew he had no choice—the only way to find out was to try it.

  Tightening his left hand into a claw to strengthen his hold on the top of the door, Joe let go with his right hand and reached up as far as he could. His hand touched the front of the frame, but he couldn’t quite make it to the top edge. There was no time to hesitate. He crouched slightly, willed all the power into his legs, then leaped.

  Joe felt his feet leave the bumper. He shut his eyes, sure he was about to crash to the street. Then his right hand closed over the frame. For several terrifying seconds, he dangled by one arm. Then, with a grateful thought for every chin-up he had ever done, he pulled himself up far enough to grab hold with his left hand, too. Moments later he was hooking a foot over the frame and scrambling onto the roof of the truck.

  Joe took a moment to lie flat, catch his breath, and think through the situation. He was much safer now. Unless the truck rolled over, he was not in danger of being thrown off. But safety wasn’t the point. The goal was to stop Hedda Moon before anything more happened. And to do that, he needed to be inside the truck, not perched on the roof like it was a tour bus.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the interior as he had seen it when he searched Gus’s truck. Along the left wall were the freezers. The plastic service window was in the right wall, about four feet from the rear of the truck. Was there anything directly under it? Joe thought frantically. He only remembered a narrow shelf
and a cash box.

  Joe tightened his grip as the truck braked and turned left. Then he wiggled over to the right side of the roof and peered over the edge. The service window was directly below him, the top edge only a foot and a half down. But the window was closed. How strong was the plastic? He was about to find out.

  Like the trained athlete he was, Joe visualized each aspect of the move he was about to make. Then he took a deep breath, fastened both hands on the wooden framework, and launched himself over the side of the truck. As his body pivoted in space, he jackknifed at the waist and stiffened his legs. His high-tops hit the glass with enormous force, smashing the window.

  Joe let go of the roof, tucked one elbow in front of his face for protection, and straightened out. His body followed his feet and legs through the window and into the truck. But as it did, the back of his head banged against the shelf below the window. Joe slumped to the floor, dazed.

  The truck swerved one way, then the other. As he rocked back and forth, Joe tried to figure out what was going on. He struggled to his feet and staggered toward the driver’s seat. Hedda was swinging the wheel to the left, then the right, slaloming down the center of the street. Horns blared as cars coming the other way dodged out of the truck’s path.

  “You’ve ruined everything!” Hedda screamed over her shoulder to Joe. “But they won’t catch me. I’ll kill both of us first!”

  Joe saw through the windshield that they were only a block and a half from an intersection with a busy avenue. It looked as if Hedda might carry out her threat. Joe lunged forward and tried to grab the wheel, but Hedda elbowed him in the stomach. With a scream of tortured metal, the truck sideswiped a fire hydrant. Joe lost his balance and fell forward. His hands hit a switch on the dashboard. A moment later he heard a familiar melody start up. The words rang in his mind even while the truck was speeding toward a deadly crash.

  Freddy Frost is such a treat

  We bring dessert right to your street

  There wasn’t a moment to lose. Joe lunged again at the steering wheel. This time he changed the direction of his attack at the last moment. Taken by surprise, Hedda swayed off balance, leaving Joe the opening he was hoping for. He reached forward, grabbed the ignition key, and twisted it to Off. Then, for safety, he pulled out the key and threw it out the window.