Crime in the Cards

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He laid the cards out on the table, fanned through them, and plucked out one showing a picture of a large monster that looked like a giant robot. “Check this,” Tim said. “Titanium Titan, very rare, very powerful. Might even give me the edge I need against your Bargeist, Chet.”

  The Hardys and the girls glanced uncomfortably at one another, realizing that Tim didn’t know about Chet’s cards. Chet’s eyes, though, remained fixed on Tim’s deck, fanned out on the table.

  Suddenly Chet’s hand flashed out and grabbed one of the cards from the deck. He held it up just inches from Tim’s face. Frank and Joe saw that it was a Coyote card—one of the ones Chet had lost.

  “Where did you get this?” Chet angrily asked Tim. “Did you steal it from me?”

  4 Dungeon Guild

  “What are you talking about?” Tim asked, flustered.“Someone stole Chet’s cards out of Mr. Pane’s desk,” Joe said.

  “You mean you didn’t get your cards back?” Tim asked Chet.

  Chet wasn’t listening, though. His face was still red with anger. “Where did you get this Coyote?” he asked. “They’re very rare. Mine was the only one in Bayport.”

  “Well, not anymore,” Tim said, getting angry himself. “I picked that up at the Dungeon Guild just forty-five minutes ago. Do you want to see my receipt?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Frank said.

  Scowling, Tim fished into his pocket again. “Wait a minute,” Chet said, the color of his round face returning to normal. “This isn’t my card. Itdoesn’t have that ketchup stain in the corner. Oh, man! I’m sorry, Tim. I’m just so upset about my deck.”

  “How did your cards get stolen?” Tim asked.

  “Someone picked the lock on Mr. Pane’s desk and took them,” Callie offered.

  “Hold on a second,” Joe said. “What’s this about a ketchup stain?”

  “Well . . .” Chet said sheepishly, “I was so excited when I got the Coyote in a card pack, that I got kind of careless. I was eating a burger while I rearranged my deck to fit the Coyote in. Some ketchup dripped out of the bun and on to the cards. I blotted it off, but you could still see a red stain.”

  “I remember,” Tim said. “When you showed me the Coyote I thought the stain was blood.”

  “Yeah, the same drop of ketchup spilled on the corner of one of my White Knights, too.” Chet shrugged sheepishly. “It’s not as though the stain affects game play—it just makes the card worth less if I wanted to sell it.”

  “You gotta be more careful with your cards once you get them back,” Tim said. “You’ve got a lot of dough tied up in that deck.”

  “I’m not in this for the money,” Chet said. “I’m in it for thefame.”Then his face saddened again. “Right now, though, I’m not in it at all.”

  “So, there’s no chance this card is one of yours, then?” Joe asked.

  “No, I’m sure it’s not mine,” Chet answered. “Sorry I lost it with you, Tim.”

  Tim nodded. “That’s okay, Chet. I understand. I’d be on edge, too, if I lost my deck. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

  “You said you got the Coyote at the Dungeon Guild,” Frank said to Tim. “Did you buy it singly, or pick it up in a pack?”

  “I bought it as a single,” Tim said. “The odds of another pack with a Coyote showing up are pretty slim. There aren’t that many Coyotes in the whole country, and the packs are distributed randomly. For two to show up in Bayport . . . Well, I’m sure the odds are against it.”

  “If they’re so rare, how’d the Dungeon Guild happen to have a single one to sell you?” Frank asked.

  Tim shrugged. “You’d have to ask Ron Felix—he owns the shop. Probably he got it through his network, though.”

  “People all over the country trade and sell cards,” Chet explained. “A lot of them use the Internet, but there’s plenty of trading by phone and in person, too.”

  “You’d be surprised how far a card can travel if the right money is involved,” Tim said, smiling. “Before the crackdown, a lot of trading happened in school, too.”

  Just then Pete Kaufmann walked into the pizzeria. He started for the pick-up window but changed direction when he spotted Chet.

  “Hey, Morton,” he said as he walked up to the table. “I heard that your deck got ripped off.”

  Joe’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you know about thetheft?” the younger Hardy asked. “We came here right after it happened.”

  “I was in the gym for fencing practice when Mr. Pane came in and talked to Coach Fazzio about it. Pane wanted all the teachers to keep an eye out for your deck.” Pete smiled smugly and turned to Chet. “I guess that puts you out of the tournament, Morton. Too bad. Not that you stood a chance against me.”

  Chet stood defiantly. “Hey, I’m not out of it yet,” he said. “I’ve got enough cards at home to enter, and there’s plenty of time between now and then to replace what I need.”

  “We’re going to help him, too,” Iola added defensively.

  “Ooh! I’m scared,” Pete said sarcastically. He turned and headed for the pick-up window.

  “Remember, Kaufmann,” Chet called after Pete, “it’s theplayerwho wins the games—not the cards.”

  “Hard to win a game without any cards,” Pete shot back. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he said it.

  Chet glared at Pete’s back as Pete picked up his order and walked out the door.

  When the pizzas arrived everyone dug in, eating quietly for a while. Finally Chet broke the silence. “Man, Pete really bugs me sometimes.”

  “That’s probably part of his strategy, big brother,” Iola said. “Pete’s one of those guys who likes to win at any cost. I’ve seen him fence. He’s ruthless.”

  “You got that right, Iola” Tim said. “Pete boasts thathe’s got over two thousand dollars tied up in his decks.”

  “He has more than one deck?” Joe asked.

  “Lots of people do,” Tim replied. “Before a tournament, they size up the competition, and then choose their card mix. I’ve got a couple of decks myself.”

  “I haven’t been at it long enough to have more than one good deck,” Chet said. “That’s why I keep my spare cards—to make an extra deck when I can.”

  “That makes sense,” Joe said. “The same way you might change the tune-up of your car for different types of races.”

  “What about Daphne,” Frank asked. “Do you know if she has another deck?”

  “She might,” Chet replied. “Though I’ve only seen her use the one.”

  “So, Chet,” Tim said, “if you’ve got a bunch of basic cards, maybe you can pick up some of the rest you need at the Dungeon Guild. Ron got a fresh supply of cards in today.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Frank said. “I’d like to talk to the owner—make sure he knows that Chet’s cards have been stolen.”

  “With his connections, maybe he could get a line on Chet’s deck,” Joe added.

  “I have to inventory my cards at home before I go,” Chet said, “to figure out what I need.”

  “I’d be glad to help with that,” Tim offered.

  “Ha! I bet you would,” Chet shot back playfully.“That way you’d know exactly what cards you needed to beat me.”

  “Well, if you don’t want my help . . .” Tim said in a hurt tone.

  Seeing that Tim had taken him too seriously, Chet said, “I’m only kidding, Tim. But, if you want to help, we could have some tune-up games—after I start rebuilding. Maybe tomorrow, even. Tonight, Iola can help me inventory my cards.”

  “My brother doesn’t think I have anything better to do than to help him count cards,” Iola said, rolling her eyes. Joe smiled at his girlfriend and gave her hand a supportive squeeze.

  “Well, I know that the rest of you are super-brains who never have to study,” Callie said, “but I’ve got AP biology homework. I really should go home. You guys can call me later if you need help, though.”

  “I’d still like to talk to the
Dungeon Guild owner tonight,” Frank said. “Tomorrow at school we can speak with Gerry Wise about the theft.”

  “He probably already knows,” Chet said glumly.

  “That doesn’t mean he couldn’t help us out,” Frank said. “If he sells cards regularly, maybe he’ll hear something. We’ll talk to some of the other players, too.”

  Joe stood. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll drop the three of you at the school parking lot to pick up your cars. Then Frank and I will go talk to the shop owner.”

  “Sounds good,” Chet said, boxing up the leftover pizza.

  “Can we drop you anywhere, Tim?” Frank asked as they were leaving.

  “Nah,” Tim said. “I parked my bike up the street. With the weather being so warm, I can use the exercise.”

  “Good idea,” Joe said. “It won’t stay warm much longer.”

  Tim said goodbye, and the Hardys drove the others back to their cars. On the way, Chet made up a list of his most valuable missing cards so that the Hardys could alert the owner of the Dungeon Guild to look for them.

  It was almost dark by the time Frank and Joe parked their van a block away from the Dungeon Guild. The store was in a medium-size, single-story brick building in an older section of downtown Bayport. The painted sign over the entrance featured an armor-clad warrior and a fire-breathing dragon. Below the sign, two large picture windows displayed Creature Cards and many other games. A small sign hanging on the glass door proclaimed the Dungeon Guild’s hours in Old English lettering.

  The Hardys walked inside. The store was deserted except for a short, chubby, middle-aged man with a goatee and thinning black hair. The man was bustling around the store, arranging displays and setting up new merchandise. He looked up from a glass case when the Hardys entered.

  “Hi. Welcome to the Dungeon Guild,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Frank Hardy, and this is my brother, Joe. We’re looking for the store owner,” Frank said.

  “That’s me,” the man said, hooking his thumb at his chest. “Ron Felix, proprietor. How can I help you guys?”

  “We’re friends of Chet Morton’s,” Joe said. “He got some Creature Cards stolen today and we wanted you to be on the lookout for them.”

  “Stolen cards—that’s bad,” Mr. Felix said. He wiped the sweat from his shiny brow with a handkerchief. “Do you have a list of the missing cards?”

  “Yeah, right here,” Joe said, handing over the list Chet had made up.

  “Hmm. Tough luck for Chet,” Mr. Felix said. “He’s a good customer. There are a lot of prime cards on this list. Do you mind if I make a copy?”

  “Please do,” Frank said.

  Mr. Felix walked over to a fax machine beside his cash register and ran the list through. A grainy copy came out the other side. Felix handed the original back to Joe. As he took the paper, Joe noticed a slight trembling in the store owner’s hand.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for them,” Felix said, flashing a quick smile at the brothers. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. I don’t deal in stolen cards.”

  “We never said you did,” Frank said. “Just stay alert for them. We have a few other questions, too. Where do you get your stock? Tim Lester picked up a rare Coyote card here today, and that’s one of the cards on Chet’s list. Tim’s Coyote wasn’t the stolen one, but I’d like to know where you got the card.”

  “The main place I get cards is from my distributor,” Felix said. “The same place I get all my new games. I get boxes of Creature Cards all the time. I got a new shipment yesterday.” He wiped the sweat off his brow again.

  “We heard you got some new cards today, too,” Joe said. “Where’d they come from?”

  “I buy cards from collectors nearly every day,” Felix said.

  “From people in town?” Frank asked.

  “Sometimes,” Felix replied, “but I get a lot more over the Internet—auction and trading sites and so forth. If I know a customer is looking for a card, I can usually turn one up within a week—unless it’s really rare. I’ve got good connections.” He smiled proudly and checked his watch.

  “What about the single cards you sell, where do those come from?” Joe asked.

  “Same places,” Felix said. “A lot of them I get from collectors and traders. Other times, I’ll open up a new carton or two to replenish my stocks. That’s a little dicey, though, because you never know what you’re going to get. Usually, I can count on getting a couple of rare cards in every box. The profit on those makes up for my selling the common cards cheap.”

  “Sounds kind of risky,” Frank noted.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to do it as an investment, the way some of these kids do,” Felix said. “You’re practically begging to be ripped off. Prices on cards change quickly and you never know when the market mightcrash. Remember when Bombo Bear trading cards were big?”

  Joe and Frank nodded.

  “Now . . .nothing.The Bombo cards are worthless. I can’t give them away,” Felix said. “The only thing they’re good for is starting fires. I’m just glad I didn’t have a lot of money tied up in Bombo inventory. I could sell you three boxes for ten dollars.”

  “No thanks,” Frank said. “Do you think the bottom might fall out of the Creature Cards market?” he asked.

  “Not any time soon,” Felix replied. “Selling those cards is like a license to print money for Troy King and the other creators. And the game community is still strongly behind it. I wouldn’t worry for another couple of years at least, but cards in a shoebox are no substitute for money in a bank account.”

  “What about that Coyote you sold Tim?” Frank asked. “Where did that come from?”

  “A private collector sold it to me,” Felix said. “I really shouldn’t say any more. A lot of my customers want confidentiality. Game strategy, and all that.”

  He walked behind the register and bent down to straighten a number of card boxes in a glass case. Frank and Joe checked out the displays. Some of the cards were mounted in Lucite containers, like tiny pieces of art. A hefty price tag adorned each frame.

  “So, can I get you guys anything?” Felix asked hopefully.

  “Not today,” Joe said. “We just came in to tell you about Chet’s cards.”

  “Maybe some other time,” Frank added.

  “Okay. See ya,” Felix said. He smiled once more and then returned to straightening his displays.

  Frank and Joe left the store. Night had fallen while they were inside, and a light fog was creeping through the city. As they buttoned their coats, Joe said to Frank, “Not much to go on there.”

  Frank nodded. “Yeah. Did Mr. Felix seem nervous to you?”

  “A bit,” Joe said. “But maybe he’s used to dealing with players instead of ‘regular people.’ ” He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled.

  “Come on,” Frank said. “Let’s head back home and call Chet to see how he’s making out.”

  He and Joe started up the street to the car. As they did, Joe glanced back toward the store.

  “That’s funny,” Joe said.

  “What?” Frank asked.

  “Mr. Felix just flipped the sign in the front window to Closed. But the schedule listed on the door said he’d be open another two hours,” the younger Hardy replied.

  “Perhaps something came up and he had to leave suddenly,” Frank suggested.

  Joe nodded. “Maybe. Or maybe something we said spooked him. Let’s sit in the van for a while to see if anything happens.”

  He and Frank got into the van and watched the building. A streetlight gave them a good view of the door to the shop. A few minutes later Mr. Felix came out lugging two big boxes marked Cards. He lookedaround as if checking to make sure no one was watching, then he crossed the street and got into a beat-up sedan.

  Felix stuck his head out the driver’s side window and checked the street one last time before starting the car. The sedan’s old engine roared to life and Felix drove off into the fog—with his headlightsturned off
.

  5 Rendezvous in the

  Dark

  “A tad suspicious, don’t you think?” Joe asked.“Yeah,” Frank said. “Let’s tail him to see what he’s up to.” He started the van and followed Felix’s car into the fog. Frank didn’t turn on his headlights either.

  “He was being pretty cautious,” Joe said. “You’d better hang back a ways.”

  “As far as I can without losing him,” Frank replied, his brown eyes peering intently through the mist. Fortunately, the streets were deserted and fairly well lit. Driving without lights wasn’t too hazardous.

  Three blocks later Felix turned a corner and switched on his lights.

  The lights made the car easier to see, so Frank could hang back a bit more. When he’d given Felix enough space, Frank switched on his lights as well.

  “Mr. Felix doesn’t seem to be in a hurry,” Joe said. “Maybe he just forgot to turn his lights on.”

  “Could be,” Frank replied.

  Felix’s car turned one corner, then another, then a third.

  “Hey,” Joe said, “he’s doubled back on himself.”

  “Either he doesn’t know where he’s going, or he’s trying to make sure he isn’t followed.”

  Joe nodded. “Why don’t you cut over a block and get ahead of him.”

  “Good idea,” Frank said. “It’s harder tailing someone from in front, but not nearly as easy to get spotted.”

  The next time Felix turned, Frank turned as well. He swung down an alley and then across a school parking lot. When Frank hit the main road again, Joe spotted Felix’s car out the rear window.

  “Good work, Frank,” Joe said.

  “Help me keep an eye on him, Joe. Having another set of eyes is easier than using the mirrors all the time.”

  “Check,” Joe replied. He left the passenger seat and sat, facing backward, on the seat behind his older brother.

  With Joe’s help, Frank kept the Hardys’ van in front of the card dealer’s car without arousing suspicion. Felix doubled back several more times, but— using his knowledge of the city—Frank stayed with him.