Highway Robbery

"How can you listen to that noise?" asked the blond young man. He snatched up a compact disk and held it out in front of him as if it were contaminated. "It's got no beat, it's got no soul." He regarded his companion with disbelief and disgust. "You've got no taste!"

"Oh, right! You're going to talk to me about good taste. Wonderful!" The tall guy who was now speaking had brown hair and a lean build. "You know, I think your ears have been blown out from all the junk you listen to."

The argument was taking place next to a rack of CDs in a music store at the Bayport Mall. The blond guy stood six feet tall, while the darker one was an inch taller. Both appeared to be in excellent shape. If it came to a fight, they would be evenly matched.

Between them was another young man, about five inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter than the two who were arguing. Glancing from one to the other, the small guy had his hands up, ready to separate them by force if he had to.

"Hey, whoa! Take it easy, you two. Remember brotherly love, and all that good stuff? Don't forget - I work next door. You two are going to scare away all our customers. So if you start getting rough, I'll just have to deck both of you."

The two Hardy brothers looked at him, then at each other, and burst into laughter.

"We're cool, Tony," said Joe Hardy, the blond, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to make him see the light. He doesn't know good music from garbage."

Joe's brother, Frank, eighteen and a year older than his brother, gave Tony a look of mock sorrow. "He's the one who's a hopeless case. He embarrasses the whole family. Joe wouldn't know good music if it bit him in the leg. But the thing that really gets me is that he insists on putting that noise on our CD player, and I have to hear it. Talk about pollution!"

"At least you two have a CD player," said Tony with a sigh.

Tony Prito was a long-time friend of the Hardy brothers. Though not big, he was wiry, with lightning reflexes. He was a standout second baseman on their high school baseball team and a dangerous pass receiver in football. "I figure it'll be another month's work at Mr. Pizza before I can afford one, even with a special break on the price."

"How do you rate a special break?" asked Joe. "You have friends in high places?"

"Not high places, just the right places," Tony said, grinning back. "My uncle, Matt Simone, has a long-haul trucking company. One of his clients is Ultratech Electronics, and my cousin Mike, who drives for them, says he can get me an Ultratech at cost. You can't beat that, right?"

"Ultratech?" asked a new voice. The three boys turned to see Jeff Lanier, someone they knew slightly from Bayport High. Jeff's pale face was framed by black hair that he kept perfectly in place. He was very particular about his clothes and paid careful attention to what was in. He didn't have time for after-school activities because he spent all his spare time at the mall. He considered himself a big deal with the girls, although most girls wouldn't agree with him.

"I don't have a cousin to help me out, but I bet you won't beat the deal I got on an Ultratech CD player last week."

"How much?" asked Frank. He didn't like Jeff and hoped that it didn't show. A second later he decided Jeff wouldn't notice. It would never occur to him that anyone could dislike him.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Jeff told them what he'd paid. Tony let out a low whistle.

"Hey, that is a deal! At that price, I could buy one today! Where'd you pick it up?" he asked eagerly.

"At a place out on Route Nineteen," replied Jeff. "It doesn't look like much. Just a kind of grungy warehouse with a lot of stuff on the floor in boxes - CD players, tape decks, everything. But the prices are, like, unreal."

Joe and Frank exchanged a quick look. "So how'd you find this place?" asked Joe. As far as he was concerned, it did sound "unreal" - and probably more than a little shady. "Was there an ad in the paper, or what?"

"Ad in the paper!" echoed Jeff scornfully. "No way, Jose! That's how they keep their prices down. No advertising. And no fancy signs or decorations, either. I just heard about it from some dude, I can't remember who exactly."

"Where is it? How do I get there?" Tony cut in. He gazed expectantly at the Hardys. "Maybe we can take a drive out there sometime."

Jeff's directions were complicated so Frank jotted them down. The warehouse was outside Bayport in an area they didn't know very well.

"Hey, thanks!" called Tony as Jeff headed for the exit.

"No sweat," Jeff answered, not looking back.

" 'No way, Jose,' " mimicked Frank. "Now, there's a guy who'll never be lonely as long as he has a mirror."

"Right," agreed Joe. "The guy never wears the same clothes twice. He must have a three-acre closet. I heard he keeps a blow-dryer in his locker at school."

Tony was impatient, hopping from foot to foot. "What do you say? I don't work any more today. Let's head on over to this place, okay? Maybe there's something there you'd be interested in, too."

"Tony," Joe said quietly. "You said that your cousin could get you an Ultratech at cost, right?"

"Right."

"And Jeff said he paid a lot less than that, right?"

"Yeah," said Tony slowly. He was now frowning suspiciously. "What's your point?"

Frank took a quick look around. A number of other shoppers were within earshot. "Why don't we take this conversation someplace else?" he suggested.

The three young men walked out of the store into the busy traffic of the mall's arcade.

As they walked, Frank spoke. "One thing we've learned from our dad, Tony. Things that sound too good to be true usually are."

Fenton Hardy, Frank and Joe's father, had spent a number of years as a New York City detective before beginning practice as a private investigator. Now he was an internationally known detective.

A light dawned in Tony's eyes. "You think maybe ... "

"Tony," Joe cut in, "think about it. When stuff like this is being sold for less than what the manufacturer gets for it, out of a grungy warehouse that doesn't advertise except by word of mouth, you have to figure that the stuff is probably hot."

Tony stared at Joe and then scowled. "Well - hey, maybe there's some other reason! Maybe these are models they've stopped making now and need to get rid of. Or they got some kind of special discount from the factory because - oh, I don't know! All I know is, I want to check it out. You have a problem with that?"

Frank shrugged. "I guess not." He turned to Joe. "You know, I am kind of curious about this setup. It might be interesting to see - especially if it is some kind of fencing operation. Why don't we take a ride out there and look around?"

Joe held up a hand in warning. "The whole operation sounds like it's probably illegal."

"Don't worry, Joe, if it's crooked, I'm gone. No way am I buying stolen goods," Tony said.

"The place will probably be closed by the time we get there," Joe said. "But, who cares, I've got nothing better to do. Let's hit the road. The van's out in G parking lot."

Joe got behind the wheel of the black customized van he and Frank owned. Frank sat beside him with Jeff's directions, and Tony rode in the backseat. It was late afternoon on a perfect summer day, and they rode with the windows open.

The area they were driving through had clearly seen better days. Aside from a few gas stations and convenience stores, Joe noticed that most of the buildings were industrial and many were empty. Everything looked run-down.

"Talk about your basic low-rent district," he muttered as they turned onto Route 19. "This has got to be the lowest."

Frank nodded. "It may not be the end of the world, but I bet you can see it from here."

"That's how they keep the prices down," said Tony. But Joe didn't think Tony sounded so convinced anymore. It wasn't a likely setting for an honest retail business.

They'd been on the road almost an hour, when Frank looked up from the directions. "It should be up ahead, on the left. There it is!"

There was no sign identifying the place, but some numbers were hand-painted on a piece of wood that hung from a chain-link fence. The address matched the one in Jeff's directions.

Joe steered the van through an opening in the fence and into a parking area. Only two other cars were there, and beyond them stood a shabby one-story building.

"Business isn't exactly booming," Joe noted dryly as he parked the van.

"So, what does that prove?" demanded Tony.

"Nothing, that's what! Let's go in and see what's happening."

"It looks closed," Frank said.

Tony walked ahead impatiently. "There are lights on." He tried the door, and when it swung inward, he entered, followed by Frank and Joe.

By the pale light of two strips of hanging fluorescent tubes, Frank saw a large, mostly empty space with no windows. A door, possibly leading to an office, was off to one side. Other than a few cartons on the floor, there was nothing to be seen. No people. No stereo components. Nothing.

For a second the boys stood and stared silently. Then Tony said, "Could be it's the wrong place."

They paused at the sound of a noise from behind the office door. Frank pointed. "Maybe whoever's in there can tell us something."

They started toward the door, but before they reached it, the door opened and two men appeared.

"Excuse us - " Tony began, and then stopped short.

The two strangers froze at the sight of the three boys. In their jumpsuits, gloves, and heavy shoes, the men looked like warehouse workers, except for one detail - their startled eyes peering out from behind wool ski masks!

The two intruders recovered and made a quick dash for the front door. The smaller of the two rammed a shoulder into Tony's ribs and knocked him flat.

The second man, who was as tall as the Hardys and more solidly built, carried a briefcase in one hand. He showed amazing quickness for his size and surprised the brothers by dodging between them instead of making an end run around them. Joe dived for the legs of the running man, but all he caught was the heel of a heavy shoe in his forehead. Dazed from the impact, he lay sprawled on the floor.

Coming to a stop, Frank checked on his brother and Tony. The men in masks were out the door and into their car.

"Joe?" asked Frank. He heard a car engine roar to life outside and tires squeal as the car sped away. "Hey, Joe! You hear me?" Nearby, Tony was slowly pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, wheezing painfully as he struggled for breath.

"I'm all right," Joe said weakly. "I'm okay. Where did they - did those guys get away?"

"They're gone," Frank replied, helping Joe stand up. "They should've known that the last way to hurt you is to kick you in the head. Tony?" Frank looked over at his friend, who was still on his knees, feeling his ribs and wincing. "You need a hand? How are you doing?"

"Whoof," gasped Tony. "I feel like I just got trampled by the Chicago Bears. All of them. But I don't think anything's broken, just bruised a little."

Once all three were standing again, Joe suggested, "We'd better see what they left behind. They were doing something in that room."

"And you don't need ski masks to do bookkeeping or sweep the floors," added Frank. He pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped his hand in it. "It'd be better not to leave a lot of fingerprints around. We don't want to mess things up if the police get called in here," he explained to Tony.

Tony nodded slowly, his eyes widening. "Oh, yeah, good idea. What do you think they - "

"No point in guessing," Frank said. He gently pushed against the door to open it fully, but it wouldn't move any more. Something was lying behind it. The room was unlit, except for what little light spilled in from the warehouse. Frank walked into the room and then stiffened, drawing his breath in sharply. He looked out through the doorway and called to his brother. "Joe, get the flashlight from the van, quick! There's a body in here!"

Joe raced outside. He returned quickly, carrying a powerful flashlight. Switching it on, he pointed its bright beam into the small dark room. Joe knew at once that the man lying sprawled on the floor was dead.

He played the light over the rest of the room and saw a metal filing cabinet with its drawers pulled out, apparently empty. A telephone lay by the dead man, its wires slashed.

"They may have cleaned out some papers," said Joe. "We'd better call the police."

"We're outside the city limits," Frank pointed out. "This is County Sheriff territory, not Bayport PD. We'd better find a phone." He noticed Tony's quizzical expression. "The phone in the van is broken."

"We passed a convenience store not too far from here," Tony said, his voice shaky. "There was a booth outside."

"I'll go," Joe said.

"I'll come too," said Tony, backing away from the office. "If - if it's okay with you, Frank."

"Go ahead, it's cool."

As he started out with Joe, Tony noticed an empty carton on the floor.