Street Spies (3 page)

***

Late that afternoon Frank opened the rear doors of the van. Checking in both directions, he lifted his bike out of the back, closed and locked the doors, and pedaled south. A few minutes later he was parking his bike in front of SpeedWay. After having listened to Joe's transmissions most of the day, Frank felt as if he'd been there before.

The few messengers standing around didn't give Frank a second glance. Gus was behind his desk, bent over a stack of paperwork.

"Excuse me," Frank said to him, "are you the dispatcher?"

"Yeah," Gus growled. "What do you want?"

"My name is Frank Dodd. I heard you're hiring messengers."

Gus studied Frank's army-surplus sweater, ragged blue jeans and worn tennis shoes. "When was the last time you held a job?" he asked.

"I'm working my way through school," Frank said. "New York University. I'd like to ride your night shift."

Gus eyed him suspiciously, then leaned back and lit a cigarette. "Yeah. Well, we're always hiring messengers. They come and they go here." He grinned. "College types mostly go. They're soft—work's - too tough for 'em."

"Look," Frank said, "I've worked for a delivery service before. I know this city like my mom's kitchen."

Gus gave him another close look. Then he seemed to make up his mind and became brisk and businesslike. "Night messengers are hard to find, so I'll give you a try. Bruce is the night dispatcher. He comes on in half an hour — you can be his problem. You work until midnight. Then we close. Here. Fill out these forms."

Frank picked up the personnel forms Gus pushed at him and retreated to a table across the room to fill them in. At least he didn't have to go through the ritual of the race, he thought.

When Frank finished and looked up, he saw that Gus was no longer watching him. At that moment, a slender guy with light brown hair came in. Even though it was dusk outside, he was still wearing sunglasses. Frank suspected it was Slim. The guy crossed the room, spoke briefly with Gus, then headed for Frank.

"Hi," Slim said. He held out his hand. "They call me Slim around here."

Frank nodded and shook Slim's hand. "Frank Dodd."

"Gus says he's decided to call you Doc," Slim said with a grin. "Says you're working your way through NYU."

"That's right," Frank said. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Actually, I'm getting a degree in business administration. I need to study a small business for a management course I'm taking—but don't tell Gus."

Slim nodded. "Got you," he said. "That's how we do things around here — we keep our eyes open and our mouths shut." Frank couldn't see Slim's eyes through his dark glasses. He wondered what Slim was trying to tell him.

There was no time to find out. Half a dozen calls came in in the next ten minutes, and both Frank and Slim were sent out to maneuver their bikes through Manhattan. Before Frank knew it, his shift was over and it was time to meet with Joe and his dad.

Frank ducked into a small midtown cafe well after dark. In a booth near the rear, he saw his father talking to Joe. Frank walked up to the booth quickly.

Fenton Hardy spoke to him. "Joe was just filling me in on the interesting conversation he overheard at SpeedWay's this afternoon."

Joe slid over to make room for Frank. "Gus was chewing Lightfoot out," he explained. "He said somebody at World-Wide had told him there was an investigation going on. Too bad he didn't say who his source was. We'd have this case all wrapped up."

"Still, it looks like you've identified two key suspects," Mr. Hardy said. He sipped his coffee. "It stands to reason that the dispatcher has to be involved. A messenger doesn't get to choose his pickups and deliveries."

"Right," Frank agreed. "But identifying Gus and Lightfoot doesn't buy us much. We've got to figure out how they operate. And we need to know who their contact is, and whether there are other messengers involved."

Mr. Hardy nodded. "If there are more messengers involved, our chances of identifying the contact will be increased. One of them is bound to get sloppy."

"I've been wondering about that kid Slim," Frank said. "He seems to be on very good terms with Gus. And he's a little too friendly with new messengers."

"There's a girl named Gypsy, too," Joe added. "She's only been there two months, but she's already made enough for a new bike. According to Slim, she was flashing big money around. And she keeps to herself. That would make sense, if she were sent to do the job by the contact at World-Wide."

"Yeah, but that's Slim talking," Frank reminded Joe. "If Slim is involved, and he suspects you, he could be trying to throw you off the track."

"Why would he suspect me?" Joe asked.

"It sounds like SpeedWay is a close-knit organization," Mr. Hardy said. "They may suspect anybody new. Besides, they're on their guard because they've been warned."

"Well, then," Joe replied, "it's a good thing there are two of us. They probably won't be looking for two undercover investigators."

"You probably should bug Slim's and Gypsy's bikes," Mr. Hardy said. "But it sounds like you two have made real headway today."

Frank looked up as the waitress arrived with three of the largest Reuben sandwiches he had ever seen. "Real headway?" he said, making a face. "Joe did, maybe. I spent most of my day stuck behind a bus."

Joe reported for work the next morning in a gray drizzle. When Slim arrived, Joe made a mental note of which bike he rode and then headed inside to check in.

Later in the day, Gus was scowling into the phone. "The regular messenger ain't back yet," he was saying. "Okay, okay, I understand." He listened a minute, then looked up and caught Joe's eye. "I gotcha," he snapped into the phone. He slammed down the receiver and waved at Joe. "Here's one for you, Hot Dog. Package pickup at Lexington and Fiftieth. The mailroom's in the basement. Hit it!"

Joe raised his eyebrows as he swung around and started toward the door. Lexington and Fiftieth? That was close to where ... He glanced down at the address on the work order Gus had handed him and almost froze in midstride. The name Gus had written down was World-Wide Technologies!

Twenty minutes later Joe was locking his bike in front of the Hawthorne Building, across Lexington from the imposing Waldorf-Astoria hotel. On the way he had tried to raise Frank on his transmitter, but there'd been no answer. He tried once more, without success, then shouldered through the double doors, heading for the elevators at the back of the lobby. He pulled his headset off and pressed the B button.

Joe stepped into the basement corridor. To his right was a counter running along the wall. As he approached, he noticed a girl with her head bent low over the counter. Her hair was long and dark, and swung across her shoulders just like— The memory hit him hard — like Iola's.

But he knew all too well it couldn't be Iola. His girlfriend had been killed by a terrorist bomb over a year ago.

The girl must have heard him coming. She looked up with a smile and then a nervous giggle. "You look like you've seen a ghost," she said. "May I help you?"

Joe tried to regain his composure. Now that he looked at the girl, he had to admit that she didn't really resemble Iola—except that she was very good-looking. Her nose had a cute tilt, and her dark eyes were large and expressive.

"Uh, yeah, maybe you can help," he said. "I'm looking for the mailroom."

"You've found it," the girl replied, giving him a curious look. "Welcome to the dungeon of World-Wide Technologies, Inc." She glanced at his messenger's bag. "You're from SpeedWay? You must be new. I haven't seen you before."

"Just started yesterday," Joe replied, still staring at her. Her lashes were unbelievably long. "A summer job to pay for school. I'm Joe Har — " Joe stopped, catching himself just in time. "Kincaid," he amended.

The girl didn't seem to notice his slip. She was putting a package on the counter. "I'm Tiffany Chilton, Mail Clerk and Keeper of the Inner Sanctum," she said. "Glad to meet you."

At the mention of her name Joe did a double take. Chilton? Was she any relation to Charles Chilton? "How'd you get stuck down here?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"You won't believe this, but the president of this company is my father." Tiffany's pretty lips twisted sarcastically. "Charles Chilton," she said, "who marooned me down here in this stupid basement, away from all the action." She noticed Joe's intent look and frowned. "Do you know him?"

Joe thought quickly. "Not really," he said. "I was working as an electronics technician before I got laid off, and we had some WWT equipment."

Tiffany managed an uninterested nod.

"So how come you're stuck down here, with the grunts?"

Tiffany shrugged angrily. "I told him I wanted to work this summer — maybe as his assistant. But Daddy's got this idea that starting from the bottom up will teach me the business." Her face darkened in a bitter scowl. "I guess I ought to know by now that as far as Charles Chilton is concerned, there's only one way to do things — the old-fashioned way."

Just then the phone rang. Before Tiffany could answer it, Joe said, "How about that package?"

"Oh, yes," she said, handing him the small package she'd pulled out from under the counter. It was securely bound with strapping tape and stamped Highly Confidential. The phone rang again, and she reached for it. "It goes to Lower Manhattan," she said. "Off West Broadway, a few blocks up from the World Trade Center."

Joe looked at the address. And then he looked again, scarcely believing his eyes. The package Tiffany had given him was addressed to MUX, Incorporated! Was Mr. Chilton's own daughter the thief he was after?