Warehouse Rumble (2 page)

Willingham paused a moment to let this idea sink in. “I can’t reveal exactly what the prizes will be. I wouldn’t want anyone who doesn’t make the cut spilling our secrets to the media.” He turned and winked at the cameras. “Besides, I doubt Bayport is ready to be the site of the next
gold rush.
”

An appreciative “Ooooh!” arose from the crowd.

“Do you think he means
real
gold?” Daphne whispered. Chet and the Hardys shrugged.

“To play
Warehouse Rumble,
you’ll not only have to be smart and strong—you’ll also have to be brave,” Willingham continued. “There are monsters lurking in these old warehouses—at least, there
will
be after my crew is finished setting up.” He smiled. “So anybody who’s faint of heart better drop out now.”

Willingham crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the three dozen people in the crowd. No one looked like they were leaving. He smiled again.

“Good. Okay,” he said. “If you read the literature, you know you need a team partner to play in this game. If any of you don’t already have a partner, we’ll try to pair you up with someone during the auditions. Right now, I need each of you to sign your release and liability forms, and turn them in to Ms. Kendall. Then I’ll set you up with some sparring partners, and we can start the auditions.”

“Sparring partners?” Daphne said skeptically. “I’m no wimp, but—”

Chet smiled at her. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I can spar enough for both of us.”

“Let’s get our paperwork turned in,” Joe said, urging the four of them toward the rapidly forming line in front of Ms. Kendall’s desk.

As the contestants turned in their forms, Willingham ushered the news crew out; he wanted only his own cameramen covering the auditions. A few minutes later he sent the Hardys and their friends to the far side of the warehouse, where a big practice arena had been set up. Gym mats covered the floor, and various pieces of athletic equipment stood ready to be used.

They spotted boxing gloves and bags, a balance beam, a makeshift broad-jump pit (with pads instead of sand), a hand-over-hand horizontal ladder, and a climbing board. There were long bamboo staffs, padded like punching bags, at either end of the area, and padded headgear sat nearby.

“I was never very good with a quarterstaff,” Daphne told her friends.

“No problem,” said Willingham, who was prowling through the area acting as impromptu trainer and judge. “Not every contestant has to pass every test. You pick the five you’re most suited to, and we’ll judge you on those. Each team has to pass at least four physical and four mental challenges. The remaining two are up to you.”

“Sign me up,” Chet said, hefting one of the padded staffs.

“Great,” Willingham replied. “I’ll find you a sparring partner.”

Before either Frank or Joe could volunteer, Willingham motioned over a muscular guy with black, bowl-cut hair. His eyes narrowed when he saw the group. “Hey Daphne,” he sneered. “Long time no see.”

“Suit up,” Willingham said, oblivious to the tension between the newcomer and Daphne. “Then start sparring.” The new guy and Chet donned their headgear and took their places on the sparring mat near one of the old chimneys.

“Who’s the big guy?” Joe whispered to Daphne.

“Bo Reid,” Daphne replied. “He and I were rivals back when I played Creature Cards—the collectible card game—a lot. I beat him regularly in tournaments. He doesn’t like me much. I hope he doesn’t take it out on Chet.”

“Chet can handle himself,” Frank said.

They stepped back and watched as Bo and Chet squared off. Though neither contestant had much experience, they more than made up for it with enthusiasm—dodging and swinging, and generally trying to pound each other into the mat.

“Great! Great!” Willingham yelled every time he looked in their direction.

Chet and Bo redoubled their efforts, and soon
sweat was pouring off their brows. Two of the staff cameramen came over to cover the event, and many of the other contestants—including Missy Gates and Jay Stone—looked on enviously.

“I think your team’s place on the show is cinched,” Joe whispered to Daphne.

Frank nodded his agreement. “Willingham would be a fool to turn away either of these guys. They’re putting on a great show.”

Just then Chet poked forward with his staff, catching Bo Reid solidly in the chest. Reid stumbled back and fell onto his rear end. Chet did a little victory dance, like a winning prizefighter. He didn’t see Reid’s staff swinging at his legs.

“Look out!” Frank called, too late.

Reid’s blow swept Chet’s feet out from under him, and the big teen stumbled back into one of the wide brick chimneys. Daphne gasped as Chet hit the mortar with a dull thud.

Willingham pulled out a referee’s whistle and blew it. “Hold it!” he said. “That’s enough!”

“I’m okay,” Chet replied, pushing himself up off the chimney.

As he did, though, several of the bricks under his hands gave way. A low, rumbling groan filled the air. Chet looked up as the big chimney crumbled—right toward him.

“Chet!” Daphne screamed as a huge section of the chimney collapsed toward the startled teen.

Joe and Frank sprinted forward to help their friend.

Still dazed, Chet staggered as pieces of crumbling brick pelted him.

Ignoring the falling masonry, the Hardys rushed in and grabbed Chet, one under each arm. The collapse kicked up a huge cloud of dust, making it difficult to see or breathe. The brothers backpedaled as quickly as they could, dragging Chet out of the falling debris. As they left, bricks continued raining onto the floor of the deserted factory.

“Phew!” Joe said as the collapse finally stopped.

Frank brushed pieces of crumbled brick out of his dark hair. “I think it’s over,” he said. Most of the six-foot-wide chimney remained standing, but there was a big hole in the side of it. The breach looked like a mouth yawning into an inky abyss.

“Thanks, guys,” Chet said groggily.

Daphne waded into the cloud of settling dust. “Are you all okay?” she asked.

“We’re fine,” Joe replied.

“Just a few bumps and bruises,” Chet added. He smiled and gave Daphne a reassuring hug.

Bo Reid, the cameramen, and the others who had gathered to watch the “joust” kept moving back. They coughed up dust and waved their hands to clear the air.

“Is anyone hurt?” Ward Willingham asked.

The crowd shook their heads, and most of them mumbled, “No.”

Willingham walked over to Chet, eyeing the big teen carefully. “You didn’t crack your head or anything, did you?” he asked, brushing some of the dust off of Chet’s clothes.

Chet shook his head. “Nope. I’m fine.”

“Good,” Willingham replied, forcing a smile. “No need to get the insurance company involved, then.”

From the back of the crowd, Jay Stone called, “Ow! I twisted my ankle!” He bent down and clutched his leg.

Willingham looked sternly at him.

“Just kidding,” Stone said. “I was just hamming it up for the show.”

Willingham nodded slowly, but his dark sunglasses didn’t look too forgiving. Turning to his cameramen, he asked, “Did you catch the accident on film?”

One dust-covered man shook his head, but the woman running the other camera gave a grin and a thumb’s-up.

“Great,” Willingham replied, breaking into his Hollywood smile again. “That could be a super promo.”

Frank frowned. “Chet could have been hurt.”

“But he wasn’t,” Willingham replied, putting his arm around Chet’s shoulder. “And it was
great
TV. But don’t anyone else try anything like that.” He paused for a moment. “Okay, everybody back to work.”

“We should move the auditions across the warehouse,” Julie Kendall said, “so a crew can clean up this mess.”

“Right,” Willingham agreed. “Everybody, grab some equipment and move it over there.” He pointed to the far side of the big room. “We’ll keep auditions going. We only have a limited amount of time before shooting starts, and I want to see every one of you work.” He turned to Chet. “You can take five. You’re in.”

“What about me?” Bo Reid asked.

“You too, big guy. Grab some coffee and a doughnut. I know you both have what it takes for
Warehouse Rumble.
”

“How about our partners?” Chet asked.

“Nobody’s a shoo-in,” Willingham said, “but they’ve got a leg up on the rest.” He turned to Daphne. “Pick an event and show me what you’ve got.”

Daphne nodded.

“Okay, let’s go!” he said, leading the rest of the contestants to the far side of the warehouse.

“See you later, Daphne,” Bo Reid said menacingly. He turned and headed for the coffee machine.

“Maybe you will,” Daphne shot back.

“Well,” Chet said jauntily, “that was easy,”

“For
you,
maybe,” Daphne replied. “I nearly had a heart attack. You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Never been righter,” Chet said. “I’m gonna grab some grub before that Reid character hogs it all.”

“Those of us without a free pass better get back to the auditions,” Joe said. He winked in Chet’s direction.

“What do you think they’ll do if one of us doesn’t make the cut?” Daphne asked.

“Probably re-pair us up with different contestants,” Frank replied.

“I’m sure you’ll all make it,” Chet said confidently. See you later.” He headed for the doughnuts
while the Hardys and Daphne rejoined the other prospective contestants.

The brothers and Daphne moved quickly through a series of tests. All of them did well on the puzzles. Daphne aced the balance beam, while the brothers did well on the climbing and swinging challenges. By the time they took their next scheduled break, all three of them had worked up a good sweat.

“How’re you doing?” Chet asked.

“Good,” Daphne replied, wiping the perspiration from her forehead.

“All of you look great out there,” Chet said. “Willingham would have to be a dunce not to pick you.”

“Something tells me that brains and TV production don’t always go together,” Joe said.

At that moment the front door flew open, and a short, balding man with a hawkish nose and frizzy brown hair stalked in. He was wearing a brown three-piece suit, and sweating uncomfortably in it. His face grew red as he approached Willingham. “What’s this I hear about an accident?” he asked angrily.

Ms. Kendall tried to cut the man off, but Willingham stepped around her and faced the visitor. “Mr. Jackson . . . ,” Ward Willingham began, “. . . Herman . . . buddy, don’t worry. If it had been a real problem, we would have notified you right away.”

“I was actually going to call you during this break,” Ms. Kendall said.

“Did any of your contestants get hurt?” Herman Jackson asked.

“Oh no,” Willingham said. “There was just a minor problem with one of the old chimneys.”

The smaller Jackson craned his neck to see around Willingham’s big frame. “
Minor
problem?” he said, spotting the hole in the chimney and the pile of rubble next to it. “It looks like a disaster! You promised me that none of the warehouse would be damaged.”

“That’s not precisely true,” Ms. Kendall said, checking some papers on her clipboard. “Our contract stipulates that portions of the warehouse and grounds that are scheduled for demolition are exempt. We can alter them as we like.”

“Including tearing them down,” Willingham added with a smile. “See? There’s nothing really to worry about here.”

“Nothing except destroying Bayport’s heritage!” shouted a voice from near the warehouse door.

Everyone in the room turned to see a lanky, blond man with a bushy mustache. He took a few steps toward Willingham and Jackson.

“What are
you
doing here?” Jackson asked, dismayed.

“You can’t keep the public out when you’re
planning to demolish a valuable historical site!” the blond man said.

“Is this the guy you warned me about?” Willingham asked Jackson.

“Yes,” Jackson replied. “Clark Hessmann. Local crusading nutcase.”

Ms. Kendall stepped between Clark Hessmann and her boss. “Mr. Hessmann,” she said calmly, “you know you’re
not
supposed to be here.”

“I’m here to try out,” Hessmann snapped. “This audition is open to the public, isn’t it?”

“Only during specific hours,” Willingham called at him. “You’re too late to try out today.”

“And I’ve got a restraining order against you,” Jackson added.

“So what?” Hessmann shot back. “I’m more than fifty feet away from you.”

“That pertains to the outdoors,” Jackson said. “You’re not supposed to be in the same building as me. Not unless it’s a public place.”

“This is a public audition, so it’s a public place,” Hessmann replied.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hessmann,” Julie Kendall said. “Auditions are closed for the night. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Two of Willingham’s security people—who had been helping clean up the rubble—jogged toward the activist.

Hessmann backed toward the door. “All right, I’m
going,” he said. “But I’ll be back. You can’t keep me out! The people have a right to know!” He exited the warehouse before the guards could escort him out.

Ms. Kendall, Willingham, and Jackson all breathed a sigh of relief as security closed the door behind him.

“That was . . . interesting,” Joe whispered to Frank. The elder Hardy merely nodded.

“I’ll talk to my lawyer,” Jackson said quietly to Willingham, “and try to keep him off the property.”

“Good idea,” Willingham agreed.

Nearly everyone in the warehouse had gathered near the exit to watch the commotion. “Everything’s under control here,” Willingham told them. “Nothing to worry about. Everyone can get back to work. I’ll be continuing my judging in just a few minutes.”

Most of the hopeful contestants went back to work. A few, though, hung around to see if there would be any more fireworks.

“Now, about the chimney collapse . . . ?” Jackson asked Willingham. He was much more calm now than he had been when he’d first entered the warehouse. He mopped his balding head with a white handkerchief.