Double Trouble

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Movie Star Down!

  “There he is—Justin Carraway. Told you it would be easy finding a movie star in Bayport,” Joe said. He rubbed his hands together. “Time to work my mojo.”

  Justin stood about half a block away, talking to a thin girl with blond hair. “You’re telling me that this famous mojo of yours can work from this distance?” I asked.

  “It’s a powerful thing,” Joe answered. “But I’ll probably have to get a tiny bit closer,” he admitted after a beat.

  “I really think this is a situation that cries out for a plan B,” I said.

  Justin kissed the blond girl. Then he turned and started walking toward us.

  “Plan A is going to work just fine,” Joe retorted.

  Then the sound of a gunshot rang out.

  And Justin Carraway went down.

  1. Mission Accomplished

  2. The Two Lives of Frank Hardy

  3. Go Time

  4. Plan A

  5. Good Death

  6. It Would Be Better If You Died Now

  7. All About the Fun

  8. Cleen vs. Clean

  9. The Dillweed

  10. Party Crashers

  11. Whoa

  12. Motive + Opportunity

  13. Thump

  14. Justin Time

  15. Battle at the Bowl-O-Rama

  16. Next Time It Will Be You

  17. Panic! At the Disco

  18. Where’s Joe?

  19. Extremely Wrong

  Double Down Excerpts

  Mission Accomplished

  I could hear Bucky whinnying at me impatiently. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I muttered as I ran toward the horse. I untied him from the stump where my brother, Frank, had left him for me, then mounted up as fast as I could.

  Bucky gave a little hop as I slid into the saddle. Horses don’t get named Bucky for nothing. I urged him forward with my heels and we were off. Somewhere up ahead, Frank was running. We were in the middle of an all-teen Ride ’n Tie race.

  Frank, Bucky, and I had already relayed our way more than twenty miles. Good thing ATAC agents have to stay in shape.

  ATAC—that’s American Teens Against Crime—had assigned us the mission of finding a saboteur. At the last Ride ’n Tie, the course had been sabotaged. A horse had ended up badly injured. And its rider had ended up dead. ATAC had reason to believe this racecourse would be sabotaged too.

  So far, nothing.

  I stayed on alert as Bucky trotted down the path through the woods. A Ride ’n Tie is all about endurance—for the horses and the humans. Anyone who gallops—or sprints—is going to end up losing. There were fifty more miles of trail to go. Horses and runners were spread out all along the course.

  We rounded a corner—and Bucky reared. I almost slid off of him.

  “Whoa! Easy!” I cried. But Bucky was freaked. He reared again, letting out a high, panicked whinny. I scanned the area, trying to figure out what was causing Bucky’s agitation.

  Rattlesnake! Right on the path in front of us. Its head was arched up in strike position, the rattle on its tail shaking out a warning.

  I twisted around and managed to pull a can of energy drink out of the saddlebag. It wasn’t that heavy, but I thought it might be heavy enough. I took aim and hurled the can at the snake.

  The motion scared Bucky as much as the snake did. He hopped sideways to the right in a move I didn’t even know a horse could make. Then he reared up again, so high I thought he would topple backward.

  He didn’t.

  But I did.

  I landed in the dirt with a thud. Snake! Where was the snake?

  And then I spotted it—just a few feet away from me. Lying motionless. I’d killed it. I picked it up and hurled it off the path. “It’s gone, Bucky, okay. It’s gone.” He stomped his front hooves. His eyes rolled, showing white at the edges. “It’s gone,” I said again. Then I reached out and managed to snag Bucky’s reins.

  I walked him in a circle, giving him time to calm down. “Ready to go on?” I asked. Bucky snorted. I took that as a not-quite-yet and walked him in another circle. That’s when I noticed the sun spark off something metallic a few feet away, not far off the trail.

  I tied Bucky to the nearest tree, then headed over to check it out. I found a metal cage, about the size to hold a rabbit. But there wasn’t a bunny inside. There were three more rattlers. And the cage door—it was open.

  I broke a small branch off one of the trees and used it to shut the door. Then I studied the area. Yeah, there it was. I knew there’d be evidence. On the trunk of the tree I’d broken the branch off was a smear of greasepaint. A mix of purple and pink.

  At the start of the Ride ’n Tie, all the horses were tied at the far end of a meadow. A lot of racers marked up their horses with greasepaint or tied bright ribbons on them to make them easier to pick out at a distance.

  Only one person had used pink and purple paint. I knew who the saboteur was.

  I headed back toward Bucky, making a lot of noise so any other snakes that had escaped from the cage knew to get out of the way.

  “The rules are changing a little bit, Bucky,” I told him as I untied his reins from the tree. I climbed into the saddle. “Now we’re going to go fast. Let’s see what you can do.” I tapped my heels into his sides a couple of times and we were off. Galloping down the trail.

  I leaned forward, keeping close to Bucky’s body.

  “Frank!” I shouted when I spotted my brother up ahead. He stopped jogging and turned back. “We’ve got sabotage. And I know who did it.” I brought Bucky to a stop, and Frank leaped up on the saddle behind me.

  “Okay, Bucky, mush!” I cried, giving the reins a shake. And Bucky mushed good. Dust flew up off the trail as he galloped.

  I saw a horse and rider up ahead. Not the horse—or rider—I was looking for. I pulled the reins to the left and we galloped past.

  “You’re never going to make it to the end like that!” the rider shouted after us.

  I didn’t care about making it to the end. I just wanted to make it to the horse with the wild pink and purple flowers painted on its flank.

  Bucky gave another whinny. And it wasn’t the “hurry up” whinny. Or the “I’m scared out of my gourd” one. Nope, this was the happy, excited “I’m gonna see my girlfriend” sound.

  “Get ready to rock and roll,” I told Frank.

  “I don’t see anyone,” he answered.

  “You will,” I said. I didn’t need to urge Bucky to pick up speed. His girlfriend was up there, and that’s where he wanted to be.

  He sped around a curve in the trail. And, yep, there was Amber, Bucky’s special lady with the pink and purple flowers on her hip. Ridden by Lisa, the saboteur. It didn’t take us long to catch up to them. Amber was trotting and Bucky was galloping. At least until he reached her; then he slowed down to match her pace.

  “Uh, hi,” Lisa said. “You know it’s cheating for both of you to be riding at once.”

  “Huh, I didn’t think you’d be such a rule follower,” I commented. “Since you left that cage full of rattlesnakes next to the trail.”

  Lisa didn’t answer. Instead she dug her heels into Amber’s side, and they took off at a gallop.

  Bucky wasn’t having that. He started galloping after them. He reached his girlfriend’s side in seconds.

  “Get as close as you can,” Frank shouted.

  Bucky was fine with close. My leg was almost bumping into Lisa’s.

  That’s when Frank made his move. One second he was sitting behind me. Next he was behind Lisa, reaching around her to take the reins and signal Amber to stop.

  Bucky stopped too. He gave Amber’s muzzle a nuzzle. He was a happy boy. Frank and I were happy boys too. Missi
on accomplished.

  The Two Lives of Frank Hardy

  Yesterday I was leaping onto the back of a galloping horse. Today I’m back in school, listening to Mr. Edwards talk about the gold standard. Sometimes being an agent with American Teens Against Crime gives me mental whiplash. Not that I’d give it up. Helping put away the assorted murderers, thieves, and arsonists makes me feel like I’m contributing to the world. Giving something back.

  And it’s something Joe and I can do that adults can’t. ATAC sends us on missions where an adult would be out of place—like the teen Ride ’n Tie. No one over eighteen could have entered. The idea for using teens as operatives came from our dad. After he retired—he was a PI who did a lot of work for the police—he set up ATAC. Joe and I were the first recruits.

  ATAC is one of the ways Dad has given something back.

  JOE

  The other brother here. Okay, just wanted to say giving back, contributing, that’s all good. But what Frank’s not saying is that being with ATAC rocks. Kayaking, skiing, rappelling, flying, horseback riding—we do it all on our missions. It’s like an extreme sport amusement park.

  FRANK

  Out, Joe. I’m telling this part. And, by the way, at that extreme sport amusement park my brother was talking about—he forgot to mention that a lot of times between rides, someone is trying to kill either you or a person you’re supposed to be protecting.

  Anyway. As I was saying, I was sitting in history, feeling like I’d jumped between parallel universes once too often. The door swung open, and Mr. Edwards looked annoyed. A lot of teachers chill out near the end of the school year. They give you assignments like crossword puzzles, and everybody—teachers included—spaces out a little, thinking about summer vacation. Not Mr. Edwards.

  “What now?” he asked. “I’m trying to stuff a few key facts into these heads while I still have the chance.”

  I followed his gaze. Two girls had stepped into the room. I wasn’t sure of their names, but I thought they were both freshmen. They were dressed up like Cupid. Sort of. The little gold bows and arrows, and the wings, and maybe the armloads of flowers were your usual Cupid stuff. The shiny red shorts, pink T-shirts, and pink sneaks, not so much.

  “We’re here to pass out bouquets,” the taller Cupid explained to Mr. Edwards. “It’s a fund-raiser for the band for next year. Remember, people placed orders to send flowers to their sweeties—today is the delivery date.”

  Mr. Edwards rolled his eyes. “Make it quick.”

  “Shouldn’t take long,” Brian Conrad commented. “Just hand them all over to me.”

  Murderers are the kind of bad I deal with in that other universe I was talking about. Brian Conrad is the bad in this one. He’s not exactly dangerous. But he’s one of those long-on-talk, short-on-action bullies who supply much of the unpleasantness around school.

  “What’s your name?” the shorter Cupid asked Brian. My friend Chet Morton snickered at the question. It was typical of Brian to just assume everyone knew who he was. A legend in his own mind, to use one of my aunt Trudy’s favorite expressions.

  “Uh, there might be one for you,” the taller Cupid told Brian when he answered. She and the other girl flipped through the tags on the bouquets they held. “Yeah. Here you go.” She handed him about five daisies tied together with a yellow ribbon.

  “Your girlfriend went all out. She must have saved up for, what, at least a couple days to afford that,” Greg Rhomer joked.

  “Let’s see what you got,” Brian shot back.

  “I want to know who that massive one is for,” a girl who sat behind me called out.

  “Okay.” The taller Cupid looked at the tag on a bunch of what had to be two dozen red roses. “The lucky sweetie is—Frank Hardy.”

  I started to raise my hand, but she was already coming toward me. Brian snorted. “He sent them to himself,” he muttered. Loudly.

  “I’m betting on your sister,” Greg commented to Brian. “She’s always staring at him.”

  I hoped no one was staring at me right then. Because I felt a blush starting to creep up my neck, heading for my face. I took a deep breath, willing it away.

  “Awww, he’s blushing,” Andrew Peterson, another one of my so-called friends, pointed out.

  Why did I even try? You can’t control the involuntary nervous system by force of will. It’s just not biologically possible.

  “No way did Belinda send them,” Brian snapped. “If she’s always staring at him, it’s because he’s so repulsive.” In case you hadn’t noticed, Brian has only reached the fourth-grade level in comebacks.

  I suspected the flowers might actually be from his sister. At least Joe was always saying she had a crush on me. I’m not sure. I’m not great at knowing what girls are thinking. I don’t have very good girldar. I guess it’s because I sort of avoid them. I hate blushing, and being around a cute girl—that pretty much always brings one on. There was this one girl once who I actually felt okay around. Comfortable. But it didn’t exactly work out. Probably because Joe and I were the ones who proved she was a murderer.

  “Give it up, Frank,” Chet called as the Cupids handed out some more bouquets. “Who’s it from?”

  I shifted the bouquet, searching for the tag. Then I felt something rock solid. Something that definitely didn’t belong in a bunch of flowers.

  I tightened my grip on them. I didn’t want anybody to see what had actually been delivered to me in the middle of history class.

  Go Time

  “Bring the player. Usual place.”

  I turned my head and saw Frank walking away down the hall. He had a bunch of roses in one hand. I don’t get it. I am, objectively, the cuter Hardy. I’ve got the blond hair and the blue eyes. Everyone knows that’s the best combo. I’m also a lot more fun than Frank. And I can hold a conversation with a girl without stammering and turning red. But did I get flowers? Well, yeah, actually. I got a couple of carnations from Madison Brownlee. But she’s class president, and she gave flowers to everybody.

  I shoved my books in my locker, grabbed my lunch and my game player, and slammed the door. Then I headed toward the out-of-order bathroom with the not-pleasant smell. It’s our favorite place to eat.

  Psych. It’s one of the places at school that’s safe to watch one of the cartridges from ATAC. That’s how we receive our missions—on what look like game cartridges. We only get to watch them once, so we have to remember everything the first time we see them. If you try to play them a second time, all you get is music. Usually something you really don’t want anyone to hear you listening to. NKOTB, anyone? Didn’t think so.

  I knew Frank had received a cartridge. The request for the game player meant it was go time. We were about to find out what our next mission was.

  “You really shouldn’t have gotten me flowers,” I told my brother as I stepped into the bathroom. “It’s not my birthday or anything.”

  “My pleasure.” He tossed the bouquet to me and held out his hand for the game player. “I wish ATAC had delivered them—and the cartridge—to you.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, it would have been so humiliating for everyone to think some girl liked me enough to spring for a multitude of roses.”

  Frank didn’t answer. He has this policy of ignoring me when he doesn’t like what I have to say. He snapped the cartridge in place. I moved closer, so I had a good view of the small screen.

  A teenage guy ran up the side of a building. Right up the side of a building. “Cool. I am so going to see that movie the first day.”

  “What movie?” Frank asked.

  “The new Justin Carraway one. Z Force,” I told him. “The commercials for it are on practically every half hour.” Frank still looked blank. “But I guess not on the Discovery Channel,” I added.

  “I don’t get why you like his movies. I saw two of them, and they were both totally unrealistic. The laws of physics weren’t even in play,” said Frank.

  “Who cares? His movies are slammin’,” I
said, my eyes locked on the game player’s screen. I was hoping for a few seconds that were new. But the movie clip slid away, and Sanders Smith, the host of Star Gazer, slid on.

  “Justin Carraway must have kept some of the superpowers he used in Z Force,” Sanders said in his smooth announcer voice. “Look at what he was able to do to this hotel room in less than twelve hours.”

  The image of a completely totaled hotel room appeared behind Sanders’s big head. Ever notice how people who make it famous on TV or in movies seem to have especially big heads? And often teeny little bodies. They are mutants. Evolutionarily, all humans should be wearing the big head, teeny body combo in a couple of thousand years.

  “That’s what your bedroom would look like if Aunt Trudy didn’t stay on your case,” Frank commented.

  “Come on. I don’t smash stuff up. Or tear the stuffing out of furniture. Or pull lighting fixtures out of the wall. I just like to have my stuff in easy reach. And sometimes easy reach is on the floor.”

  “Yeah, I can see why you’d never want to be more than an arm’s length away from that moldy bologna sandwich I saw in there the other day,” Frank answered.

  Big-head Sanders’s voice cut back in. “That’s one more on the list of places that have banned Justin. It was just last week that the Ivy, one of L.A.’s power restaurants, asked him not to return. Justin set fire to the place, or at least acted like he was about to—it turned out he was just punking Rick Ortiz, one of his entourage.” A clip of Justin laughing at a guy I assumed was Rick appeared on the screen; then there was another close-up of Sanders.

  “And as of last night—you’re never going to believe this—Justin was banned from a whole city,” he said. “New Haven, Connecticut, voted to veto the permits necessary for Justin and company to film scenes on one of their main streets. Congrats, Justin. Banned from an entire city at seventeen. Impressive.”

  Sanders leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’ve got a suggestion for you, Justin. Next time you get in trouble, just whip this out.” A new picture appeared behind Sanders. Justin at probably age four. “Who could resist that face, am I right?” Sanders continued.