Brother Against Brother

by Franklin W. Dixon

  He glanced back for a second, expecting to see a bullet with his name on it. Instead, he saw the counterman shove Higgins's arm up. Frank gave a sigh of relief. Apparently, the counterman didn't want any bullet holes in his precious pickup.

  Frank pushed the steering wheel, as if that would somehow make the pickup gain some speed. "Come on, you old clunker! We can make it."

  In the rear-view mirror, Frank saw Officer Higgins making for the highway patrol car. The counterman stood by the diner, waving his hands, jumping up and down.

  "With my luck," Frank muttered, "I'll be arrested for stealing this hunk of junk and not paying for that steak."

  The pickup groaned its way up a hill as the lights on Patrol Car 28 went on. In the mirror, Frank saw it roar out of the parking lot, spinning clouds of dust.

  If I had to steal something, Frank thought, I should've stolen the patrol car, instead. At leastv it has some power.

  He grinned at the image of Officer Higgins trying to chase him in the wheezing pickup. But his grin disappeared at the first scream of the siren behind him. Of course, he realized, stealing a patrol car would have landed me in jail.

  Then he caught a glimpse of the revolving red lights on top of the cop-car closing the distance between them. Of course, if Higgins catches up with me, I'll still be in a ton of trouble!

  Frank checked the rear view mirror again. The patrol car was gaining on him. Not too difficult, since the pickup speedometer was indicating a mere forty-five miles per hour. Higgins flashed his lights at Frank, insistently pointing to the side of the road.

  The patrol car came so close that Frank could hear its roaring engine. Then Higgins's voice came blaring over the rooftop speaker: "Okay, son, just pull over. Your little prank is finished. Pull over and there won't be any problem. Come on, kid, give yourself up and the judge might be more lenient."

  "Oh, thanks a lot!" Frank said. His eyes desperately scanned the landscape ahead. If he could just make it to the top of the rise, he might be all right.

  "Pull over right now!" Higgins barked. "I'm warning you, son. Right now! I'm counting to five, then I'll shoot your tires out! One, two, three — "

  Frank pressed the accelerator pedal again, and the truck spurted over the rise. The patrol car did the same. By now, it was so close, it nudged the pickup on the rear bumper.

  "I'm not going to pull this off," Frank said to himself, despairing. "Well, I gave it my best shot—"

  Suddenly car 28 sputtered. Hearing the sound, Frank watched the scene in the rear-view mirror. The patrol car jumped ahead, stopped, sputtered, jumped ahead again, and then died. Stone cold dead in the middle of the road!

  Inside the patrol car, Higgins kicked the transmission back into park and turned over the ignition. The engine wouldn't catch. Over and over Higgins tried to start it—with no success. He slammed his hands against the dashboard in frustration, then picked up the mike.

  "I'll get you, kid!" he roared after Frank.

  Up ahead, putting some distance between Higgins and the pickup, Frank grinned with relief. The potato had blocked the patrol car's exhaust pipe. And the exhaust gases, with nowhere else to go, had damped down the engine.

  "All right," Frank whispered, congratulating himself.

  But his grin soon faded. He'd lost a lot of time. And he wasn't going to make any of it up, chugging along in this heap. Joe would be long past the county seat before Frank even got there— unless the hit man caught him first.

  That thought set Frank to work like a madman squeezing every bit of speed from the pickup. The road began to rise and fall like a roller coaster. At the top of an especially high hill, Frank pushed in the clutch and slipped the gears into neutral. Using the weight of the truck and the steep decline, he soon had the pickup rolling along faster than sixty miles an hour.

  ***

  Cruising well ahead on the road, Joe glanced over at Rita. She was curled asleep, her body turned toward the seat. Joe's jacket covered her. Joe tried to hold his eyes open. A few times he had found himself nodding out over the wheel But he had forced himself to sit back and stare ahead. Joe wasn't sure how much longer that would work. He was exhausted.

  Nudging Rita with his elbow, he asked, "Any idea how much farther to Corralville?"

  She yawned and stretched. "How long have I been sleeping?" "An hour and a half," Joe told her. "We should be pretty close," she said. "Want me to drive?"

  "Maybe so," Joe said. "I can't stay awake. But you know, maybe it's a good idea to enter Corralville in the morning, when the sheriff will be at his office."

  "So what do you want to do?" Rita asked. "Let's pull over and knock off a few Zs," Joe suggested. "We can hide the car off the road." "All right," Rita said.

  Joe slowed the car, then pulled off the highway onto a narrow dirt road. He followed the road as it passed some rangeland protected by barbed wire fences.

  Figuring that they were safely out of sight, Joe pulled off the road into a patch of buffalo grass. "Well, good night then," Joe said, turning off the engine.

  Rita mumbled, already half-asleep. Joe leaned against the driver's door and closed his eyes. His body was exhausted—but his mind wouldn't give up. The pictures in it weren't making a whole lot of sense, but they kept flashing.

  If these are my memories, Joe thought, I must lead a pretty violent life. Faces kept appearing— . a big, beefy blond guy, smiling. A heavyset guy who grinned a lot. An older man and woman — his parents? And, of course, the dark-haired guy, laughing at him.

  Joe forced himself to relax, closing his eyes. His breathing became more regular, his head tilted to one side. ... And then the dark-haired guy was leaping across the hood of the car. He pinned Joe with a cold stare as he coolly drew his pistol. He was every inch the pro. The gun was aimed right at Joe's head, the bullet tearing through the windshield.

  Joe grabbed at the handle and rammed into the door. He had actually fallen out onto the grassy margin at the roadside before his eyes opened! Still shaken, he stared around the empty field, almost positive the hit man was still there.

  "A dream," he whispered to himself. He glanced up into the car at Rita, who was still fast asleep.

  "Boy," he muttered, "this girl could sleep through a hurricane."

  He stood up and checked the dashboard clock. Apparently he had dropped off for an hour's rest, though it didn't feel like it.

  Time to find the sheriff, Joe thought, and finally put an end to this nightmare.

  Without waking Rita, he turned the key, started the engine, and began to follow the road back toward the highway.

  ***

  Frank couldn't believe his luck. No one had found him yet. Higgins had to have called the highway patrol. They were probably searching the major highways. No one would believe he'd stay in the area on a small road. Frank was pretty tired though. He'd spent the past hour playing any game to stay awake. He did complicated math problems. He named, in order, every element in the periodic table. He sang the lyrics to every song he could remember. He tried to recall the name of every kid in his classes from elementary school. He began to recite the fifty states: Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado — Colorado!"

  Frank couldn't believe his eyes. Pulling into the highway just ahead of him was a familiar car. His rental model—with Joe in the driver's seat!

  No one would believe him, Frank thought to himself.

  He slowed the pickup—not a difficult task— and allowed the rental car to gather some speed. The big problem was figuring out a way to approach Joe without turning him into a madman again.

  I'll never catch up to him if he tries to pull away, Frank thought. My one advantage is that he won't recognize this truck. Maybe I can lure him back.

  With that, Frank honked the horn a few times, drawing Joe's attention. When the rental car's brake lights went on, Frank whipped the pickup's steering wheel to the right. His idea was to fake a blowout and hope Joe would respond.

  Frank held on, as the pickup
skidded off the road. Quickly he looked up. Joe had gone for the bait! The rental car was turning around and approaching the pickup.

  Frank opened the door and climbed out. Ready to take on Joe, if necessary.

  The rental car stopped, catching Frank in its headlights.

  Frank took a few steps toward the car. Good, it looked as if Joe would be reasonable.

  Joe's suspicion turned to horror as he stared at the dark-haired guy appearing out of the predawn mist. "Oh, no!" he shouted, waking Rita.

  He spun the steering wheel and floored the accelerator.

  Frank leapt aside as the car swerved right through the area where he'd been standing. "Not this again!" he groaned, pulling himself up and rushing back to the pickup.

  His tires screamed as he threw the truck into motion. The chase was on!

  Chapter 14

  By the time Frank had his pickup back on the road, the rental car had zoomed ahead. Frank chugged slowly behind.

  "I'll never catch him," Frank told himself miserably. Still, what choice did he have?

  Frank watched the taillights of the rental car disappear over a hill. All the tiredness that his momentary excitement had burnt away fell back onto him. What had gotten into Joe? he wondered.

  If he were trying to warn Frank off, that rockslide was far too deadly. Maybe Joe was somehow being forced to act hostile. But the beating he'd given Frank hadn't been acting. And he could have whispered an explanation during one of the clinches.

  The pickup plowed along following the cloud of dust raised by Joe's car. Frank was determined to make some sense out of his brother's weird behavior.

  What would make Joe act this way? Frank asked himself.

  Brainwashing? But Joe had only disappeared a couple of days. Frank couldn't believe he could have been brainwashed in such a short time.

  Hypnotism? That might explain why Joe was so unexpectedly hostile. And it would explain why Joe might attack him but not finish him off. People under hypnosis couldn't be ordered to do things that they believed to be wrong. Frank shook his head. A hit man using hypnosis? That was just too bizarre.

  Frank laughed at the image of a thug with a gun in one hand, saying, "You are in my power." He would wear a black mask, and a magician's turban — turban!

  Frank's hands clenched the wheel as he remembered creeping up on the cabin in the woods. He'd seen a distant figure walking from the Jeep — a figure that had turned out to be Joe. But the first time he'd seen him, Frank thought the guy was wearing a turban. What if it wasn't a turban—but some kind of bandage on his head?

  "Amnesia." Frank exhaled loudly. It made sense. Joe had looked pretty battered. He must have been bumped around a lot when his car was wrecked. What if Joe had bumped his head? Then Frank remembered the bloody tire iron, with the hairs caught on it. What if Joe had been hit on his head? What if he lost his memory? What if he thinks I'm the hit man and I'm trying to kill him?.

  Frank gripped the wheel. He had to catch up with Joe.

  "Slow down!" Rita shouted, pulling at Joe's arms. "We've lost him! He can't hurt us now!"

  Joe glanced in his rear-view mirror. She was right. The dark-haired killer and his pickup had fallen far behind. But Joe still kept the gas pedal down low. It might be irrational, but he swore to himself that he'd take no chances with that guy.

  "Slow down! Please!" Rita pleaded as the car screeched around a sharp curve. "Do you want us to go off the road?"

  Joe didn't answer her. And he didn't slow down.

  "What's the matter with you?" Rita's voice rose. "Have you gone out of your mind?" Joe twisted around to glare at her, wild-eyed. "Look out!" Rita screamed. He turned forward again. He was approaching a hairpin turn that was upon him right then. Slamming on the brakes, Joe twisted the wheel into the turn. The car screeched along a steel guardrail, which alone kept it from spilling down the steep rocky slope. Joe fought to regain control of the car — and succeeded.

  "I think we left some of our paint on the guardrail," finally gasped, Joe.

  Joe slowed down, and then stopped.

  Rita pulled his hands off the steering wheel.

  "What happened back there?" she asked.

  "Please, Rita," Joe begged, "don't tell me I've gone crazy. I saw him back there. The dark-haired guy. The hit man. He came walking right into our headlights. Smiling. Smiling. I couldn't take it. I had to get away."

  He shook his head. "I guess I did go crazy, for a while. That was a foolish stunt I pulled. I could have gotten us killed."

  "All the time, I keep getting flashes — pictures of that guy fighting with me, laughing at me. He stopped me from saving Iola ... " Joe's voice broke off.

  Then he turned to Rita, whispering fiercely, "But he's not going to keep me from saving you!"

  He shook his head. "I haven't been able to stop him yet. But I've just got to outplan him. Every time he's turned up, he's caught us by surprise. So this time we'll have to surprise him. Really surprise him.

  "Let's take a look at the map."

  Rita spread it out. "I know this stretch of road," she said, pointing at a line snaking through the mountains. "A few more miles and we'll clear these mountains. From there on it's a flat five-mile stretch into Corralville."

  Joe examined the map very carefully. "What's this line here?" he asked suddenly, stabbing at the map with his finger.

  Rita squinted, then nodded. "That's an old logging road, just at the edge of the mountains," she said. "I don't know if anyone even drives there. You can't really see it, it's hidden by some aspen trees."

  "Perfect," said Joe. He started up the engine again and drove off.

  Frank, making the best time he could, came wheezing downhill in his stolen pickup. Long before he had lost sight of the rental car.

  "At the speed he took off, Joe will be in California before I make it to Corralville," he said, fuming.

  "I hope somebody nails that hit man. Because I want first crack at my baby brother. I'll pound some sense into that thick skull of his." That got a laugh out of Frank. "Dr. Hardy's Amnesia Cure."

  He eased the truck around a last curve, which provided a fine view of the valley below. Some six or seven miles off were the lights of Corralville.

  Frank anxiously scanned the flat expanse of roadway. "Empty," he said. "Not a car out there. Joe must be in the town already—unless he went another way or just passed through."

  Then he remembered the all-points bulletin that had been posted for Joe. He also thought that there must be one out for him, too. "There's a sheriff in Corralville. Maybe he got hold of Joe."

  Frank tromped the accelerator again, eager to reach Corralville.

  The pickup whipped through the final turn, and the road began to flatten.

  All of Frank's attention was on the road before him, so he barely noticed a churning sound erupting from a stand of aspens off to one side.

  He turned when the sound got louder and saw a car come barreling into view—flashing straight at the pickup!

  Frank tried to brake, tried to turn aside. But the onrushing car caught him broadside, smashing him off the road, into the ditch.

  The last thing Frank remembered was his own brother, grim-faced at the wheel, ramming him!

  Chapter 15

  Joe Hardy brought his car out of the crash and fishtailed back onto the highway. He didn't even look back at the pickup he'd sent hurtling off the road. He was just happy that his car wasn't so badly damaged that it couldn't be driven. The door on Joe's side was sprung, and the whole front end was bashed in—but still the car drove.

  Rita stared out the rear window as the truck landed on its side. "The gas tank didn't explode," she said. "I guess he'll be all right in there."

  Joe nodded. "One thing's for sure. He's not going anywhere. The sheriff can pick him up."

  Billboards advertising restaurants and motels clustered along the roadside, announcing that they were approaching Corralville. Then came signs announcing a decrease in the speed limit and a s
chool crossing warning. A few minutes later they were stopped by a true sign of civilization — a traffic light.

  Joe brought the car to a stop, steam billowing out of the engine, then he turned to Rita. "So what's our plan?" she asked. Joe peered through the spider's web of a windshield to see that night had given Way to dawn. Daylight illuminated the road ahead. "The sheriff should be getting to headquarters soon," he said.

  Rita nodded. "Right. Our best hope is to get the coded message to the authorities."

  Joe patted his breast pocket, feeling the paper inside. "Yes."

  Rita leaned back. "Thank goodness. Imagine, before long I'll be able to stop running. I'll be safe and free." She turned her head toward the window. "I'll look for the sheriff's office," she said.

  But before Joe could get the car in gear, he had another memory flashes — a crooked sheriff aiming a gun at Joe's nose. "They pay me good money to take care of problems like you," the sheriff said. He remembered his muscles tensingly for a hopeless spring—and the dark-haired guy warning him back. Then the two of them together had overpowered the corrupt lawman.

  "The dark-haired guy helped me!" Joe muttered to himself.

  "What?" Rita said. "Did you say something to me?"

  Joe shook his head. "No, I was just thinking out loud."

  "What about?" Rita asked with concern.

  "Maybe going to the sheriff isn't such a good idea," Joe told her. "Maybe the right thing to do is turn back and see if that guy in the pickup is okay."

  "Don't start acting crazy again!" Rita warned Joe. "We're so close — can't we just finish this thing and get on with our lives? Please? The sheriff isn't going to hurt us."

  Joe forced the disturbing memory into the back of his brain.

  "Okay," he said. "We'll go to the law."

  Rita nodded in approval.

  They topped a rise, and sprawling out before them in the sunrise was the town they'd been struggling to reach. Corralville, the county seat.