Sneaking behind the cruiser, Frank placed his economy-size Molotov cocktail on the ground. Then he jimmied open the trunk with the tire iron.
"Well, well," Frank said in surprise. The trunk wasn't empty as he'd expected. In fact, it was quite full—of a furious, squirming Officer Higgins! The highway patrolman was in his underwear, his arms and legs bound together, his mouth gagged. He looked like a trussed-up turkey, ready for the oven.
Higgins twisted and turned, trying to say something through the gag.
"It hasn't been your day, has it?" Frank said, reaching for him.
Frank lifted the heavy officer from the trunk and eased him to the ground.
Higgins began to roll in the dirt, emphatically demanding that Frank untie him. It was just as well the gag reduced his shouts to mere mumbles. Frank didn't want the hit man getting any warning.
Instead, he quickly pulled Higgins well clear of the car and left him leaning against the side of the building.
"Sorry about this, officer," Frank said, dashing back to the police cruiser. He placed his homemade bomb in the recently vacated trunk, on top of the car's gas tank. Then he ran to the front of the car, where he opened the hood and quickly removed the battery.
Placing the battery near the front stoop, he knelt down with the contacts for the jumper cables in his hands. "Not much of a detonator," he whispered. "I just hope it works."
***
Inside the small cell block, the hit man couldn't resist gloating over his triumph.
"You led me on a merry chase," he told Joe and Rita. "But it's over. I've finally caught up with you."
Joe's face was a study in anger. He gripped the bars that held him in, yelling, "You dirty — "
"Call me-Skell, kid." The hit man's thin lips creased in a smile. "It's just a nickname—but in my line of business, you don't give your real name away." The smile broadened. "Even if you make sure no witnesses will be left."
"I don't believe you," Joe said. "You're going to kill us—in a sheriff's office? Every lawman in Colorado will be after you."-——"
The hit man shrugged. "By the time I finish, it will look accidental. Maybe a fire." He glanced around. "Or maybe something more artistic."
"You'll never get away with it."
"Famous last words, kid. Tomorrow, I'll be on a beach somewhere, relaxing in the sun." Skell smiled down at the fallen sheriff. "Yes, sir, everything's here in a neat package. All tight, just as he said."
Rita stood with her hands clenched around the strong iron bars of her cell. "You killed my father?" she whispered.
"That's my job. I'm the best." Skell tapped a finger to his skinny chest. "My employers knew when they hired me that the job was guaranteed." He looked at the two prisoners. "Even if the clean-up meant a lot of work.
Joe threw himself against his cell door—but it held without budging. "Come on," he taunted the hit man. "Make it a fair fight. How about you and me going hand to hand? No weapons, no tricks. And let the better man walk away!"
"Hey, I'm no hero," Skell said with a smirk. "I'm a businessman. Give it up, kid. You're history. I'm just enjoying a few minutes before I'm rid of you forever."
He checked the magazine of his riot gun. "Eight shells," he said. "Way more than I need. One shot for the brave fool. One for the little lady. A quick job. But you've made me a rich man, kids." His smile was knife thin, now.
"Yeah?" Joe countered. "How much are they paying you?"
"Good work doesn't come cheap," the hit man said. "But my employers knew that I'd make good on the contract. You," he added, pointing the shotgun at Joe, "will have to be a freebie."
"Quit torturing us," Joe said quietly. "If you're going to do it, then get it over with."
"I'm in no hurry," Skell said, throwing the shotgun over his shoulder. "You know what your problem is, kid? You've got a thick head. You don't know when to die. You should have bought it in the trunk of your car, back at Cripple Mine. Either you were lucky, or I was sloppy. Either way, I'll clean it up now. But I'll try to make it quick. After all, I owe you some thanks on this job."
"You owe me some thanks?" Joe echoed.
The hit man nodded. "Sure do. You see, I didn't know exactly where to find Tabor. But when I tracked you and Rita back to the cabin and saw 'Uncle Delbert,' well, I knew I'd found the right cabin. Sorry I couldn't get you there, but my gun was in my car up on the road. I knew ; I'd catch up with you, though."
Joe glanced over at Rita. "I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I blew it. I blew everything."
Rita took his hand through the bars and squeezed it. "It's all right," she whispered. "It wasn't your fault. You tried to help."
"Hey, I hate to cut this touching scene short, but, well, business is business," Skell cut in. He pulled a knife from his belt. "What do you think of this plan?" he asked Joe and Rita. "After I shoot you two, I'll get the boy's prints on this knife and then stick it into the sheriff."
He nodded happily. "When they find you, they'll piece together what must have happened. A tragic story. A punk stabbed the sheriff who, dying, somehow managed to shoot his attackers. Artistic, huh?"
Rita lost all control. "Your bosses may kill me, but they're all still in jail," she snapped. "And I'm glad of it."
"Yeah, well, they're in jail now," Skell admitted. "But there is the new trial. And without the star witnesses, my bosses can buy their way out of it. What do you think about that?"
"I think you're a real sick piece of work," Joe said.
Skell brought up his shotgun, his eyes cold as ice. I was going to kill the little lady first, just so you could watch," he told Joe. "But I'm tired of your lip. You go first!"
Joe drew himself up as straight as he could, as did Rita in her cell.
"How pretty," the killer snarled. "Just like Romeo and Juliet. Okay, kids, the party's over - "
Skell's finger tightened on the trigger—and the whole room shook with a tremendous force.
Chapter 18
Instinctively Joe Hardy closed his eyes. Then he opened them in surprise. He wasn't dead! What had happened?
He looked first at Rita, then at Skell. The explosion had thrown Skell against Joe's cell and he stood staring through the doorway into the front of the sheriff's office.
The place was destroyed. The explosion had shattered the windows, sending glass and debris sailing. Smoke was pouring in, and they could all hear the crackle of flames outside.
Joe tried to take advantage of the moment, grabbing for the barrel of the shotgun. But before he could get a solid grasp, Skell snarled and yanked the weapon away.
"I'll deal with you two later!" the hit man shouted, running to investigate the blast.
Skell charged into the office and went into a crouch behind the sheriff's desk. But it took him a moment to realize that the explosion had come from outside the building. Holding the shotgun in one hand and Higgins's stolen service revolver in his other hand, he crept to the window for a view.
Even in the back room, Joe could hear Skell cursing.
Quickly the hit man moved to the front door, kicking it open. Smoke came billowing into the office, carrying the stench of burning gasoline. Firing the revolver, Skell plunged into the smoke, toward the spot where he'd left the patrol car.
Crouched low on the porch beside the front steps, Frank watched the hit man rush past him. As soon as he saw the hit man disappear into the billowing cloud of smoke, Frank dashed inside the sheriff's office.
There was no time to congratulate himself, even though it seemed that the diversion had worked. Frank grabbed the sheriff's keys from the desk and ran to the cells in the back. He had a suspicion who he'd find there.
Holding a finger to his lips, Frank leapt over the prone sheriff and quickly unlocked the door to Joe's cell.
"The hit man will be back in a moment," Frank whispered. "Stay where you are. We'll get the drop on him together."
Joe stared in amazement. Maybe the shock of almost dying had cut through the tangle of ha
lf memories in his head. Now he realized who this dark-haired guy was. "Frank," Joe whispered. "You're my brother, Frank."
Frank glanced up and grinned. "Well, it's about time! I was getting pretty tired of being the Hardy Boy. Let's put an end to this whole mess." "And how!" Joe said.
Frank was just about to unlock Rita's cell when he 'heard the hit man returning. He had only a moment to dive back into the front room and under the sheriff's desk.
Skell holstered the pistol and used his free hand to clear the smoke from in front of him. Frank held his breath, as he watched Skell's boots move past him, marching toward the cells.
"I don't have time to fool around now!" Skell's face was twisted in a snarl. "Somehow, the patrol car has exploded. I'm finishing this job and getting out of here!"
The hit man took a step toward Joe's cell and leveled the shotgun. "So long, kid."
Joe's foot shot out, kicking his cell door open right in Skell's face! A shotgun blast ripped into the ceiling as the hit man staggered back.
Frank scrambled free from the desk and jumped Skell from behind. But even though Skell was skinny, he had wiry strength and agility. As soon as he felt Frank's weight, he ducked and sent Frank spilling over him. Skell reared back, ready to club Frank with the butt of the shotgun.
But Joe came charging out of his cell, plowing into Skell's belly.
The tackle sent the hit man tumbling backward.
Joe followed up, lifting the hit man to his feet. He swung both fists into Skell's chest. Then he grabbed for the shotgun, trying to wrestle it from the killer's grasp.
But Skell wasn't finished yet. He smashed the gun down on his knee, breaking Joe's hold. Then he threw a solid punch to Joe's jaw, sending him whirling back until he crashed against Rita's cell.
Rita helped the cause by pushing Joe back toward the action.
Both Hardys came at Skell from different directions — Frank in a classic karate stance, Joe with his fists up.
But the killer still had the upper hand — he still had the shotgun. Ramming the butt into Joe's stomach, he swung the barrel wildly, clearing some room for himself. Joe and Frank had to jump back.
"Cute. But not cute enough." Skell's lips were a thin, angry line.
"It's two against one," Frank told him. "Put the gun down."
"Two against one doesn't count—not when I can blow you away!" Skell swung the shotgun again at Joe, who ducked from the blow, moving toward Frank.
"Don't get too close to me," Frank hissed. "We can't let him take us out with one shot!"
Skell twisted around, aiming the gun at Frank. His face registered surprise as Frank's foot lashed out at his chest. But the hit man met the threat, clubbing Frank's leg with the shotgun barrel. Joe circled round, trying for another attack.
Working as a team, the Hardys closed in on Skell. He began to back-pedal, bringing up the gun again. "Okay, who wants it first?" the hit man said, quickly shifting his aim from Frank to Joe, then back to Frank.
His eyes were locked on the brothers now. If Frank or Joe took a step forward, Skell was ready to shoot.
He stepped back to get a little more distance from his attackers—and crashed into Rita's cell.
Rita's hand darted through the bars to snatch the service revolver from his holster, jabbing it into Skell's back.
"Hold it right there," she warned.
The hit man was taken by surprise. He stiffened, half turning his head. Frank was ready to take advantage of that lapse. He clubbed both fists down on the shotgun, knocking it from Skell's hands.
Even as Frank was attacking, Joe unleashed an uppercut that sent the killer's skull crashing against the iron bars, knocking him out.
Skell slumped to the floor, and Joe drew back for another punch. Frank grabbed Joe's arm and felt the muscles tensing under his fingers.
"Stop it!" Frank shouted. "That's enough!"
"No, it isn't!" Joe shouted, trying to pull free. "This guy's a killer, Frank!"
"Then he'll face charges in a proper court of law," Frank insisted, barely holding Joe back.
Joe's fury began to ease. "You're right," he told Frank. "I guess I just forgot who I was for a moment."
"For a moment?" Frank said with a grin. He released Joe's arm and patted his brother on the back. "It's good to have you back, Joe."
Joe found the keys and unlocked the door to Rita's cell. She stepped out, and began to break down, her body shaking and tears falling freely down her face.
"It's over. It's all over now, Rita," Joe said softly. He removed the pistol from her hand and drew her close.
She leaned against him and wiped her eyes. "Yes. You even know who you really are, now."
Frank stepped forward and smiled. "This may seem like a weird time for introductions—but I'm Frank Hardy." Gesturing toward Joe, he added, "This is my younger brother, Joe."
By the time the sheriff finally came to, he thought he was still dreaming. Hovering over him were Frank, Joe, and Rita. Officer Higgins, back in his uniform, was on the telephone, calling his headquarters. And behind bars was Skell, handcuffed to the steel frame of a cell cot.
The sheriff jumped up with a fierce look. "Someone had better have a good explanation for all this!"
Frank and Joe chuckled.
Officer Higgins hung up the phone. "Well, - sheriff, it's this way." He quickly brought the local lawman up to date, carefully avoiding some of the more humiliating things that had happened to him in the course of the adventure. "These kids cut a lot of corners," he finally finished. "Blowing up my patrol car is a serious offense." He grudgingly continued. "But they did pull the fat out of the fire. For all of us."
The sheriff still looked pretty embarrassed. "That guy sure got the jump on me. But then, I usually think a man in uniform is on my side." He shook hands with Frank. "Thanks for coming along when you did."
Then he turned to Joe and Rita. "Guess I owe you two more than thanks — you deserve an apology."
Joe nodded. "At least it's all over now."
"Pretty soon, you'll be heading home," Higgins cut in. "Headquarters told me that your dad is in Denver, hopping a helicopter to get here."
"Dad!" said Joe. "I forgot about him!"
"You forgot about a lot of stuff," Frank said with a laugh. "But I think Dad will be glad to find you all in one piece."
Joe' went over to Rita, who was standing outside the door to the office, staring at the wreckage of patrol car 28. He understood her silence. The terror would not be over for her. Skell was in custody. But she'd lost her father, and her hiding place. The criminals would be after her until she testified—and maybe afterward for revenge.
"Come with us," Joe told her. "You'll be safe in Bayport."
"I'd like to think so," Rita said, sadly shaking her head. "I'd enjoy getting to know you better. But I can't."
She took a long, deep breath. "I'm going back into the witness protection program." She clasped Joe's hand. "Not because I want to go. Because I have to go."
Joe nodded numbly. "So this is goodbye, then. I'll never see you again."
She kissed him, her eyes shining with tears. "Never say never, Joe."
As they drew apart, Joe could hear the clattering sound of a helicopter approaching. "Hey, Frank," he called inside. "I think our ride is coming."
"Great," said Frank, coming to the door. "Just promise me one thing."
Joe looked puzzled. "What?"
Frank grinned. "Whatever you do, don't hit your head climbing aboard. You can be a dangerous enemy—and I don't want you trying to push me out of that chopper at two thousand feet!"
The End.
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