Running on Empty

by Franklin W. Dixon

  "Try that with me, jerk," Joe threatened.

  Max laughed. Then to Butch he said, "That's why you're not the brains. We need Fat Boy, even if he is uncooperative. Now, let's party, partner."

  "Show time!" Butch shouted.

  He brought his hand down in one grand swooping gesture toward the lethal switch.

  Chapter 16

  Chet Morton suddenly came to life. He lashed out with a vicious kick that connected with Butch's kneecap.

  Butch howled in pain as he toppled backward, his hand missing the switch and flipping off the overhead light switch instead, plunging the room into darkness.

  Frank, Joe, and Emmy separated as the shotgun erupted, followed quickly by the .45. The room was lit by the red-yellow muzzle flash of both weapons.

  Frank scrambled to the opposite side of the room. His plan was to make his way around the edge of the wall and come up on the side of Max.

  A sudden wooden crash caused him to freeze. Moonlight streamed in as the rear door burst open. Butch darted through the door, followed by a limping Max.

  "I'll get the light!" Frank shouted.

  "Wait!" Joe warned. He clicked on his penlight. "You might hit the wrong switch." He aimed his light at the two wall switches. "The one on the right."

  "Thanks, Joe." Frank hit the switch and the room was once again washed in the yellowish glow of the low-watt bulb.

  Joe knelt next to a groggy Chet. "Welcome back from the dead," he said with a smile.

  "Yeah. Thanks," Chet grunted.

  Using his pocketknife, Joe cut the cords around Chet's wrists and ankles while Frank loosened the rope holding Emmy's hands.

  "How do you feel, buddy?" Frank asked.

  Chet stood with Joe's help, his rubbery legs wobbling beneath him. He had to lean on Joe to keep from falling. "I've been tied up like that since Sunday night. They knocked me out again just before they left to meet Uncle Ed, but that gun blast woke me up. I pretended to be passed out. I knew you two would need my help."

  "Thanks. I thought we were fried," Frank said, indicating the water and wire.

  "Butch and Max are getting away," Joe said, ignoring Frank's comment. He scanned the stacks of flattened cars from the open back door.

  "Well, they're not escaping," Emmy announced. "The only gate is the one next to the house and parts barn. They took off in the wrong direction. They're going to have to circle around to escape. You can cut them off before they reach it. I'll call Cronkite for backup."

  "Like the man said," Frank began as he dashed to the front door, "it's show time."

  The Hardys dashed out into the night. The full moon provided enough light to allow them to see clearly up and down the rows of stacked flattened cars. The stacks provided dark shadowy hiding places for the Hardys - and for Max and Butch.

  "They're going to have to circle around to the north side," Frank said, visualizing the map in his mind. "Max's leg wound ought to slow them down."

  They stopped and pressed themselves against a stack of cars. Frank poked his head around the corner and then back into the shadows. Nothing, he shook his head at Joe. They crouched and sprinted across the open lane.

  "Let's put the odds a little more in our favor," Joe said, looking up.

  "What's your plan?"

  "Climb up on the next row, ambush them as they walk by."

  Frank liked Joe's idea. The last thing they needed to do was meet the two men in the open. They sprinted to the next row of stacked cars and climbed up the fifteen-foot-high stack, avoiding loose chrome, side mirrors, and other car parts that might creak and give away their position.

  Once on top, they lay down and leaned over the edge just enough to see down the lane. It was empty.

  Frank couldn't have been wrong. This was the only way they could get to the gate. Perhaps they had doubled back, headed for the shack - for Emmy and Chet!

  Joe nudged Frank and pointed. Frank strained to see in the direction his brother was pointing. A dark outline limped slowly in the shadows of the stack across from them, a shotgun held waist level. Max.

  Where was Butch?

  Frank moved forward slightly and leaned over the edge. Butch was directly below him, the .45 held straight in front of him, its hammer locked back.

  Frank scooted back from the edge. He nudged Joe, pointed down, then held up one finger.

  Joe nodded that he understood.

  Frank leaned forward. A rusted chunk of metal gave way and creaked.

  A thunderous roar fragmented the silence. Shotgun pellets spattered the edge of the stack in front of Frank and Joe.

  The Hardys rolled away from the edge and then dropped to the opposite side of the stacked flattened cars.

  "The other side!" they heard Max yell.

  A second later Butch appeared at the head of the lane, his .45 spitting fire and lead.

  Frank and Joe ducked and sprinted toward the back of the salvage yard, .45 slugs whistling past them. They came to a break in the row, Frank diving to the left, Joe to the right.

  "You're dead, Hardys! Dead!" Butch screamed.

  "Butch?" Max yelled.

  "Yeah, over here," Butch answered. "They're cornered like trapped rats."

  Butch was right. Frank and Joe were safe, but only until Max and Butch could walk to the break in the row.

  "Come out, come out wherever you are," Max said, cackling.

  They were trapped. They could climb over the stacks, but Max and Butch would still be on the loose, hunting them down between the rows of dead cars.

  "Hey, Hardys!" Max shouted. "Need any spare parts?"

  Joe seized a hubcap lying next to his foot. He held it up for Frank to see and made a throwing motion.

  Frank nodded that he understood. He held up three fingers. Joe gave him the okay sign.

  Joe stepped away from the stack and held the hubcap like a Frisbee.

  Frank raised his fist, counted three with his fingers, and jumped into the lane.

  "Hey, creeps!" he shouted.

  Max and Butch swung their weapons at Frank and fired.

  Frank dove back behind the stack, bullets and pellets tearing away at the metal edge.

  Joe jumped out. His arm uncoiled like a tightly compressed spring and the hubcap slashed through the air in a straight line for Butch. The chrome disk caught Butch in the forehead with a metallic thwack. Butch reeled as though he had been shot and slammed into the stack of cars. He bounced off and collapsed on the ground.

  Joe leapt back into the niche as Max pumped the shotgun and fired off several rounds.

  Then all was silent.

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. Moments passed and still no sound.

  Frank took a chance and leaned out, quickly ducking back. Except for Butch's motionless body, the lane was empty. He signaled to Joe and they crept out slowly, keeping their eyes at the end of the row, in case Max was hiding.

  They made their way to Butch. Frank kicked the .45 away, knelt down, and lifted the chopper's wrist.

  "Still breathing," Frank announced as he dropped the arm. He pointed to Butch's bleeding forehead. "But he'll have a headache when he wakes up."

  Joe picked up the .45 and pressed the clip release. The clip fell into his hand and he looked inside it.

  "Empty," he said, tossing the gun and the clip to the side.

  Frank patted Butch's pockets. "No ammo here. Any ideas?" Frank asked.

  Joe knelt down and pinched a spot of dark soil. He rubbed his fingers and the dirt became a sticky paste. "Blood," he announced. "All this running around must have reopened the wound Emmy gave him."

  Frank and Joe followed the speckled trail of blood. They were surprised that Max hadn't gone toward the gate but headed farther back into the twisted maze of stacked, flattened cars.

  The trail led to the rear of the salvage yard.

  The drops became smaller and soon disappeared altogether.

  Frank and Joe moved slowly, every nerve in their bodies on edge, every muscle tense. />
  They neared the back section where they had cut through the fence. Something clanked behind them and they spun around, expecting to see Max.

  "Oldest trick in the book and you two dead dudes fall for it," Max sneered.

  They whirled around. It was obvious that Max had thrown something to distract them. Now he stood in front of them, the shotgun at his waist, pointing at Frank and Joe.

  Peace and Love obediently sat on either side of Max, their chains on the ground. Max made a twisting motion with his hand toward Frank and Joe.

  Peace and Love stood, black lips pulled back over yellow razor-sharp teeth.

  Max gave a second silent signal - a clinched fist - and the dogs crept forward, heads lowered, fur on end, evil growls rising from deep within their throats.

  The Hardys remained still.

  "Hey!" Frank shouted. Then more calmly, "Take it easy."

  The two dogs straightened up, wagged their tails, then bounced toward the Hardys as though they were all long-lost friends.

  "Good boy," Joe said as he patted Love on the head.

  "It's over, Max," Frank said.

  "No!" Max raised the shotgun and pulled the twin triggers of both barrels.

  Frank and Joe didn't have time to dive out of the way.

  The hammers hit the striking plate with a weak click. The shotgun was empty.

  Max threw the shotgun at the Hardys, but the gun fell short. He limped to the fence and tried to squeeze through the opening. His jacket and pants caught on the jagged edges of the cut chain link, nearly impaling him.

  "Going somewhere?" Chet asked. Aided by Emmy, he hobbled toward Frank and Joe. "Thanks, Emmy. I can handle it from here."

  Chet straightened up to his full height and walked toward Max. With both hands he pulled the cowering man back through the fence, ripping Max's gray suit. Max squirmed, but Chet's viselike clamp prevented him from escaping.

  "No one calls me Fat Boy and gets away with it," Chet snarled.

  With the speed, accuracy, and power of a professional boxer, Chet planted his square, broad fist on Max's chin.

  Max groaned, stumbled against the fence, and slid to the ground.

  Chapter 17

  "What's taking her so long?" Joe asked. He peered out the window and glanced up and down the street.

  "Staring out the window won't get Emmy here any quicker," Frank said as he returned from the kitchen with a tray of lemonade and placed it on the table. He sat on the couch next to Callie and began pouring a glass for Chet, who sat on the loveseat across from them.

  Joe turned away from the window and threw himself into an overstuffed chair.

  "I don't know why you talked me into letting Emmy patch up the van. We could have gotten one of the repair shops in Bayport to fix it."

  "Emmy's price was right," Frank said. He handed the glass of lemonade to Chet. "Free."

  "If it was your computer, you wouldn't let anybody less than an expert look at it," Joe said.

  "From what I've heard," Callie began, "this Emerson Sauter is an expert." Callie took a glass of lemonade from Frank. "Isn't she, Frank?"

  Frank ignored Callie's remark and turned to Chet. "When Emmy called to say she was returning the van today, she said that Butch had pleaded guilty to car theft and operating a chop shop, and he's turning state's evidence against Max. He doesn't want to be tried for the two murders that Max committed - Snake and Royce Sauter. That plus your testimony will put both of them away for a long time."

  "Life plus eternity would be too short," Chet replied.

  "The next time my parents go on a cruise, I'm staying home where I can be part of the action," Callie said over the top of her glass.

  "And keep an eye on Frank," Joe added, grinning.

  Frank frowned at Joe.

  "Did they recover the computer?" Chet asked.

  "Yes," Frank replied. "Smith had it in the trunk of the old woman's sports car. They plugged it in and were able to print out all of Smith and Elburk's transactions. According to Emmy, over sixty stolen car cases have been linked to them."

  "Didn't you say Emerson was young and single?" Callie asked.

  Frank sighed. He didn't know what Joe and Chet had told Callie about Emmy, but he knew that they had exaggerated. He was about to explain this to Callie when a horn suddenly blared out front.

  "The van!" Joe shouted. He jumped from his chair and bolted out the front door.

  He came to a sudden, stunned stop.

  The van looked showroom new. The black paint was deeper, richer, and so highly polished that it was like a black mirror, reflecting everything around it with crystal clarity.

  "Not bad, huh?" Emmy hopped from the van.

  Joe could only gawk. He walked slowly around the van, running his hands over the areas where the shotgun pellets had left dents and scars. The sides were glass smooth, and Joe couldn't tell where Emmy had used body putty.

  "Hi, Frank," Emmy said as Frank, Callie, and Chet walked up to the van. "You're looking better, Chet."

  "Thanks," Chet said.

  "Emmy, this is Callie Shaw," Frank said nervously.

  "Hi," Callie said. Frank could tell Callie was trying to make up her mind about Emmy.

  "Hi," Emmy said. "Frank's told me about you."

  "I'll bet he did," Callie said a little coolly.

  "You're pretty lucky to have such a loyal boyfriend," Emmy said. "I asked him out, but he turned me down. Can you believe it?"

  "Well, I, uh, guess so," Callie replied, confused. She turned to Frank.

  Frank felt his face blush and suppressed a smile. Instead, he shrugged at Callie.

  "So? Are you satisfied?" Emmy asked as Joe rejoined the group.

  "Satisfied? This is fantastic," Joe replied.

  "Thanks," Emmy said.

  "We're going out for pizza," Callie said. "Would you like to join us?"

  "Sure," Emmy replied.

  "We're taking the van," Joe announced firmly. He handed Emmy the keys to the old Buick she had lent them. "For two weeks when I've driven that tank around, all my friends have called it the Pink Bayport Dinosaur." He hopped into the van's driver's seat and turned on the ignition. "Now I'm going to cruise to some modern tunes."

  He flipped on the radio and cranked up the volume.

  "Warden threw a party in the county jail!" Elvis Presley yelled through the speakers as the beginning strains of "Jailhouse Rock" shook the air.

  "Yeow!" Joe yelled. He jumped from the front seat and stared in confusion at his beloved van. "It's haunted!"

  Frank, Callie, Chet, and Emmy burst out laughing.

  Frank laughed even harder as Emmy leaned closer to him and whispered, "I wonder how long it'll be before he figures out that I've left my Presley tape in the cassette player?"

  The End.

  Frank and Joe's next case: When an ultrasecret project takes Fenton Hardy to Massachusetts, the Hardy boys come home one afternoon to find that kidnappers have taken their mother. The kidnappers demand to talk to Frank and Joe's father within twenty-four hours - or the boys may never talk to their mother again.

  The key to the case is at Prometheus Computing, where Fenton is in charge of security. The company's latest product is a highly advanced computer chip sure to shape the future of artificial intelligence. But to protect the chip and their family, the Hardys will have to rely on their natural intelligence and courage ... in Danger Zone, Case #37 in The Hardy Boys Casefiles®.