Daredevils

by Franklin W. Dixon

  • • •

  More than an hour after the “accident,” the three young men arrived at the Flame Broiled Light-the-Fire Party. A passing motorist had finally stopped to help. The good Samaritan used his cell phone to call the police. After giving their statements concerning the incident to the authorities, Frank, Joe, and Terrence were free to go. They asked the police to phone for a cab, which took them to the Mad Alliance Studios event.

  The Hollywood party was being held at Clemen’s Terrace, a favorite facility of movie studio executives. Clemen’s Terrace was a huge renovated warehouse, and the studios could decorate it any way they wanted. In this instance, the facility had been transformed into several scenes from Flame Broiled, each depicting one of the many fiery locations where the movie’s primary action took place.

  “Terrence McCauley!” a sweet voice called out almost immediately after the three men entered the party. “I was beginning to think that you would never arrive.”

  The techno-rock party music was loud, yet Frank and Joe instantly locked in on where the voice had come from. Joe tapped Terrence’s arm to point his attention in the proper direction.

  “Pam Sydney,” Terrence muttered under his breath before the woman was in range. Joe could see that Terrence instantly became uncomfortable as the woman approached, but he wasn’t sure why. Pam Sydney was pretty. She had short, raven black hair, and her round face was very animated. By the way the woman’s eyes glittered as they took in Terrence McCauley, it was obvious that she was attracted to the handsome stuntman.

  Pam tucked her arm in Terrence’s as soon as she was within reach.

  “My, I can tell by your expression that something is wrong,” Pam said to Terrence. She reached up with her free hand and straightened his hair. Terrence shook his head at her touch, a bit too strongly Frank thought.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Ms. Sydney,” Terrence said. “Nothing some body work won’t fix.”

  Pam looked confused.

  “We had an accident on the way here,” Joe said as he offered his hand to the attractive woman.

  “Uh, do I . . . ” Pam began to say.

  Terrence cut her off. “Pam Sydney, meet Joe and Frank Hardy. Guys, this is Pam Sydney. She runs Mad Alliance Studios.”

  “Friends of yours?” Pam asked. “A bit young for you, perhaps?”

  “Good friends of mine,” Terrence said.

  Pam shook Frank’s and Joe’s hands. The handshakes were brief, and Pam quickly rehooked her arm in Terrence’s.

  “Your accent,” Frank said. “Australian?”

  “Very good,” Pam replied. “Pam Sydney, from Sydney.”

  “Oh, look,” Terrence said. He wiggled his arm free from Pam. “It’s our folks,” he said, pointing across the room at nobody in particular.

  Frank immediately followed Terrence’s lead. It was obvious to him that Terrence was trying to extricate himself from the woman.

  “Oh, yeah,” Frank said. “We should check in with them and tell them about the car.”

  “I don’t see your dad,” Pam said as she quickly glanced around. “You should stay in one spot so he can find you.” Pam put a hand on Terrence’s shoulder.

  Joe could see that Pam wanted Terrence right where she had him, and Terrence, though he was attempting to mask his true feelings, wanted to put some distance between himself and the studio executive.

  “Well, I see my dad,” Joe said as he looked in the general direction that Terrence had pointed. “And he came with Brian McCauley, so we should report to him.”

  “Oh, all right,” Pam said. “We’ll go find your parents.” She slipped her hand around Terrence’s closed palm.

  “Perhaps you should mingle with the press and the other guests,” Terrence said. “You know, make yourself available to the media.” He began to walk away from Pam.

  “I guess you’re right,” Pam said halfheartedly. Then she recovered her smile and perked up. “I am the voice of Mad Alliance, after all.” Pam headed off in the opposite direction.

  When they were out of earshot, Frank gave a gentle shoulder bump to Terrence. “Using the old I-see-my-dad trick, I see.”

  Terrence laughed.

  “What I don’t get,” Joe said as the three meandered toward the center of the room, “is why you wanted to ditch her. She’s very pretty, and it’s obvious that she likes you.”

  “No kidding,” Terrence responded. “But I’m not interested.”

  “Why?” Frank asked.

  “She’s a spoiled rich kid,” Terrence said. “She came here a few years ago from Australia with her daddy’s checkbook, opened a studio, and declared herself a movie mogul.”

  “But you work for her,” Joe said.

  “Lots of people work for her,” Terrence replied. “The studio produces several movies a year. She’s even made some money for her dad. Not that he would care. Kyper Sydney would do anything for his daughter.”

  “The guy must be loaded,” Joe said.

  “Very,” Terrence said. “He owns Mad Alliance International. They’re a huge corporation with interests mainly in shipping, airlines, and construction. He gets what he wants, and Pam thinks she can have anything she wants.”

  Frank scanned the room. He had yet to spot his parents or Brian McCauley. Before he even had time to wonder if they had arrived, though, the partygoers began to applaud.

  “Our illustrious guest of honor has arrived,” Terrence said. Frank noted the sarcasm in the young stuntman’s voice.

  Blinking his eyes against the flashes of light, Frank zeroed in on the center of attention.

  “Michael Shannon,” Joe said as he spotted the movie star. Shannon made his way toward the front of the room, putting him just a few feet from the three young men. The star of Flame Broiled ascended three steps onto the raised dais at the front of Clemen’s Terrace.

  “Thank you everyone, thank you,” he said, raising his hands in mock modesty. Camera flashes filled the air with spots of light.

  “It’s great to be on fire!” Shannon shouted in reference to his movie. The crowd laughed. “Now, I know I haven’t done many interviews for the press lately, but with a hot movie like this, I’m willing to field a few questions.”

  “He’s one big image, huh?” Joe whispered to Terrence.

  “All image,” Terrence replied as Michael Shannon answered a question concerning his next project.

  As the actor quipped for the press, a tall, lanky man with bleached blond hair pushed his way past Frank.

  “I have a question,” the man shouted at Michael Shannon. The actor gave the man a quizzical look.

  “Ian Edrich, Slow Motion magazine,” the man said. The actor nodded his head, indicating that he would field the question.

  “Thanks,” Edrich said. “First, we all know that Flame Broiled is a turkey at the box office. Care to take the blame for this one, or are you going to pass responsibility off onto somebody else like you did with your last failure?”

  The crowd became silent.

  “I’d say the only turkeys are the ones in the audience who couldn’t grasp the subtleties of a masterful story,” Shannon replied abruptly.

  “Heh, yeah,” Edrich mocked. “One more thing. When are you going to give your stunt double top billing? After all, he does all the hard work.”

  Michael Shannon’s face flushed with anger. “Why you dirty . . . ” the actor snarled as he leaped off the stage.

  3 Bad Press

  * * *

  Michael Shannon’s hands were around the reporter’s throat before his feet even touched the ground. He squeezed the man’s neck and shook him hard.

  “You filthy little liar!” he shouted in Ian Edrich’s face.

  Frank, who was the closest person to them, grabbed Michael’s right wrist and applied pressure until the actor was forced to release his stranglehold. Michael whirled on Frank and took a swing. Frank easily blocked the wild punch.

  “Who do you think you are?” Michael shouted as he readied anot
her punch. Before the actor could aim a blow at Frank, Terrence McCauley grabbed the enraged movie star from behind.

  “Michael, Michael,” Terrence said. “Get a hold of yourself.”

  “Let me go, you wannabe,” Michael spewed. He wriggled free from Terrence’s grip and turned to face the stuntman. “If anyone’s turned my movie into a turkey, it’s you! Your easy-way-out stunts made me look bad.”

  “Michael, dear,” Pam Sydney cooed as she stepped into the fray. She placed a calming hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Manners, manners,” she said. Then she cocked her head toward the crowd.

  “You’ll have to excuse my tired star,” she said loudly. “He’s been working himself very hard lately. All of us know how stress can make us act a bit silly.”

  Pam began to walk Michael away from the crowd. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get you something cool to drink.” She pointed a hand at the DJ and nodded her head. “Come on, everybody,” she shouted as the DJ cued up some music. “This is a party!”

  As Pam Sydney led the seething actor away, Frank turned his attention to the man whom Michael Shannon had attacked. He saw that his brother was already helping the man, who rubbed his neck. The reporter was breathing heavily.

  “Man,” Ian Edrich said as he gasped for air, “that guy’s grip is stronger than I thought it would be.”

  “You mean you figured he was going to attack you?” Joe asked.

  “Uh, no,” Ian said, glancing sideways at the teen. “I, uh, just figured that a guy who didn’t do his own stunts wouldn’t be all that strong.”

  “Stunts take skill, not just strength,” Terrence said as he and Frank joined Joe and the reporter. “And I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Terrence pointed a stern finger at the front door.

  Ian Edrich straightened his clothes. Without a glance at the stuntman or the two teens, he began to walk toward the exit. However, Frank, Joe, and Terrence all wanted to see him out to the street. They had some questions for the reporter.

  “You deliberately provoked Shannon,” Joe said. “Why?”

  “Hey, if he can’t take a little heat, he shouldn’t make movies like Flame Broiled. Criticism is the name of the game in Hollywood.”

  “True enough,” Terrence said. “But you used me to set Michael Shannon off. I don’t even know you, and I thought I knew all the reporters at Slow Motion magazine.”

  “I’m new,” Edrich said. “Looking to make a name for myself. And, hey, I’m the reporter—I’ll ask the questions.”

  “Ask away,” Frank said.

  Edrich hesitated.

  “You guys are nothing,” he said after a moment. “I’m not wasting my time talking to you.” The reporter began to walk toward the parking lot.

  “Hey!” Joe shouted.

  “Ah, let him go, Joe,” Frank said. “There’s nothing to get from him now.”

  Frank then turned to Terrence. “You, on the other hand—I think there’s something we can get from you.”

  “What do you mean?” Terrence asked.

  “What’s the deal with you and Michael Shannon?” Frank asked. “He went rabid at just the mention of you, his stunt double. If somebody hates you enough to want you dead, I’d say he’s suspect number one.”

  “Michael Shannon?” Terrence sounded incredulous. “Yeah, you can say the guy doesn’t like me. But enough to try murder?”

  “Why doesn’t he like you?” Joe asked. “Anything specific?”

  “We’ve known each other since we were kids,” the stuntman replied. “If you know a bit about his career, you know he began acting when he was nine. I was around the movie sets a lot because of my dad. He was a spoiled rich kid, I was just a poor kid to him. You could say we never liked each other.”

  “You know a lot of spoiled rich kids.” Joe laughed.

  “Here in Hollywood money equals status,” Terrence said. “People sometimes forget to take you for what you’re worth instead of for what your house is worth.”

  “Did you guys ever fight?” Frank asked.

  “Verbally most of the time—physically a couple of times.”

  “You win?” Joe asked.

  “Win, lose.” Terrence scuffed his feet. “Nobody wins a fight.”

  “Especially when it’s kids who are fighting,” came a voice from over Terrence’s shoulder. Brian McCauley put a hand on his son’s arm. “It’s not about who’s stronger, it’s about right and wrong.”

  “You taught your son well,” Mrs. Hardy said as she and Mr. Hardy joined the group.

  “But you and Michael Shannon are enemies,” Mr. Hardy said. “At least in his eyes I’d say after that display of temper. I think we have to give that young actor a hard look. He has a motive, if that scene inside was any indication. To me it looks like he’s blaming you for his flagging career.”

  “Now we need to prove opportunity,” Joe said.

  “Right,” Frank added. “He did come to the party late. That would give him plenty of time to ditch the truck.”

  “What truck?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Frank answered.

  “Well, tell it to us back at the hotel,” Mrs. Hardy said. She turned to both Brian and her husband. “Shall we?”

  “Uh, could we have some cab money?” Frank asked.

  Mr. Hardy gave his sons a wry smile. “I think Terrence should ride back with you and his dad,” he said to Laura. “I’ll go in the cab, and these two can fill me in on what happened.”

  • • •

  The next morning the bright sun had returned, and Joe woke his brother early and hurried him through breakfast.

  “Get a move on, Frank. Terrence told me if we’re at the set by ten o’clock, we’ll catch him filming some stunts.”

  “It’s pretty cool of him to get us onto a movie set,” Frank said.

  “True, but it’s part of our job,” Joe replied. “After all, we are here to protect him.”

  “Where are Mom and Dad?” Frank asked.

  “They already left for the set. They gave me keys to one of the rental cars,” Joe answered.

  “Great,” Frank said. “You bring the car around and I’ll meet you out front. I want to grab my laptop.”

  “Why do you need a computer on a movie set?” Joe asked.

  “You’ll see,” Frank responded.

  At nine forty-five Frank and Joe drove onto the Mad Alliance lot. After parking the car, they were directed to the set where Terrence McCauley was working on Major Miners, Mad Alliance’s latest action flick. The two brothers took up a spot next to Brian McCauley and their father.

  “Where’s Mom?” Frank whispered.

  “She went shopping. For her, this is a vacation.”

  “Quiet on the set!” the director yelled, signaling that they were ready to begin filming.

  All their attention was directed to a fifty-foot-high scaffold. At the top of the metal tower stood a well-dressed woman and a burly guy dressed as a construction worker. The worker had one hairy arm wrapped around the woman’s throat.

  “Action!” the director screamed.

  From his spot on the ground, it looked to Joe as if the woman had bit the construction worker’s arm. Then, seeming to be startled by the pain, he pushed the woman away. She fell off the scaffolding backward and plunged toward the ground, where she landed safely on a huge inflated airbag.

  “Cut! Perfect stunt.” The director beamed.

  “Boy, it’s a good thing I knew they were acting,” Joe said. “My first instinct was to race to the rescue.”

  “Then your instincts are way off.” Frank laughed. He pointed to the woman as she began to walk toward the spot where the brothers and the two fathers were standing.

  “What the—” Joe began, his eyes wide.

  “Hey, good-looking,” the woman said as she removed her wig.

  “Terrence?” Joe was shocked. “When you were up there, I could have sworn you were a woman.”

  “The magic of makeup,” Brian M
cCauley said. “Good fall, guy.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Terrence replied. “And speaking of makeup, I’m going to go to my trailer to clean this stuff off. You guys coming with me?”

  “Sure,” Frank said. “What about you, Dad?”

  “Nope,” Mr. Hardy responded. “I want to snoop around, maybe ask some questions. The accidents that hit Terrence last week all happened here. With Brian escorting me, I should get access to most everywhere.”

  “Sounds good,” Joe said. “We’ll hook up with you later.”

  The two fathers headed off in one direction while their sons headed for the stuntman’s trailer.

  “Wow, this is the life!” Joe exclaimed when the three young men entered the trailer. “I wish I worked in a place like this.”

  “Ah, this is nothing,” Terrence replied. “Hey, Joe, could you unhook me?” The stuntman pointed to the back of the dress he was wearing.

  “Sure,” Joe said.

  “Do you have your cell phone here?” Frank asked while Terrence began to change into some jeans.

  “On the table,” he replied. “What for?”

  Frank hoisted his laptop onto a small wooden dining table. “I’m going to tap into the Department of Motor Vehicles’ registration files so I can track down that license plate from last night.”

  “My brother, the boy genius,” Joe said. He watched Frank connect a wire from his computer to Terrence’s portable telephone. Frank then switched on the system and began dialing an Internet access number.

  “That’s odd,” Frank said after a moment.

  “What?” Terrence asked as he finished removing his makeup.

  “I keep getting a connection,” Frank answered, “but it won’t hold for more than a couple of seconds.”

  Frank hit Redial on the cell phone. The familiar modem sounds echoed in the trailer, but after just a few pings and chirps, the phone’s dial tone cut in.

  “That makes four tries now,” Frank said. He hit Redial once more.

  “Hey, while Frank diddles with that,” Joe said, “do you mind if I raid your fridge?”

  “Help yourself,” Terrence said. “There’s some fruit and cold drinks in there. I’ll take an apple, please.”