Daredevils

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “I don’t get it,” Frank said as his brother squeezed past the table and headed for the kitchenette. “According to my computer diagnostic program, there’s some sort of interference that keeps me from getting a clear Internet signal over the cell phone.”

  Frank hit Redial at the same time that Joe poked his head into the refrigerator. Again, the modem made a connection, chirps and beeps filled the air for a few seconds, and then the dial tone cut in.

  “I give up,” Frank said. He started to reach to disconnect the modem wire from the computer.

  “Don’t do that!” Joe shouted.

  4 Dial E for Explosive

  * * *

  Experience made Frank stop. He recognized the urgent tone in his brother’s voice and knew instantly what Joe wanted. Frank left the modem connected to the cell phone, and he hit Redial for good measure, somehow knowing that action was important, too.

  “Talk to me, Joe,” Frank said desperately. “What do you have?”

  “A messy fridge,” Joe replied. He opened the refrigerator door wide enough for both his brother and Terrence to see inside.

  “That’s a—” Terrence McCauley began. He pointed to the top shelf, right next to a container of orange juice.

  “Yup,” Frank said. He hit Redial on the cell phone once more. “A bomb. A remote-controlled one, I would guess, by the way that blinking red light on the front keeps coming on and off in time with the noise from my modem.”

  “Wow,” Joe said in admiration. “This is some setup.”

  “How so?” Frank asked. Suddenly the modem stopped chirping. From his vantage point at the table, he could see the red light on the front of the bomb click off and then on. Frank hit Redial on the phone, and the bomb light went dark.

  “Remote control, about two pounds of explosive, and if I know my bombs, a tamper-proof fail-safe,” Joe replied. “I won’t be able to disarm it.”

  “Why hasn’t it gone off?” Terrence asked. The stuntman, no stranger to danger but out of his element now, was frozen with fear.

  “I figure the remote control’s incoming signal is being blocked by the Internet connection,” Frank explained. “The two radio signals keep blocking each other. It’s pure luck that the two are tuned to the same frequency.”

  “Well,” Joe said as he backed away from the refrigerator, leaving the door open, “our luck won’t hold forever.”

  Frank hit Redial again. “We’d better get out of here. Terrence, open the front door. Joe come here and carry the laptop while I carry the cell phone. We need to keep the connection going.”

  Terrence moved swiftly to the trailer door. He twisted the knob and tugged. “It’s stuck!”

  “Probably barred from the outside,” Joe said, scanning the room.

  “That window above the bed,” he said, pointing to it with his chin. “It’s the only one big enough for us to crawl through.”

  “Well, crawl fast,” Frank instructed Terrence.

  The young stuntman climbed on the bed. He opened the window. “It’s not going to work,” he said, frustration and worry thick in his voice. “It’s a horizontal slide window. There’s only one pane of glass that opens.”

  “Then break it,” Joe yelled.

  Joe’s tone of voice made Terrence regain his composure. Danger was a part of his everyday existence. Instinct took its place above fear, and Terrence acted accordingly.

  With a lightning-fast, thunderously powerful karate strike, Terrence thrust his arm against the window, shattering the glass and opening a route to safety. He began to crawl through the narrow window.

  “We can’t make it through, holding the phone and computer,” Joe said.

  “Hand me the laptop,” Frank ordered. Joe did as he was told. Frank carried the machine back to the table, hitting Redial as he did so. “Now out,” he commanded.

  Joe hopped on the bed and climbed through the window. Terrence helped him to the ground on the other side.

  Inside the trailer, Frank hit Redial one last time. Then he sprinted the two strides between the table and the bed, jumped as if the cushion were a trampoline, and hurtled through the window. A piece of glass still stuck in the window frame cut his arm, but Frank wasn’t going to let that slow his momentum. He wriggled through the window, Joe and Terrence pulling him out and to the ground.

  “Run!” Frank yelled.

  The three young men bolted from the trailer, but only a few feet separated them and the trailer when it exploded. Frank, Joe, and Terrence were thrown to the ground by the force of the blast, debris showering down on them.

  To Joe, the rain of metal and wood seemed to last for an eternity, though the last pieces clattered to the ground less than forty seconds after the explosion.

  “Joe, Joe!” Joe felt a strong hand shake his body. He lay facedown on the pavement. The ringing in his ears muffled the voice of whoever was trying to rouse him.

  “Joe, are you okay?” came the voice again, a little more clearly this time.

  “Uh, a—a little dazed and confused,” Joe stammered as he raised his head.

  “Oh, then you’re normal,” Mr. Hardy said as he helped his younger son to his feet.

  Joe looked around him. His older brother was sitting on the ground, dabbing at the blood that seeped through the cut on his left arm, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

  Terrence McCauley was being tended to by his father. Joe could see that the elder McCauley was applying pressure to Terrence’s shoulder.

  “Injuries?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  “I’m intact,” Joe replied. He nodded toward his brother and the stuntman. “What’s the damage?”

  “Cut arm for Frank,” Mr. Hardy replied. “A piece of wood hit his leg, and he’ll just have a deep bruise. Terrence, however, is going to need his shoulder stitched up.”

  Mr. Hardy pointed to the burning husk of the trailer. The movie studio safety crew, a must on any action movie set, were putting out the fire with chemical extinguishers. “What happened in there?” he asked. “Gas leak?”

  “Wrong number,” Joe replied. His father gave him a puzzled stare. “Bomb,” Joe added. “Whoever is after Terrence has really upped the ante.”

  “And then some,” Mr. Hardy said. “You guys must have been pretty close to the blast.”

  “Less than twenty feet,” Joe answered. He began walking toward his brother, who was just standing up. Though all three young men had been next to one another when they began to run, the force of the blast had thrown them several yards apart.

  “How are you feeling?” Joe asked.

  “Rattled, and my leg is throbbing,” Frank answered. “The cut on my arm is actually from crawling through the window.”

  “How long was I out?” Joe asked.

  “Four, maybe five minutes,” Frank answered. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Joe replied.

  “We’ll get him checked out just to make sure,” Mr. Hardy said.

  “If this all happened a few minutes ago, why no cops?” Joe asked. “A boom like that is hard to miss.”

  “It’s a movie lot,” Mr. Hardy answered. “Stunt explosions happen all the time. Cops would only respond here if called.”

  The three Hardys walked over to Terrence and Brian McCauley.

  “How are you doing, T?” Joe asked.

  “I’ll be good as new.” Terrence smiled. “McCauley men are built tough.”

  “And thick headed,” his father added. “Now maybe you’ll ease off from stunt work for a while.”

  “I’m not letting some psycho scare me out of my life’s work, or keep me from Daredevil Fest,” Terrence said.

  “Daredevil Fest?” Frank asked.

  “It’s a stunt competition. It starts tomorrow,” Terrence replied. However, before he could explain any further, a purple convertible screeched to a halt a few feet away.

  “What is going on here?” Pam Sydney’s voice pierced the noise of the safety crew’s fire-fighting efforts.


  “There was a little extracurricular activity,” Terrence McCauley said.

  “Oh my gosh!” Pam cried. “Terrence, you’re hurt!” She pushed past Joe to get to Terrence’s side. She stroked the stuntman’s forehead.

  “I’m fine, Ms. Sydney,” Terrence said. “I’ve been hurt worse before.”

  Just then one of the safety crew members approached. “The fire’s out, Brian.”

  “Thanks, Tast,” Mr. McCauley replied. “Have the ambulette transport these three to the hospital.”

  “Hospital!” Pam Sydney screeched. “But we still have another stunt to shoot. I thought you said you were fine, Terrence.”

  “He’ll need stitches,” Brian growled.

  “And they should all be checked out by a doctor,” Mr. Hardy added a bit more soothingly.

  “Maybe I can help,” came a voice from over Pam’s shoulder.

  “Antonio Lawrence,” Terrence said. Joe noted the veiled anger in his friend’s tone.

  The approaching man was about the same size and build as Terrence McCauley, no more than twenty-two years old, with short black hair and a square jaw, Joe noticed.

  “A stunt get to be too much for you?” the newcomer quipped.

  “Ease off, Antonio,” Brian said. “You too, T.”

  “If you need a stunt, I’m your man,” Antonio said to Pam.

  “Just like you,” Terrence said. “Always sniffing around other people’s stuff.”

  “You’re yesterday’s side dish,” Antonio said. “I’m today’s main course.” Antonio flashed a toothy grin at the movie studio exec.

  Pam looked into the interloper’s steel gray eyes. “I do need a man who’s in good shape,” she said.

  “Then it’s settled,” Antonio said. “You go play doctor, Terrence, while I go help Pam.”

  Frank saw Terrence’s body tense. He was certain that his friend was about to lunge at the sarcastic newcomer. He stepped in front of Terrence, stopping any rash action.

  Antonio locked eyes with Frank for a heartbeat. Then he snorted out half a laugh.

  “Let’s go make some movies,” Antonio said. He took Pam Sydney’s hand, and the two walked away from the group.

  “He’s a real piece of work,” Terrence began.

  “Save it for later, boys,” Mr. Hardy said. “Here’s your ride to the hospital.”

  A small van pulled up to where the group stood. A paramedic—Stan, by the name patch on his blue uniform—exited the back of the vehicle.

  “Won’t need a stretcher,” he commented. Stan pointed to the back of the ambulette. Joe went to climb in first but lost his balance and stumbled.

  “You sure you’re okay, Joe?” Frank asked as he reached out to steady his brother.

  “Little wobbly, that’s all,” Joe replied.

  “We’ll order up a skull X ray, just to be safe,” Mr. Hardy said, concerned.

  “Well, we know that’ll turn up empty.” Frank laughed. He used his uninjured arm to help his brother into the back of the van.

  “Ha, ha. Very funny,” Joe mocked.

  Frank climbed into the van and sat next to his brother. “Now we’ll have proof that I got all the brains in the family.”

  Terrence climbed in behind Frank and Joe, being careful not to bump his injured shoulder.

  “You two and all this brotherly love,” Terrence said with a fake sniffle. “It’s enough to make me cry.”

  The three young men broke out in laughter.

  Ten minutes later the ambulette arrived at Gerlinsky General Hospital. It was a typically slow day in the emergency room. Gerlinsky was situated close to the posh neighborhoods surrounding the newer movie studios. Unlike inner city hospitals, which saw emergency rooms flooded with the victims of street violence, Gerlinsky General saw mostly bumps, bruises, and cuts.

  Nonetheless, Gerlinsky was a well-staffed professional facility. Joe, Frank, and Terrence were attended to immediately.

  Joe was sent to X-ray, and a call was put in to a neurologist to take a look at him to make sure he didn’t suffer any lasting damage from having been knocked unconscious.

  “I’m telling you, Doc,” Frank said as Joe was led away, “you’re not going to find anything!”

  • • •

  Later that evening the Hardys and the McCauleys relaxed at the Hollywood Hills home that Terrence shared with his father. The doctor at Gerlinsky General Hospital had confirmed that none of the young men had been seriously injured. Frank’s cut had been bandaged, Joe had flirted with some nurses, and Terrence had had twenty-five stitches in his shoulder. Brian McCauley wanted the doctor to forbid his son from participating in Daredevil Fest, but Terrence protested and the doctor gave him the green light.

  “So, what is this Daredevil Fest?” Frank asked. He sat on a chair across from Terrence, who was on the couch. Joe stood across the room scanning a bookshelf for something interesting to thumb through, and the adults were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.

  “It’s this awesome stuntman competition,” Terrence answered. “They hold it every year. It’s a variety of tests of a stuntman’s skills.”

  “It sounds pretty important to you,” Joe said over his shoulder.

  “It is,” Terrence replied. “It sort of sets the pecking order among stuntmen. You know, whoever’s the best gets the best jobs.”

  “And let me guess,” Frank said. “You’re the best.”

  “You’d better believe it,” Terrence said.

  “And this Antonio Lawrence wants to be the best,” Frank added.

  “He’s a newcomer to Hollywood stunt work,” Terrence answered. “He’s done a lot of work in the foreign markets but not much since arriving in Hollywood last year.”

  “So if he wins Daredevil Fest,” Joe said, still scanning the bookshelves, “he becomes top dog. Sounds like a suspect to me.”

  “Getting some theories together?” Mr. Hardy asked as he entered the room. He sat down on the couch.

  “We have two good possibilities,” Frank responded. “Michael Shannon and Antonio Lawrence. Both have a dislike for Terrence.”

  “Being a stuntman, Antonio probably has the knowledge and skill to pull off the attempts that have been made on T,” Joe added. “And a highly paid actor like Shannon could certainly hire someone with the skill.”

  Just then the phone rang.

  “Could I get that for you,” Frank asked, pointing at the phone on the small table across the room.

  “Sure,” Terrence said.

  “McCauley residence,” Frank said into the mouthpiece. Instantly, his face perked up. He hit the button marked Speaker so everyone in the room could hear.

  “You hear me!” came the disembodied voice. “If the stitches don’t keep him out of action, maybe this will!”

  Suddenly there was a crash. The glass in the bay window of the house shattered, and an object came whizzing into the room.

  5 Fall Down and Go Boom

  * * *

  “Explosive!” Frank yelled as the single three-inch stick of M-80 landed four feet from him, hissing as the fuse burned down.

  The Hardy brothers sprang into action. Joe hurtled himself toward the sofa, while Frank ran toward the kitchen entrance.

  Like the expert football tackle that he was, Joe Hardy dove at the couch as if he were tackling an opposing ball carrier. He hit the back of the sofa between where his father and Terrence were sitting, toppling the heavy piece of furniture backward.

  Mr. Hardy and Terrence flew backward, too, and when they landed on the floor, the large wooden frame and plush cushions of the couch fell over them, protecting them and Joe from the explosion.

  Meanwhile, Frank ran to his mother and Brian McCauley, who were entering the living room from the kitchen, carrying trays of drinks. The glasses they carried, as well as their bodies, flew backward as Frank wrapped his arms around them and used his momentum to hurtle them back into the protection of the kitchen just as the M-80 exploded.

  Frank and Joe’s li
ghtning-quick reflexes saved everybody from injury.

  “What was that?” Laura Hardy wanted to know.

  “That,” Frank said, “was an M-80 firecracker, as much explosive in it as a quarter stick of dynamite.”

  “The damage isn’t too bad—the bottom of the couch is singed, the carpet’s burned, but the window is totally gone,” Joe said, assessing the damage.

  “That’s it, enough is enough,” bellowed the elder McCauley as he reentered the living room, wiping iced tea and coffee from his pants. “It’s time we left California for a while and let the police sort this whole thing out.”

  “No way, Dad!” Terrence protested as he rose to his feet. “I will not be run off like some scared puppy dog. Daredevil Fest starts tomorrow, and I am going to compete.”

  “Besides,” Frank added as he steadied his mom, “unless you leave forever, there’s no guarantee that all this won’t start again once you return home. For that matter, a determined killer might just follow you wherever you went.”

  “Frank’s right,” Mr. Hardy said. After hearing the distant police sirens move closer to the house, he added, “But in any case, we’re going to have police involvement now, whether we want it or not. They’re on their way. It would be hard to hide an explosion in a residential neighborhood.”

  “Does that mean we’re off the case?” Joe asked.

  “Since when has police involvement ever stopped you boys from completing a case?” Laura Hardy asked.

  Frank and Joe both laughed. “Then we might as well decide what to do next before the police get here,” Frank said.

  “I’m still voting for leaving,” Brian said.

  “Vetoed,” Terrence responded.

  “Let’s divide up the labor then,” Mr. Hardy said.

  “Right,” Joe said. “I’ll stick close to Terrence, so I can watch his back.”

  “How are you going to do that during Daredevil Fest?” Terrence asked.

  “I’m going to enter.”

  “What?” Mrs. Hardy was shocked.

  “I’m almost eighteen,” Joe said. “That should put me in the same age category as T. And since Frank is injured, I’m the logical choice.”