Daredevils

by Franklin W. Dixon

  • • •

  It was late afternoon when Frank returned to the Curtis Hotel. The sun was still visible in the western sky, even through the thick haze of pollution that hung over the Los Angeles basin.

  Frank had the valet park the rental car, then made his way up to the hotel suite he shared with Joe and his parents. He was surprised to find everyone in the room, including the McCauleys.

  “I didn’t figure to see you guys back here yet,” Frank said. “Wasn’t there supposed to be another event after hang gliding?”

  “It was canceled,” Joe said. “The whole competition might be shut down.”

  “What happened?” Frank asked.

  Terrence and Joe filled Frank in on the details of what occurred over the Pacific Ocean.

  “So you’re saying that the remote-controlled airplane was timed to hit the wing to make Terrence smash into the rocks,” Frank stated. “We’ve got to be dealing with an expert who can get his hands on some good equipment. The bomb, the plane. What’s next?”

  “I don’t want there to be a next,” Brian McCauley interjected.

  “None of us do,” Mrs. Hardy said comfortingly.

  “So what’s our next move?” Frank asked.

  “Dad’s going swimming,” Joe replied.

  His brother gave him a puzzled look.

  “Brian and I are going to do some diving off the cove while we still have some light, to see if we can find the plane. It might yield something.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Joe asked.

  “The rest of you are going to rest, have a good dinner, long showers, and stay safe for one night here at the hotel,” Mrs. Hardy said. “No need to put you into any further danger by having you traipse around Hollywood.”

  “But, Mom—” Joe began to protest.

  “Let it go, Joe,” Frank said. “I’ve seen that look in Mom’s eyes before. There’s no use arguing.”

  • • •

  It wasn’t until after ten that Fenton Hardy and Brian McCauley returned to the Curtis Hotel. Their dive had been a success. Mr. Hardy held a damaged model airplane in one hand.

  “A model of a jet fighter plane?” Joe was surprised. “I thought most models were of classic aircraft.”

  “They usually are,” Brian said. “But this one is a custom design. It’s a pusher model. The propeller is in back. We couldn’t find the nose section, but I’m betting it was sharpened to a point to rip through the hang glider fabric.”

  “Pretty ingenious,” Frank said. “How do we find the person who was flying it?”

  “Well, Daredevil Fest is closed tomorrow while the officials decide the fate of the contest,” Joe said. “We could check out where this plane may have come from.”

  “Sounds good,” Mr. Hardy said.

  “But let’s not all get caught up in that,” Frank suggested. “Even with Phil Silver off the suspect list, there’re still plenty of other people to check out.”

  “So we’ll split up,” Joe said. “Assignment?”

  “I’ve got a lunch date with Pam Sydney,” Mrs. Hardy stated. “I convinced her yesterday that I’d be a good way to get to Terrence.”

  “Way to go, Mom!” Joe said proudly. “Okay, I’ll take Antonio. Any ideas on where to pick up his trail, T?”

  “Yeah, there’s a church over on Pulaski Road that he goes to on Sundays. He never misses. Even refuses to do stunts before noon on Sundays.”

  “Great,” Frank said. “And I’ll set up surveillance on Michael Shannon. We haven’t given him much thought since he tried to choke that reporter, Ian Edrich, two nights ago.”

  “That leaves checking out the hobby shops to Brian, Terrence, and me,” Mr. Hardy said. “A rig like this, even a custom-built one, had to get its parts from somewhere.”

  • • •

  After getting a good night’s sleep, Frank awoke Sunday morning before five. He showered, dressed, and ate a light breakfast before heading off into the Hollywood Hills. Terrence had given him directions to Michael Shannon’s home.

  Frank arrived just after sunrise and spent a few minutes surveying the area. Shannon’s house occupied a corner lot in a very posh neighborhood. A seven-foot-high wall blocked Frank’s view of the house. However, Frank discovered that if he climbed a tree at the edge of the woods across the street from the house, he could see into the actor’s large backyard. Plus, this particular spot allowed Frank to remain hidden while observing Shannon.

  His early morning arrival quickly paid dividends. Only ten minutes after settling into his perch, Frank saw the actor exit the patio door and jump into his swimming pool. Frank became bored, however, watching Shannon swim laps for over thirty minutes.

  Well, it’s a good way to stay in shape, Frank thought as Shannon finally stepped out of the pool. Frank watched the actor towel off, then saw that something had suddenly drawn the man’s attention. Shannon picked up a cordless phone from the poolside table and spoke into it for only a minute.

  Frank watched the whole scene, but lost sight of Shannon when he went back into his house.

  I’ve probably seen all his backyard activity today, Frank thought. An early morning call like that might have been a summons to go somewhere.

  Playing on his hunch, Frank climbed down from the tree and went to his car. He had parked the car in a spot that gave him a good view of Shannon’s front gate.

  When the actor left his house, Frank was ready. He followed Michael Shannon’s green sports car at a discreet distance.

  Frank was led farther up into the Hollywood Hills. Here the homes were farther apart and the woods thicker. Finally, Shannon left the road and turned his car into a forest.

  Frank pulled off the road and entered the woods on foot. He used a pair of binoculars to watch the actor, who had parked his car and gotten out.

  Frank saw Shannon approach another car, a Jeep. Unfortunately, the bushes and the open door of the vehicle blocked Frank’s view of the person with Shannon. Frank could see, however, that the person the actor had met had given him a large manila envelope. Frank watched as the actor pulled what looked like a set of enlarged photographs from the envelope. Frank couldn’t make out what the pictures were, but they made Shannon very happy. Frank could see him smile widely as he handed the pictures and envelope back to the other person.

  The mystery person got into the Jeep, but Frank still could not see who it was. He made a quick decision: following the Jeep might yield better results than watching Shannon go through his Sunday routine.

  Frank raced back to his car and was in position to follow the Jeep when it left the woods. After a forty-five-minute drive, the Jeep finally stopped in front of a low-rent apartment complex. Frank parked across the street.

  “Well, I’ll be . . . ” Frank said to himself as he saw the driver of the Jeep get out of the vehicle.

  Without hesitating, Frank jumped out of his car and raced across the street. The person had just entered the door of a first-floor apartment. Before he could close the door, Frank had put his shoulder against the wood and muscled his way into the apartment.

  “Sort of strange, don’t you think,” Frank said gruffly, “that you and Michael Shannon would have a friendly get-together?”

  9 Spin City

  * * *

  “Who . . . what?” The person Frank was confronting began to stammer.

  Frank was not about to let his suspect regain his composure. “Don’t play dumb, Edrich,” he said.

  Frank could see that the lanky reporter was scared. It must have been the element of surprise, but whatever it was, Frank decided to press his advantage.

  “I just saw you with Michael Shannon,” Frank said. “You guys must have made up pretty fast, seeing as the last time you were together he tried to choke the life out of you.”

  “I, he—” Edrich started to say.

  Frank kept the heat turned up. “So, are you blackmailing him? I saw you show him some pictures.”

  The reporter put his hands and t
he manila envelope behind his back.

  “You might as well let me see them,” Frank said. “Or I can call the police and you can show what’s inside that envelope to them.”

  “Okay, okay,” Edrich said, holding out the envelope to Frank, who took the pictures out. He studied them for a second.

  “What’s this all about?” Frank asked. “All I see here are a bunch of photos of Michael Shannon in a dark bar with some woman I don’t recognize. You really are trying to blackmail him.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Edrich replied.

  “Out with it,” Frank said, “or I call the police.”

  “We’re, well, sort of working together,” Edrich stammered.

  Frank shook his head in disbelief. “Start explaining,” he said.

  “Shannon’s career is flagging,” the reporter began. “He’s too clean-cut for today’s Hollywood. People today like to see a bad boy up on the screen. It’s the day of the antihero, and Michael Shannon is trying to remold himself. Without a new image, his career is sunk.”

  “So a couple of fistfights, attacking a reporter, a mystery woman in a seedy club, and he figures he can get a new lease on his career?” Frank asked.

  “Exactly. We tarnish his name, sling a little mud on his pearly white image, generate some heat around him, and boom, he’s headlines again.” Edrich smiled at the beauty of his plan.

  “Where do you fit in?” Frank was more than curious.

  “I know Shannon’s cousin,” Edrich explained. “I got to Hollywood hoping to make a name for myself as an entertainment reporter. The cousin hooked me up with Shannon, and we concocted this plot to light a fire under both of our careers. Two stars for the price of one.”

  “Does your plot include trying to kill Terrence McCauley?” Frank asked.

  “No,” Edrich nearly shouted. “No way. McCauley was only a convenient tool the night of the Flame Broiled thing. He was standing there, so Shannon ad-libbed a little. The whole town knows they’ve never liked each other.”

  “That’s a convenient and unconvincing response,” Frank said flatly. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “Look, I’m being straight here,” Edrich pleaded. He ran his long skinny fingers through his bleached blond hair.

  “Think about it,” he continued. “What quicker way to tank an already-sinking career than by being tossed in jail for murder? You can’t do much acting from behind bars. Kill McCauley and get caught, and Shannon’s doing himself in as well. The guy’s only trying to remake his image. He’s an actor. The only thing he could kill is a good script. He’s not looking to do any harm to that stuntman.”

  “Makes sense,” Frank said. He turned to leave the reporter’s apartment.

  “Oh,” Frank added, turning to face Edrich once more, “don’t think I won’t let it out what you two are up to if you tell anyone about our talk. Then you’d have to start looking for a new job,” Frank added. “I hear they need ghostwriters for kids’ books.”

  • • •

  While Frank was with Ian Edrich, Joe was across town sitting outside a church on Pulaski Road in the other rental car.

  After an hour, with only occasional bursts of music from inside the building to break the monotony of the wait, the service ended. Joe immediately caught sight of Antonio Lawrence. The stuntman exited the church and spent a few minutes talking to some people. After exchanging a few hugs, he got into his blue convertible sports car.

  Does everybody here have a nice car? Joe mused. Maybe we should move.

  Antonio pulled his car out of the church parking lot and zipped down Pulaski Road. Joe put his car in gear. He lay back a bit and followed just close enough to keep Lawrence in view.

  I hope I don’t do anything to tip him off, Joe thought as he decelerated a bit and fell even farther back.

  Joe saw Lawrence make a sudden, unsignaled turn and guessed he’d been spotted. His guess was confirmed when Antonio made two more unsignaled turns in rapid succession.

  Joe tried to close the gap between the two cars, but he couldn’t risk speeding or causing an accident.

  Now that he knew he was being tailed, Antonio made more sharp turns and played tricks with traffic to try to shake Joe. The younger Hardy hung tough and kept his prey in sight.

  When Antonio led Joe out of the downtown area and up into the hills, it gave Joe an opportunity to open up the car a bit. He pressed down on the gas pedal as he watched the blue convertible careen around a bend in the road.

  As Joe rounded the same bend, however, his eyes widened in horror. The road narrowed suddenly and Joe watched Antonio pull a maneuver that only a stunt driver could accomplish in such a confined space: the man hit his brakes and whirled the car around one hundred and eighty degrees. He came speeding straight at Joe!

  10 Driver’s Ed

  * * *

  Joe slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the right, bringing the car to a skidding halt. The rental car was turned sideways, straddling both lanes of the road.

  Antonio also slammed on his brakes and turned his wheel. When his blue convertible came to a complete stop, his driver’s-side door was less than a foot from the driver’s-side door of the rental.

  With unbelievable speed, Antonio was out of his car and in Joe’s face. The stuntman had left his car door open, which brought it to rest against Joe’s door, trapping him inside his car.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Antonio yelled at Joe through the open window. He leaned into the car and grabbed Joe by the shirt collar.

  Joe quickly outlined his options. There were none. The way the cars were positioned, he was trapped. The rear of the vehicle was too close to the rocky cliffside wall to use reverse as an escape route. And to drive forward could mean plunging over the cliff if he did it too quickly.

  “What am I doing?” Joe questioned. “You’re the one who drove down the hill in the wrong lane aimed directly at me.”

  “I’ll ask again. Why are you following me?”

  “It’s what I do,” Joe replied. “I always keep an eye on anyone who might be trying to kill a friend of mine.”

  Antonio laughed and released his grip on Joe.

  “You’re funny,” he said, and patted Joe’s chest once. “I could demolish you at any time, and you just get right in my face. You have guts.”

  “And brains,” Joe said. “Brains enough to know that you’d love to see Terrence go down so you could win Daredevil Fest and be the top stuntman in town.”

  “Oh, I’ll be the top dog in this town,” Antonio said with confidence. “And I’d love to see that pretty boy knocked low. But try to hurt him? No way.”

  “You’re just covering up,” Joe said.

  “Covering up what? When I beat Terrence for the top spot, I don’t want him saying it was a tainted victory. If I don’t beat him cleanly, then people won’t take me seriously.”

  “But any victory you’d get now will be suspicious,” Joe replied. “With two attempts on his life occurring in the first two events, the lead you have now means nothing.”

  “First of all, there are a lot more events to go, so no lead is safe. And second, those so-called attempts on his life were probably caused by incompetence,” Antonio said.

  “Of course you’d have to say all this if you were trying to kill him. I don’t buy that what’s happened to Terrence in the past couple of weeks, especially during the competition, was because of incompetence. And you certainly have motive, opportunity, and expertise to pull all of this off.”

  “Sure,” Antonio answered. “I could pull any of it off. But I’m not.”

  “Can you prove it?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t have to. I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

  “So all I have is your word.”

  “Yeah,” Antonio said, “that’s all you have.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Joe asked.

  “It leaves you, man,” Antonio responded. “You investigate anything you wan
t. Me, I’m going to visit my mother.”

  Antonio returned to his sports car. Without a backward glance, he put the convertible in gear and sped away.

  • • •

  When Joe returned to the Curtis Hotel, he found a message from Frank to meet at Terrence’s house. After a quick shower, Joe got back in the rental car and went to hook up with his brother.

  “What’s all this?” Joe asked as he entered the McCauleys’. He pointed to two large boxes in the entryway.

  “Check it out,” Frank said as he led his brother into the den.

  “So he’s got you hooked?” Joe asked Terrence, nodding at the brand-new computer that sat on an oak desk.

  “Welcome to the Information Age.” Frank smiled.

  “Your brother convinced me that I shouldn’t live without one of these,” Terrence said. “So he went with me and helped me pick out some equipment.”

  “I didn’t want to go to the library again to do research,” Frank admitted.

  “So, what are we researching?” Joe asked.

  “Depends on what you came up with,” Frank stated.

  “You first,” Joe said. He slumped into a chair.

  “Okay,” Frank started. “The short version is that I don’t think Michael Shannon is the one trying to kill T.”

  “What brought you to that conclusion?”

  “Well, I did find out he was up to something—something to jump-start his career. It turns out that he’s trying to cultivate a Hollywood bad boy image. Killing Terrence is not the sort of scandal he’d need to boost his career.”

  “I took him for all bark anyway,” Joe said. “Antonio, on the other hand—that guy might have plenty of bite.”

  Joe filled Frank and Terrence in on his run-in with the cocky stuntman.

  “So, where does that leave us?” Terrence asked.

  “Pretty much with nothing,” Frank answered. “He could have you in his sights, or he could be telling the truth.”

  “T,” Joe asked, “do you know much about Antonio?”

  “Just what he lets people know,” Terrence said. “Which is nothing but what’s in his bio. That, and the church he likes to go to.”