Read Online Running on Empty by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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terrible accident."
"So?"
"Emmy's hiding something. She avoids talking directly about her father or the garage or anything to do with her past."
"Any idea who sabotaged Cronkite's car?"
"Max. He had plenty of time, and he looked too dirty to have been looking for a clutch plate. But Emmy doesn't think so."
"Why not?"
"She thinks he's too flaky," Frank replied.
"Why not Cronkite?"
"Cronkite?"
Joe put his drink down. "It's just a hunch, but Cronkite always seems to be right there when something's happening. Why would he lend Emmy his car?"
The beeper chirped. Frank grabbed the black box and shut it off. "I'll call this time," he said as he picked up the phone.
Joe gulped down his cold soft drink. He felt guilty eating and drinking while Chet was lying hurt someplace, probably hungry and thirsty.
He suddenly wasn't hungry any longer. He threw what remained of his burger and fries into the bag, wadded it up, and tossed the whole thing into the trash.
"That was Smith. He wants to meet us at a place downtown called Skyway Parking Garage," Frank said after hanging up the phone. He grabbed the tape and the photo and stuffed them both into his shirt pocket.
"Did he say why?" Joe asked.
"No. But this may be our chance to see the delivery end of the operation."
***
"Looks abandoned," Frank said as he leaned forward and strained his neck to look up the ten stories of the garage. Skyway Parking was only a few blocks from Don's Daylight Donuts, near the center of Southport.
"What better place than a large, empty parking garage to hide stolen parts," Joe said.
"Or a kidnap victim." Frank leaned back in his seat. "Smith wants to meet us at the top level."
Joe eased the van around a wooden barricade, ignoring the no trespassing signs, and wound the van up the parking garage.
"What's really beginning to bother me," Frank said, "is if Emmy is involved with Smith, if she is a bad cop, why would her car have been sabotaged this morning?"
It was a good question for which Joe had no answer.
"Who would target Emmy, and why?" Frank was talking more to himself than Joe.
"Perhaps Emmy wasn't the one they were after," Joe said.
"What?"
The thought that he was the intended target had crossed Frank's mind earlier, but hearing it from Joe, out loud for the first time, stunned him. Except for Uncle Ed, Emmy, and Cronkite, he was unknown in Southport. The only person who would want Frank out of the way would be the leader of the chop shop ring. And as far as Frank was concerned, he had a trio of suspects: Smith, Max, and Emmy.
"Now what?" Joe asked as he brought the van to a halt on the top level of the parking garage. He hopped out and scouted the area.
Frank remained seated and stared at the dash, letting his vision blur. Why not two bad cops? Emmy and Cronkite? he thought.
"Hey," Joe said with a light tap on Frank's shoulder.
Frank jumped as if startled from a deep sleep.
"What's wrong?" Joe asked.
Frank stepped from the van. He jogged to the edge of the parking lot and leaned over the railing.
"Did you see anyone following us?" he asked, rejoining Joe.
"No," Joe replied. "What's up?"
"I don't think we can trust anyone in the Southport Police Department."
"Why not?"
Before Frank could answer, the quiet early evening stillness was shattered by a thunderous rumble. A half second later a black TransAm burst from the access ramp. Like some great hungry beast seeking its prey, it zeroed in on the Hardys.
Frank and Joe dove in opposite directions, the TransAm missing them by inches.
By the time they had regained their footing, the car had spun 180 degrees and was pointed at them once again.
Two men jumped from the car. They were the same height and wore identical gray suits. Dark sunglasses hid their eyes. They were mirror images of each other, except for their hair - and the guns they aimed at Frank and Joe.
The black-haired man, the driver, held a .45 while his red-haired partner stood on the passenger side with a
"So?"
"Emmy's hiding something. She avoids talking directly about her father or the garage or anything to do with her past."
"Any idea who sabotaged Cronkite's car?"
"Max. He had plenty of time, and he looked too dirty to have been looking for a clutch plate. But Emmy doesn't think so."
"Why not?"
"She thinks he's too flaky," Frank replied.
"Why not Cronkite?"
"Cronkite?"
Joe put his drink down. "It's just a hunch, but Cronkite always seems to be right there when something's happening. Why would he lend Emmy his car?"
The beeper chirped. Frank grabbed the black box and shut it off. "I'll call this time," he said as he picked up the phone.
Joe gulped down his cold soft drink. He felt guilty eating and drinking while Chet was lying hurt someplace, probably hungry and thirsty.
He suddenly wasn't hungry any longer. He threw what remained of his burger and fries into the bag, wadded it up, and tossed the whole thing into the trash.
"That was Smith. He wants to meet us at a place downtown called Skyway Parking Garage," Frank said after hanging up the phone. He grabbed the tape and the photo and stuffed them both into his shirt pocket.
"Did he say why?" Joe asked.
"No. But this may be our chance to see the delivery end of the operation."
***
"Looks abandoned," Frank said as he leaned forward and strained his neck to look up the ten stories of the garage. Skyway Parking was only a few blocks from Don's Daylight Donuts, near the center of Southport.
"What better place than a large, empty parking garage to hide stolen parts," Joe said.
"Or a kidnap victim." Frank leaned back in his seat. "Smith wants to meet us at the top level."
Joe eased the van around a wooden barricade, ignoring the no trespassing signs, and wound the van up the parking garage.
"What's really beginning to bother me," Frank said, "is if Emmy is involved with Smith, if she is a bad cop, why would her car have been sabotaged this morning?"
It was a good question for which Joe had no answer.
"Who would target Emmy, and why?" Frank was talking more to himself than Joe.
"Perhaps Emmy wasn't the one they were after," Joe said.
"What?"
The thought that he was the intended target had crossed Frank's mind earlier, but hearing it from Joe, out loud for the first time, stunned him. Except for Uncle Ed, Emmy, and Cronkite, he was unknown in Southport. The only person who would want Frank out of the way would be the leader of the chop shop ring. And as far as Frank was concerned, he had a trio of suspects: Smith, Max, and Emmy.
"Now what?" Joe asked as he brought the van to a halt on the top level of the parking garage. He hopped out and scouted the area.
Frank remained seated and stared at the dash, letting his vision blur. Why not two bad cops? Emmy and Cronkite? he thought.
"Hey," Joe said with a light tap on Frank's shoulder.
Frank jumped as if startled from a deep sleep.
"What's wrong?" Joe asked.
Frank stepped from the van. He jogged to the edge of the parking lot and leaned over the railing.
"Did you see anyone following us?" he asked, rejoining Joe.
"No," Joe replied. "What's up?"
"I don't think we can trust anyone in the Southport Police Department."
"Why not?"
Before Frank could answer, the quiet early evening stillness was shattered by a thunderous rumble. A half second later a black TransAm burst from the access ramp. Like some great hungry beast seeking its prey, it zeroed in on the Hardys.
Frank and Joe dove in opposite directions, the TransAm missing them by inches.
By the time they had regained their footing, the car had spun 180 degrees and was pointed at them once again.
Two men jumped from the car. They were the same height and wore identical gray suits. Dark sunglasses hid their eyes. They were mirror images of each other, except for their hair - and the guns they aimed at Frank and Joe.
The black-haired man, the driver, held a .45 while his red-haired partner stood on the passenger side with a
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