Read Online Running on Empty by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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sawed-off semiautomatic shotgun.
"Frank and Joe Hardy!" Blackie yelled out across the parking lot. "Got any last requests?"
"Yeah," shouted Red. "You can start your prayers now."
Frank and Joe looked at each other. They were easy targets. The van sat thirty yards away. It might as well have been a mile. No matter how fast they ran, they wouldn't be able to outrun the wide spread of the sawed-off shotgun blast.
"Goodbye," Blackie shouted as though to old friends.
The calm twilight erupted with a thunderous roar of death from the .45 and the shotgun.
Chapter 11
Frank fell to the pavement and rolled away, shotgun pellets striking the concrete inches from him. He was on his feet and zigzagging toward the van, Joe at his shoulder.
A bullet clipped the heel of Frank's shoe and he sprawled on the ground, smacking into the concrete. Dazed, he tried to lift himself.
Blackie smiled, clutched the .45 with both hands, leaned on the open driver's door, and slowly took careful aim at Frank.
"Police! Drop it!" a high-pitched voice shouted. Joe recognized Emmy's voice above the roar of the gunfire. A split second later a third gun erupted.
Blackie fell back behind the protection of the car door.
A slug from Emmy's gun slammed into Red's left leg, twisting the gunman around in a violent spasm.
Joe pulled Frank up and both bolted toward the van.
Blackie no longer concentrated his fire at the Hardys but somewhere behind them.
Joe glanced over his shoulder. Emmy stood in the opening of the garage's stairwell, her police .38 smoking and blazing. She ducked back into the doorway as several slugs from the .45 chipped at the concrete frame around her.
Having recovered, Red turned his shotgun on the fleeing Hardys while Blackie kept Emmy pinned back inside the stairwell.
Frank and Joe reached the van as a shotgun blast peppered the side of the van, chipping the black paint on the van's armored siding.
Joe jumped into the driver's seat, Frank into the passenger's.
"Let's go!" Frank yelled as he slammed his door shut.
Joe threw the transmission into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. The tires screamed, and the van shot backward.
The van echoed with the ping, ping, ping from another shotgun blast.
"What are you doing?" Frank yelled.
"We've got to get Emmy! Open up the side door!"
Emmy! Frank had had the feeling they were being tailed. He shook his head sadly. Emmy had set them up.
Frank twisted in his seat and flung the panel door open. Joe slammed on the brakes and the van squealed to a halt in front of the stairwell opening.
Emmy vaulted into the van. She slammed the panel door shut as Joe pushed the shift lever into drive and rocketed away from the stairwell.
The van hit the access ramp with such speed that it flew into the air, then bounced with such force that its shocks and springs groaned against the sudden full impact of the van's weight.
"What are you doing here?" Frank shouted at Emmy.
"I - " Emmy began.
"Never mind," Joe interrupted. "We've got company."
Frank looked in his side mirror. The TransAm was bearing down on them. Joe was doing a good job jockeying the van around the hairpin turns as they descended out of the parking lot, but the lighter, smaller car was closing in.
Red stuck the shotgun out his window and fired.
Joe swerved the van to the left and the pellets scraped down Frank's side, shattering Frank's mirror.
The TransAm slammed into the rear of the van. Joe twisted the steering wheel left and right to keep the van from smashing into a concrete wall.
"Got any ammo?" Emmy yelled. "I'm out."
"No," Frank replied. "I've got something better."
Frank hopped to the back of the van and flipped open the tool box. He pulled out a small but heavy crowbar.
The van jolted as the TransAm rammed into it again.
Frank and Emmy grabbed each other to keep from falling over.
For one brief moment, Frank saw genuine fear and panic in Emmy's eyes and face. Could this be the face that had betrayed
"Frank and Joe Hardy!" Blackie yelled out across the parking lot. "Got any last requests?"
"Yeah," shouted Red. "You can start your prayers now."
Frank and Joe looked at each other. They were easy targets. The van sat thirty yards away. It might as well have been a mile. No matter how fast they ran, they wouldn't be able to outrun the wide spread of the sawed-off shotgun blast.
"Goodbye," Blackie shouted as though to old friends.
The calm twilight erupted with a thunderous roar of death from the .45 and the shotgun.
Chapter 11
Frank fell to the pavement and rolled away, shotgun pellets striking the concrete inches from him. He was on his feet and zigzagging toward the van, Joe at his shoulder.
A bullet clipped the heel of Frank's shoe and he sprawled on the ground, smacking into the concrete. Dazed, he tried to lift himself.
Blackie smiled, clutched the .45 with both hands, leaned on the open driver's door, and slowly took careful aim at Frank.
"Police! Drop it!" a high-pitched voice shouted. Joe recognized Emmy's voice above the roar of the gunfire. A split second later a third gun erupted.
Blackie fell back behind the protection of the car door.
A slug from Emmy's gun slammed into Red's left leg, twisting the gunman around in a violent spasm.
Joe pulled Frank up and both bolted toward the van.
Blackie no longer concentrated his fire at the Hardys but somewhere behind them.
Joe glanced over his shoulder. Emmy stood in the opening of the garage's stairwell, her police .38 smoking and blazing. She ducked back into the doorway as several slugs from the .45 chipped at the concrete frame around her.
Having recovered, Red turned his shotgun on the fleeing Hardys while Blackie kept Emmy pinned back inside the stairwell.
Frank and Joe reached the van as a shotgun blast peppered the side of the van, chipping the black paint on the van's armored siding.
Joe jumped into the driver's seat, Frank into the passenger's.
"Let's go!" Frank yelled as he slammed his door shut.
Joe threw the transmission into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. The tires screamed, and the van shot backward.
The van echoed with the ping, ping, ping from another shotgun blast.
"What are you doing?" Frank yelled.
"We've got to get Emmy! Open up the side door!"
Emmy! Frank had had the feeling they were being tailed. He shook his head sadly. Emmy had set them up.
Frank twisted in his seat and flung the panel door open. Joe slammed on the brakes and the van squealed to a halt in front of the stairwell opening.
Emmy vaulted into the van. She slammed the panel door shut as Joe pushed the shift lever into drive and rocketed away from the stairwell.
The van hit the access ramp with such speed that it flew into the air, then bounced with such force that its shocks and springs groaned against the sudden full impact of the van's weight.
"What are you doing here?" Frank shouted at Emmy.
"I - " Emmy began.
"Never mind," Joe interrupted. "We've got company."
Frank looked in his side mirror. The TransAm was bearing down on them. Joe was doing a good job jockeying the van around the hairpin turns as they descended out of the parking lot, but the lighter, smaller car was closing in.
Red stuck the shotgun out his window and fired.
Joe swerved the van to the left and the pellets scraped down Frank's side, shattering Frank's mirror.
The TransAm slammed into the rear of the van. Joe twisted the steering wheel left and right to keep the van from smashing into a concrete wall.
"Got any ammo?" Emmy yelled. "I'm out."
"No," Frank replied. "I've got something better."
Frank hopped to the back of the van and flipped open the tool box. He pulled out a small but heavy crowbar.
The van jolted as the TransAm rammed into it again.
Frank and Emmy grabbed each other to keep from falling over.
For one brief moment, Frank saw genuine fear and panic in Emmy's eyes and face. Could this be the face that had betrayed
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