Pumped Up

“C’mon, Joe, one more. Give me one more,” Jamal urged.

At the bench press, Joe grunted as he pushed the heavy weights above his chest. His arms trembled from the strain. Just when it felt as if the weights might crash down on him, Jamal snatched the bar. Together they raised the barbell back up onto its , stand.

Jamal rolled his eyes. “Ten repetitions at two twenty-five. That’s bench-pressing some pretty serious. Too bad you can’t pump your brain up just as easily.”

Joe chuckled. “You sound like my brother.” He glanced at the clock on the weight-room wall.

Frank should have been back by now, and Frank was seldom late.

Suddenly, the wail of sirens ripped through the still of the night. Joe sat bolt upright. As the sirens grew louder, nearer, Joe broke out into a sweat. “Frank,” he said in a choked voice,

Joe ran outside, followed by Jamal. A police cruiser with an EMS wagon on its tail shot past them, heading up the hill, toward the jogging path. As the realization hit him, Joe sucked in his breath, Already pumped up from his workout, Joe bolted up the hard dirt trail. Something had happened to Frank!

The voice from the telephone the night before echoed in Joe’s mind: “Lose that Ocean City game or you’ll be hurting!”

Maybe Frank was hurting now, Joe thought, picking up his pace. He didn’t slow down until he reached the top of the incline. His chest heaving, Joe stared down the sharply sloping hillside as the twirling emergency vehicle’s lights played across his face. They were bringing someone up in a stretcher, and the sight twisted Joe’s stomach into a knot.

It was Frank.

As the ambulance crew reached the hilltop, Joe let out a huge sigh of relief, Frank was sitting up. He couldn’t be too seriously injured.

“I’m okay,” Frank was saying. “Just twisted us ankle.” He spotted Joe and Jamal. They were out of breath from their long run up the hill and were still iiiiiiv, heavily. “What took you guys so long?” Nnk akcd, grinning crookedly.

I think your brother’s all right,” Jamal said breathlessly.

Frank swung his feet out over the stretcher and, was about to step down.

“Only a nut would try to walk on that foot,” the Iti ,i ii said, “It could be broken.”

If you’r smart, you’ll let us take you to the l the second paramedic said. “That ankle should be X-rayed.”

Frank pointed to Joe and Jamal. “Don’t worry it I have my friends here to help me.” Then

He looked curiously at the police officers. “Do you mt If I i.sk who called you guys?”

“We received a 911 call that someone had , vu, down this hill,” the first officer, a

sergeant, said. He was tall with just the hint of a ii ti to show.

“Who made the call?” Frank asked,

“He said you had been pushed,” the second tiI iu ignoring Frank’s question. She was a ilul lund woman with high cheekbones.

“No Kidding?” Frank raised his eyebrows and looked innocent.

The female officer frowned. Studying her face, . sl .1.. might be a Native American.

“Were you pushed?” the woman pressed. She 1 report pad from her belt and opened it,

Frank avoided the officer’s question. “Who made ie call?” he asked again. “Do you know?”

“We don’t have that information,” the sergeant aid, crossing his arms in front of him. “Why do you vant to know?”

“Just wanted to thank the good Samaritan.”

The sergeant narrowed his eyes. “You’re Frank iardy, aren’t you? I’ve seen you around the station l with your dad a few times.”

Frank nodded.

“I’m Sergeant Tim Talcott. This is my partner, Sue Birdsong.” His gaze took in Joe. “You two are detectives like your old man, aren’t you?”

When the boys nodded, the sergeant gave them a big knowing smile. “And you’re into something you shouldn’t be, right?”

“Actually, we’re not investigating—” Joe began. But Sergeant Takott broke in. “Listen, kids, there’s a time to quit playing private eye and leave the work to the police,’ he said. “It’s our job, and we’ve been trained to do it.”

“We’ve solved more than our share of crimes, sir. Serious crimes, committed by pros.” Joe was get ting a little annoyed at the officer’s tone of voice. “There’s nothing amateurish about our detective j work. We do our job well.”

Sergeant Talcott nodded. “Didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just trying to do my job. If a crime has bee committed, I want to know about it.”

Suddenly, the police-cruiser radio barked. Officer cer Birdsong rushed to answer it, climbing in behind the steering wheel. “Let’s go, Tim!” she yelled. “We’ve got a B-and-E in progress.”

Sergeant Talcott dashed to the police cruiser, and Officer Birdsong tore away with the siren blaring. The boys watched as the car sped down the hill and away into the night. When the taillights blinked away to nothing, Frank thanked the para medics for their help, and they reboarded their ambulance.

“You’re lucky they got that breaking-and- entering call. Why the big coverup?” Joe asked his brother as the EMS wagon rumbled past them and down the hill. He had easily seen through Frank’s flimsy lies. “Who attacked you?”

“I don’t know. But I wanted to check something out right away. And that would have been impossible if we were at the station house filling out police reports.”

Frank limped over to the spot in the woods where

had seen something glitter. Joe and Jamal joined him, helping to search the area.

Look!” Frank said, pointing at the ground. ‘Boot prints.”

Joe and Jamal kneeled down next to Frank and ex the tracks in the soft ground. “I’d say these were left by heavy-duty work boots,” Joe aid. “Look how clear the tread marks are. That means new boots.”

‘Or old boots with new soles,” Frank said.

“So you think these were left by the person who tacked you?” Jamal asked, examining the prints. “Look at how they’re laid out—as if the person ere pacing or moving around in place. To stay arm, maybe, while he waited for me.” Frank sat i the cold ground to tie the laces on his sneaker. is pant leg was rolled up, revealing the swollen kle.

“You’d better ice that ankle, man,” Jamal said. Lt’s starting to swell up.”

“Later,” Frank said, tying his sneaker loosely.

“You really should take care of it,” Joe said, ‘ifting his gaze to Frank’s ankle. “We have a big me tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow, whatever clues are here may be une. This wasn’t an accident, guys. Someone ushed me. And I intend to find out who!” Frank sisted.

“Why don’t you two keep looking around while I et the van,” Jamal suggested. “I’ll bring it back up ere so you don’t have to walk all the way down the L on that ankle, Frank.” Jamal shivered. “I ouldn’t mind getting warm. Man, it is cold out tere.”

“Thanks, Jamal,” Joe said, tossing him the keys. amal went for the van as the Hardys continued to earch the area.

A brightly colored piece of paper caught Joe’s ye. “Hey, look at this.” He untangled a crumpled green paper airplane that was caught on the branch of a bush next to the footprints.

Joe unfolded the paper. It was a program from tlu previous day’s game. A phone number was scrawled along one wing.

“How did this get here?” he wondered aloud.

“Whoever was waiting for me tonight must have hien at yesterday’s game,” Frank reasoned.

‘Did you get a look at this guy?” Joe asked.

Not till I hit bottom, and then I was pretty dazed. But I saw something glitter up here, some thing shiny, metallic.”

Jot. looked puzzled. “Like what?”

“Maybe it was a silver medallion around some niies neck,” Frank mused.

J or took that in for a second. “Like the one Jake l wears?”

l’ nodded.

And what about Revelle?” Joe wondered aloud.

“Revelle?”

tics got braces. I saw them shining on the l court.”

Ar..iin Frank nodded. “Right now, we know just thing for sure. This is more than somebody a had sport. Whoever pushed me is serious

aluiit is losing that game tomorrow.”

Jo’ ‘ down to the bottom of the deep ravine. to, mid have been killed.”

Jamal pulled the van next to the Hardys and hopped out.

“Where to?” Joe asked as he got behind the wheel. Jamal and Frank got in, and Joe started down the hill.

‘Let’s start with Jake Berman,” Frank said, turn ing to tell Jamal about the clue they’d found. “Jake was at the game yesterday. He could have made that threatening phone call, too.”

“Sounds good to me,” Joe said. “As captain of the Ocean City Slickers, he definitely has a motive for wanting to bench you with an injury. Anybody have an idea where we can find him?”

“You could try his house,” Jamal said. “Jake lives in Ocean City, over by the mall.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced at his friend. “Since when do you hang with Jake Berman?”

“Like I said, Glen and Jake are buds,” Jamal explained. “Glen invited me to one of Jake’s par ties. And let me tell you, if you think Jake is bad, wait till you see the guys he hangs with. This could get dangerous.”

“I want him to see me,” Frank said, “and I want to check out his face when he does. Whoever pushed me down that hill figures I’m in the hospital right now. If Berman acts surprised that I’m up and around—”

“He’ll be suspect number one,” Joe finished. “So we’ll just take a drive by. Where does Berman live?” Joe asked Jamal.

Jamal gave them the address. “Just be careful, guys,” he said as he got out of the van in front of the rec center.

Joe rolled the window down and said, “You sure you don’t want a ride home, Jamal?”

Jamal shook his head. “I’m going to go work out a bit more. See you at the game tomorrow.”

Joe shifted the van into drive and headed toward Ocean City. Jake Berman’s house was exactly where Jamal had said it would be. There were no lights on in the house, which seemed empty.

Joe spun the van around and parked on the opposite side of the street. The boys sat quietly in liii’ van for a few moments, then Joe shut the engine down and turned off the lights.

What now?” Joe asked.

Before Frank could answer, a souped-up Chevy rumbled down the street and pulled into Berman’s driveway.

“There he is,” Joe whispered.

Berman got out of his car and walked straight up

the Hardys’ van. He rapped heavily on the driver’s-side window with his knuckles. Joe rolled Iii window down.

“Nice van,” Berman said in a mocking voice. “Be

a shame if something happened to it, just because of the dumb way you parked.”

Joe could feel his face growing warm with anger.

I parked just fine.”

”Except you picked the wrong street,” Berman told him ‘What do you think you’re doing?”

Frank came around the van and walked toward Berman. Joe could see he was trying hard to hide his limp. “Just a friendly visit, Jake. Where have you been?”

“None of your business.”

Joe opened the van door and stepped down to the ground. He noticed the shiny medallion hung around Jake’s neck, dangling outside his leather jacket. “What went wrong tonight?” Joe said. “Did some little old lady scare you off, Mr. Tough Guy?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Berman gave the Hardys what appeared to be a genuinely puzzled look.

Frank studied Jake’s face for a long minute. “Nothing. Good night, Jake.” The Hardys climbed hack into the van. Joe started it up and got the heater going.

He didn’t seem surprised to see me,” Frank said he had sneakers on, too. The prints in the dirt on the hill were definitely made by a boot.”

“So you don’t think Jake is the one who pushed you Joe said as he turned on the radio and started toward home.

Frank shook his head. “Not unless he’s as good an actor as he is a basketball player.”

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

‘Let’s call the number on the program we found.” Frank took out the crumpled piece of paper and punched the number into their car phone.

The boys waited anxiously while it rang and rang. No one answered.

“Oh, well,” Joe said with a shrug. “We’ll try again later.”

Joe parked the van in the driveway, and the boys entered the kitchen through the back door. Frank yanked the kitchen wall phone out of its cradle and punched the preset button for the Bayport police.

“What’s up?” Joe asked.

“I want to find out the name of that 911 caller. According to the police, he was ata mall. And right now he’s the only witness we know about.”

“The police won’t reveal the caller’s identity. You know that.” Joe opened the refrigerator and peered inside. “You in for a little leftover meat loaf?”

“Sounds good.”

Joe layered slices of meatloaf and cheese onto bread and popped the sandwiches into the toaster oven.

“If Con Riley has desk duty, we might get the itiformation we need,” Frank said hopefully. “He’s hdped us out before.”

Joe shrugged. “I guess it’s worth a try.” Frank was leaning against the wall with the receiver pressed to his ear. “Yes, hello?” Frank abruptly said. “Is Con Riley there? This is Frank hardy.. . . Well, I was hoping he could help inc. . . . I need the number of a 911 caller. . . . But

it’s really important. . . . Are you sure? Hello? Hello?” Frank hung up the phone with a defeated sigh.

“I guess it’s just not our lucky day?” Joe asked.

As Frank shook his head. “Not—”

The rest of his answer was lost, however—as the kitchen window suddenly exploded!