Blood Relations by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

quarter, punched the 0 for the operator, and had her call Callie's number collect.
    The phone rang three times, then Linda Rawley answered. Her voice sounded tense.
    "Who is it?"
    Joe heard the operator say, "A Mr. Joe Hardy calling you collect from New York. Will you accept the call?"
    "Yes, please, put him on quickly," she said.
    "You may talk to your party now," the operator told Joe.
    "Mrs. Rawley, what's wrong?" Joe asked.
    "They're closing in," she said, her voice frantic. "You have to — "
    Her voice was cut off. There was a buzzing noise. Someone had broken the connection, either by hanging up the phone or by cutting the line.
    Joe bit his lip. He had to get back to Bayport fast to find out what was going on. Somehow he had to dig up the subway and train fare, since without his keys there was no way he could use his van, even if he could persuade the attendant at the parking lot where he had left it to trust him for the fee.
    He turned away from the phone only to find Wes, king of the concrete court, staring him in the face.
    "What's the matter?" the dark giant said as he straightened up to his full height. "You look like somebody just ran over your dog." He took a long slow sip from the can of soda in his hand.
    "I don't have a dog," Joe said nervously as he glanced down both ends of the street. No escape there. "But I do have troubles. Lots of them, and I hope you're not going to add to them." Joe tensed, ready to fight if he had to, hoping that he could just walk away.
    A quick grin lit Wes's face and was followed by deep laughter. "I got troubles enough too, without having to look for any new ones." His face got serious again. "So why don't you chill out. Tell me a little story."
    Joe felt some of the tension in his shoulders leave, and then, to his surprise, heard himself telling Wes the whole story. He watched the other youth's eyes light up, his head nod in understanding. As the story tumbled out faster and faster he even found himself hoping that he had a chance to get back before it was too late.

Chapter 13
    THE SPRUNG CAB that rumbled through the Bayport streets looked totally out of place. The windows were rolled down, letting ear-splitting salsa music blare out at the residents for blocks around. A dog barked furiously at the cab from his fenced-in, manicured lawn as the rusty Dodge, with its wired-on muffler and dragging fender, pulled up a block from Callie's house.
    "Thanks for the ride, Wes. And the shoes," Joe said, pointing to the pair of worn-out black high-tops. "I'll pay you back soon, I promise."
    "I know you will, man," said Wes, looking around at the neat lawns with an expression of wry amusement. "After all, you're from the suburbs:'
    "Come on, you back there, I ain't got all day," said the cabbie, a fat, unshaven man who was smoking a cigarette as he nervously tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the music. "The cops'll throw me in jail for just parking in this neighborhood."
    "Yeah, yeah, Tony. He's going, he's going." Wes turned to Joe. "Rich people make my friends nervous."
    Joe smiled. "So, maybe we'll meet again," he said, offering his hand. "On the courts, I mean."
    "Maybe." Wes grinned as Joe got out of the car, glancing worriedly toward Callie's house. "But I'll bet you two bits, next time you see me on the court you'll have to buy a ticket to do it."
    "Unless I'm on the team too," Joe couldn't help adding.
    Wes closed the door of the rickety car. He leaned out the window as the cab pulled away from the curb. "Let me leave you with a word of advice, Joe."
    "What's that?" Joe asked, instantly alert.
    Wes grinned. "Keep your eye on the ball."
    With a screech of tires, the cab made a U-turn in the street and disappeared around a corner, loud music lingering in its wake. Joe shook his head. Wes had turned out to be a really great guy. It was a shame they couldn't have shot a few more rounds of ball together. But Joe had work to do.
    He headed toward Callie's house, trying not to trip