Boosting - Chapter 9

"C'mon Frank!" Joe said loudly, attempting to divert him from his revelry.

Frank pulled back on the throttle and took the speedboat into another tight turn, curving the boat around until the bow was pointing the other way, leaving a foaming wake in its path. The outboard engine roared loudly as it was lifted out of the water.

Joe was gripping the side of the boat tightly, enjoying himself immensely, but his brain was confused and concerned as to why his older brother was driving so erratically and out of character. Frank's forearm flexed, ready again to thrust the throttle all the way forward, so Joe put his hand over his brother's fist and levered his hand free. "Frank, quit it will you? What's goin' on?"

Frank looked back indecipherably and pulled his hand free. It was almost like he'd just realised someone else was next to him. "Having fun is all."

"Are you sure about that, dude?"

"I'm sure."

"You never used to pilot the Sleuth like that."

"Didn't I?"

"No you didn't, and you'd give me a hard time if I did." Frank didn't offer any other explanation, so Joe nudged him. "Give way, bro, I'm having my turn." Joe began to get up, putting his hand under Frank's elbow to ensure he arose with him.

Frank swung himself over into the back of the boat and stretched out across the bench seat.

Joe slid across into the now vacant place and prepared to put some speed on.

"Careful Joe," Frank said, a teasing tone to his voice. "This might be the one woman who's too hot for you to handle!"

"I don't think so. No woman can resist my gentle strokes." Joe said self-righteously. "Like most woman, you just have to treat her with the respect she demands and has become accustomed to. And this baby will be no exception. Watch and learn, brother, she'll roll over just as easily." He pushed the throttle slowly forward and the outboard began to hum. The boat shot forward a little way, and then suddenly juddered and the engine stalled.

"Okay Joe – this particular lady obviously doesn't think much of your patented technique!" Frank said and hooted into laughter.

Joe grimaced and switched the engine off before turning the key and pressing on the ignition switch. The outboard made a whining sound and turned over, but there was no forward thrust. "Terrific!" he muttered, trying once more but getting the same result.

"Sounds and feels like something's snagged around the propeller." Frank offered.

"Yeah it does." Joe jumped over into the back while Frank scooted to one side to allow his brother to lean out over the rear. "I hope that's all it is, or we're gonna be stranded!" Joe rolled up his sleeve and thrust his hand into the water to delve about. "Yuk! There's something there all right, but I can't tell what it is. Feels slimy. I'm goin' to have to take a closer look-see."

Frank stood up and moved right out of his way, backing up against the front seats so Joe could release the catch and tip the engine forward.

The instant the propeller was within Joe's eye-line, he let off an ear splitting screech and back peddled wildly. He rammed into Frank, hurling him unceremoniously over into the front. But Joe didn't stop there, he kept going until he was scrambling wildly over the seats and the windshield and finally onto the top of the bow. With the boys' combined weight, the boat listed Titanic-style nosewards causing Joe to slide all the way forward, the only thing stopping him from slipping into the water being the nose-rail.

"Joe, what's wrong with you?" Frank shouted, bobbing back up. "You nearly kicked me in the face and now you're goin' the right way to sinking us!"

"Snake!" Joe spluttered, white as a sheet.

"What?"

"Snake!" Joe said again, and pointed a trembling finger towards the engine. "There's a snake coiled around the propeller. And I touched the thing!" he exclaimed, visibly shuddering and wiping his palm madly against his jeaned leg.

"Don't be stupid," Frank said, reasonably. "Why would a snake be coiled around the propeller? It makes no sense, come back over." He offered his brother a hand.

"Frank, I'm not seeing things, there's a snake there, and you know how much I hate snakes. I'm not comin' back until it's gone."

Frank shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he did climb over the seats and head for the outboard motor. As soon as he began to move towards the stern, his shifting weight caused the boat to begin to right itself again. He boosted himself up onto the back of the bench seat and leaned over to peer at the propeller. He stared for a few seconds, frowned, and moved his face even closer. Surprised, Frank said: "You're right, you weren't imagining it!" He rolled up his cuffs, and, to Joe's horror, returned to the propeller and started untangling the creature.

"Frank, don't touch it!" Joe shouted, mortified. "You'll get bitten!"

"How else do you expect me to get rid of it? Anyway, don't worry, it's not poisonous, I know what breed of snake it is." Frank said calmly, not stopping.

"Dude!"

Frank looked back with a smirk and said, "Catch!" and threw it over arm.

It landed with a splat right in front of an aghast Joe Hardy, coming to rest up against the gunwale. Then began another drawn out period of horrified screaming and immediate scrambling transference of body weight towards starboard, causing the boat to start rocking madly again.

Frank then joined in the yelling as he nearly ended up in the drink, barely grabbing onto the outboard in time to prevent himself from going over the side. "For pity's sake, Joe, it's a length of bungee cord!" he shouted. "Stop being such a big baby!"

Joe had realised almost at the same time that it was a stretchy elastic cord, but it still took him a few long seconds before he felt secure enough in his knowledge for his frayed nerves to begin to accept it. He eventually leaned forward and inspected it, going very pink in the face. "Well, you can't blame me, Frank, look at the color of it, it looked snake-like to me."

"It's got dirty great hooks on each end!"

"Well, I didn't see any hooks, I just saw the shape and color!"

Shaking his head, Frank pushed the engine casement back into place. "Test the engine Joe and quick, before its mother comes looking for it."

"Ha ha, so very funny!"

*****

Con's phone rang in the offices of Hardy, Riley and Sons. He snatched it up so as not to disturb Nancy who was holding a phone conversation of her own. "Lieutenant…I mean…Con Riley," he said, tripping over his words.

"You're going to have to watch yourself with that, Riley," said a booming voice, instantly recognisable as a guffawing Ezra Collig. "Impersonating a police officer is a serious offence!"

"It's a fair cop – I'll turn myself in later! What can I do for you, Chief?"

"Keeping you boys up-to-date on what's been happening. Another car was stolen last night. A high-end one."

"Blast it! What type of car was it?"

"A—" there came the sounds of shuffling paper before Collig answered. "—A 1957 Ford Fairlane. Very nice, two-tone sky blue and white with matching blue leather seats. Taken from right here in Bayport in the middle of the night. Worth a whole bunch of money!"

Con's mind was ticking, already formulating a plan. "Thanks Chief, it might work to my advantage that you've let us know so quickly. Can you fax me the rest of the information – the crime report, statements etcetera?" He gave Chief Collig their fax number.

"I can have it emailed if you'd prefer?"

Con bared his teeth at his PC. "No thanks don't email it, the old-fashioned way will do."

While he'd been talking, Nancy had finished her call and was perched on the edge of Fenton's desk listening to the conversation. She caught the poisoned look Con shot his computer and giggled.

"One more thing, Riley, this morning, my Secretary handed me a letter that you might find interesting."

"What's that, Chief?"

"I've been asked to provide a character reference for one of your lads, for Frank, from Digitech World – they're a computer company aren't they?"

Con sighed, a feeling of dread washing over him. "Give me a second, Chief." He reached to pick up the pile of mail that was facing him on his desk. He quickly fanned through them until he found a white windowed envelope stamped 'Private & Confidential'. It had the Digitech logo on the top and was addressed to himself. Tearing it open, he pulled the letter out and scanned it. "I got one as well," he reported to Ezra Collig.

"Am I understanding this correctly…is Frank looking for a position, applying for vacancies away from the agency?"

"Affirmative." Con caught Nancy's eye and passed the letter to her. After a cursory glance, she began chewing her bottom lip and left to enter the other office, reading it through.

"I know this sounds trite, but I wished I'd known, I have a position here that would have suited the lad down to the ground—"

"—Let me interrupt you there Chief, before you get any more ideas in your head. Frank isn't interested in anything to do with Police or Investigative work. He's been applying for vacancies well outside of that sphere."

"Oh, I see – outside of detective work? Well, I don't mind saying that it's knocked me for a loop."

Con had a clear image in his head of his ex-boss at his desk, rapping his hairy knuckles against the tabletop with a heavy frown of confusion on his chiselled, military features.

"Should I reply to the request? Will I be treading on anyone's toes?"

"No. Fenton's very much aware of what's goin' on."

"And his other boy…Joe?"

"Yeah, Joe knows—" Con left the sentence hanging. He didn't want to say anything that Joe might be angry with him about later.

"Ah, say no more. I'll fax the car info to you. You boys sound like you've got your hands full."

"You could say that. Bye Chief."

As soon as he'd replaced the phone, Con left his seat to seek Nancy out. He found her in Joe's chair staring at the letter that was lying on top of a pile of media paperwork. "You okay, Drew?"

"The job title," she said, picking up the letter and turning it around so Con could see what was in the subject line. "It's not the job that Frank was called to be interviewed for. It's a different one, a better one. I think they're going to offer it to him or there'd be no reason to send for references. My God, Con, he actually did it!" she half smiled, but then it dropped. "This is brilliant for him, but what am I going to tell Joe?"

Con raised his hands. "How's about nadda. It's up to Frank to tell him, surely?"

Nancy chewed her lip again thoughtfully. "You're right. I can't even tell Frank because I'm not supposed to be here. If I tell Joe and he fronts Frank on it, and knowing Joe, that's exactly what he'd do, Frank would find out I didn't go home. Better I keep this to myself."

Con nodded and took the letter from her. "And in the meantime, I'm goin' to write the kid such a brilliant reference that it'll make Digitech's HR Department's heads spin. By the time I'm finished, they'll be offering him the Chief Executive's post!" He folded the communication and pushed it into his top pocket with a wink. "C'mon kiddo, let's worry about the case for now and put the Frank situation on the back-burner."

There came a ringing and whirring noise as the fax machine began printing.

"Speak of the devil, here comes the details on that stolen Ford Fairlane from the Chief."

"I overheard what you said to Chief Collig about not wanting the information emailed. You do realise you're going to have to get your head around computers eventually, don't you?" Nancy asked.

Con sighed. "Yes, I know, but they fill me with horror," he eyed his PC through the doorway like it was a stick of dynamite and narrowed his eyes. "It hates me you know, I'm convinced of it." His eyes moved to the window. "How many floors up are we again?" he asked, contemplating seeing if it could fly.

"I'll give you some lessons," Nancy offered.

"I might take you up on that, but other matters are pressing. Before I get into that though, I need to know what you've done about Frank's car."

"I've been phoning and putting the word out to every dealership in town under the pseudonym of 'Lucy' that I'm looking to buy a used Chevrolet Corvette convertible – but a nice one, and that I'm willing to pay good money for the 'right' one. Hopefully whoever has it will take the bait and they'll phone me."

She pointed towards Joe's PC. "And of course I've been checking out the Internet auction sites to see if I can spot it, but it either hasn't been uploaded yet, or they're not selling them that way. In one way, it would be easier to sell hot cars on the net – more anonymous – but on the other that would leave a data trail that they wouldn't want to leave. See how useful computers can be?"

Con gave a curt nod of agreement.

"What were you going to say, Con?"

Putting his finger up to make her wait, Con went to fetch the faxed print out. He was pleased to see that Chief Collig had included a photograph of the car itself, so he came back through and passed it to Nancy whose eyes widened at the sight of it.

"Wow, that is one hot-rod!" she exclaimed. "I imagine this was owned by a man, and I imagine that he's not very big—" she realised immediately what she'd inferred and who'd she'd inferred it to. "—And by 'not very big', I of course mean…in height?" she raised her face to him and went beet red.

Con deadpanned down his nose at her.

"Sorry, tried to save myself, failed miserably."

Finally, Con exploded into a belly laugh. "I drive a little car myself!" he shot back.

"I'm sure you do, Con, I'm sure you do! So what was it you were proposing?"

"I was thinking that we wait and see if anyone contacts you about Frank's car, and if they do, what line of business they're in. If, for instance, it's one of the dealerships, I can approach them and ask if they've any contacts that could find a Ford Fairlane for me. A blue and white one…because I had one when I was a teenager and would like one again…catch my drift, Drew?"

"I do and it's a great idea! If whoever has Frank's car is part of the gang, and they're getting as greedy as we think they are, they're likely to grab onto the chance of selling it with both hands." Suddenly frowning, Nancy's eyes dropped to Joe's desk and began scanning.

Con continued. "Plus, even if the car was stolen to order, the beauty of it being a Ford Fairlane is that it's not so unusual that another couldn't be stolen to replace the one that might get sold to me. Not that it would be much fun for whoever has the second one boosted, but if it exposes the crooks, it'll be worth the risk."

Nancy stood and started sniffing the air, sorting gingerly through the contents of Joe's desktop.

"What are you looking for?" Con asked.

"Can you smell something bad, Con? Something rotting?"

Con stepped forward and started snuffling himself. "Yeah, I can now that you mention it…oh no…don't say he's—" He passed around to the front of the desk and slid open the top drawer, inside was half of the bagel that Joe had been eating two days previously, propped up behind it was a handwritten note that said 'GOTCHA!' The bagel wasn't in good shape, it was furry and putrid, the ham filling particularly ripe and sweaty. Con placed his hand against Nancy's shoulder. "Stand back little lady - this could blow any second!!"

"Ew!" Nancy exclaimed, looking around Con to see what he'd found. She shuffled quickly away. "That's disgusting!"

Con wrinkled his nose and took up a piece of paper to discard of the offending article into the trashcan. "There. I disarmed it," he reported. "Move along, nothing to see here!"

"What on earth is Joe doing leaving that in his drawer?"

"I think it was a lame attempt to wreak revenge for a prank I pulled."

"I'm going back to Fenton's desk. At least there I'm unlikely to come down with salmonella poisoning. It smells like something died here."

"What are you talking about, Drew? This is relatively tidy for Joe!"

She pulled a face in response and returned to perch on the edge of Fenton's desk again. "Back to what we were discussing before Joe's time bomb almost exploded in my face – I've had another idea, Con."

Con followed on to sit down at his desk. "Shoot!"

"Why not make it very public knowledge that you're looking for a Ford Fairlane, cast your net wider. I'm thinking that you could also put up adverts on those Internet auction sites—"

Con looked doubtfully at his computer.

"Don't panic, I can do that for you. It'll take minutes."

"What about classic car magazines?" Con asked putting his hand atop the stack of publications he'd brought into the office with him that morning. "Would those have internet sites that allow messages to be left?"

"Oh, invariably. A lot of them will have on-line communities where we can leave a message up."

"Let's do it!" Con enthused keenly and rubbed his hands together.

"This is working out nicely, Con. You've got the car expertise and a strong stomach, and I'm good with computers with a keen sense of smell. We're the perfect duo!" She put her hand up and Con joined her in a high-five.

"Quite right, Drew!"