HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

Man, I was in heaven. With the new killer wheels beneath me and the open road in front of me, I was ready to take on the world – or at least our latest mission. I took another curve just before reaching the interstate on-ramp and glanced over my shoulder. Just one problem. Where was Frank?

I remembered we had GPS, so I headed up the ramp and zoomed onto the busy interstate highway. No more than ten minutes later, Frank pulled up beside me and gave me a thumbs-up. I made the okay sign with one hand and we took off.

We made good time. Weaving our way through the morning traffic we reached the outskirts of Philadelphia by nine-thirty. My motorcycle handled like a dream. Heck, I could have kept riding all day. I didn’t want to stop.

Minutes later, we found the hotel and pulled our cycles into the parking garage. I ran my hands along the grips, over the dashboard. “Do I have to leave my bike here?” I asked Frank, turning off the engine. “Do you think they’ll let me park it in my room? I could say it’s my luggage.”

“You could also say you’re Elvis but I don’t think they’ll go for it,” said Frank. “Come on, let’s check in.”

We gathered up our stuff and grabbed an elevator to the lobby. When the doors opened, we thought we’d come to the wrong place. It was a total zoo. Every inch of the hotel lobby was crawling with punked-out dudes and dudettes sporting Mohawks and Day-Glo dye jobs. Across the room, a gang of bikers in red leather knocked their helmets together. A pack of T-shirted skateboarders did railslides down the entry steps. A pony-tailed trio of identical triplets zipped past us on Rollerblades. For a moment, I spun around to watch them in their hot pink shorts and tank tops.

“Hey, Frank,” I said, nudging my brother, still staring after the girls. “If they can skate in here, maybe I can ride my bike.”

“Give it a rest, Joe.”

Frank pointed me toward the reception desk. Zigzagging our way through the crowd, we walked up to the check-in sign – and found ourselves face to face with a bald-headed clerk who didn’t look all that amused by the hotel’s current clientele. “May I help you gentlemen,” he said with a tired sigh.

“I’ll take care of this,” said Frank.

“Sure, knock yourself out.” I turned, trying to see the rollerblading triplets again and nearly knocked someone else down. “Whoa, sorry!” I said, grabbing her wrist before she fell. “Are you okay?”

The girl looked up at me. “No problem. I’m okay.”

She was more than okay. She was a total knockout – a brown-eyed beauty with jet black hair and ruby red lips, and a hot pink skateboard tucked under one arm. This mission was looking better all the time.

I extended my hand. “I’m Joe. Joe Hardy.”

The girl slapped it and smiled. “I’m Jenna Cho. And I’m so embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?” I asked.

She held up her skateboard and shrugged. “Well, it’s like this. Twenty minutes ago, I did a 540 air spin on the half-pipe and had no problem landing on my board. Then this dude bumps into me in a hotel lobby and I totally wipe out.” Then she grinned at me. “But I think I can handle it. The dude’s kind of cute.”

My grin widened. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Are you competing in the games?” asked Jenna.

“No, I’m just a fan,” I said. “But I skateboard a little myself. I wish I’d brought mine with me, now.”

“Well, if you want to borrow mine, I’ll be practicing in FDR Park tomorrow,” said Jenna. “All the Big Air boarders hang out there.”

“Sure, I’ll drop by,” I said, even though I wasn’t thrilled about riding a hot-pink skateboard.

“Jenna, come on!” someone yelled across the lobby. I looked over to see a group of skateboarders in front of the elevators.

“Chill out! I’m coming!” Jenna yelled back at them. She threw her board on the floor and hopped on. “I’m in room 514,” she whispered. “Call me if you want to hang.” Then she skated away.

Excellent, I thought, grinning.

“Who was that?” asked Frank, coming up behind me.

“A beautiful girl who just gave me her room number,” I bragged.

“Why was she whispering?”

“Because...” I said in that tone of voice Frank hates to hear. “It was our little secret.” He hates it when I patronize him.

My brother looked annoyed so the tone must have worked. “We’re here on a mission, Joe. We’re supposed to be gathering information.”

“Yes, and the best way to do that is by blending in and hanging out with the athletes,” I replied. “And besides, I did get some info. Jenna told me that all the skateboarders practice in FDR Park.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s useful. Anyway, I have our room keys, let’s go.”

We took the elevator up to our hotel room and unpacked our stuff. I glanced at my watch. “Man, breakfast was hours ago.”

Frank nodded. “I’m a bit hungry too.”

“Let’s go out and grab a slice of pizza,” I suggested. “We have the whole city of Philadelphia to explore.”

Frank agreed and we left the room. We went downstairs, passing through the circus in the lobby and headed for an exit. When we got outside, we were surprised to find the sidewalks were just as crowded.

“Man, the whole city is buzzing,” said Frank, staring at all the extreme athletes and fans passing by.

I could tell he was trying to soak it all in, maybe even eavesdrop on passing conversations, listening, watching for anything suspicious. That was my brother, always on the case. Even when he should just be enjoying himself.

We walked a few blocks, just enjoying the sights, until we stumbled on a small skateboard store. The place was a little run-down but seemed to carry all the latest boards and equipment. A sign above the door said Ollie’s Skate Shop.

“Let’s go in,” said Frank. “We can ask the owner if he’s heard any rumors about an attack.”

I was starving but I didn’t feel like arguing with my brother. He was a man on a mission.

A little bell jingled when we opened the door and stepped inside. The place was packed with merchandise but not many customers. There were just a few teenaged boys trying on helmets and two girls looking at T-shirts.

“Hey, you boys!” a deep, gravelly voice shouted from behind the counter.

Frank and I turned to see who was shouting. It was a middle-aged man with a bad sunburn, a walking cane, tattooed arms and long blond hair tied in a ponytail. He looked kind of like an angry surfer.

Lucky for us, he was pointing at the other boys in the store. “Don’t put those helmets on your greasy little heads unless you’re serious about buying them,” he barked.

“Oh, get over yourself, dude,” one of the boys shot back. “I don’t care if you were the national champion. That was years ago. Right now, you’re nothing but a knobby-kneed has-been.”

The pony-tailed man fixed his cold blue eyes on the boys – then slowly reached under the counter. “Get out of my store,” he snarled. “Now.”

Nobody moved for a moment or two. Then the boys put down the helmets and walked out of the store. “Loser,” one of them mumbled as they passed us and left. The door closed with a faint jingle.

Frank tapped my arm and then nodded to a hand-written sign next to the register. It said, As an American citizen, I fully exercise my right to bear arms. Shoplifters: Beware.

I glanced back at Frank. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward a bulletin board. I turned and looked. The board was covered with pictures of Ollie looking young and fit – and soaring through the air on a skateboard. There were newspaper clippings, too, with headlines like Ollie Peterson: National Skateboard Champ 1986 and Ollie Wins Again! I had to squint to read the small clipping on the bottom: Skateboard Legend takes a Fall.

“What are you boys looking for?” Ollie grunted, slamming his cane down on the counter.

Thinking fast, I said, “I need a new skateboard. Something top-of-the-line.”

Ollie eyed me for a minute, looking at the jeans and T-shirt. I thought about the other skateboarders and their punk look. He was probably wondering if I was a real boarder or just wanted to pretend. Finally, he lowered his cane and limped toward a large skateboard display. “Over here, kid,” he said. “I got all the latest models.”

I followed him over. He had everything from the basic boards with cheap wheels to the most expensive, top-of-the-line models. I kept looking at one board that was black with flame-red detailing on each end. The wheels had flames on them as well. I blinked, seeing it was the new THX-720. They’d just come out with them. I grinned. Why not buy one? It would save me from the embarrassment of sharing Jenna’s and I could put it down as a necessity for the mission.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Frank was studying the articles on the bulletin board, gathering information as usual. I shook my head. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows how to cut loose and have fun.

As Ollie rang up my purchase, one of the girls walked up to the counter and said, “Excuse me, do you have T-shirts for the Big Air Games?”

Judging from the thunderous expression on the man’s face, that was the wrong question to ask. Ollie almost threw a fit. “Big Air Heads is more like it!” he snapped. “Those big-business money-grubbers won’t allow me to set up a stand outside the stadium. So, fat chance I’ll fill their greedy pockets by selling their ugly shirts.”

The girl’s companion came up behind her and tugged her arm. “Come on, Missy, we don’t need to listen to him.”

Missy shrugged. “Just thought we’d get ‘em cheaper. They’re like twenty bucks at the booth, Annie,” she added, her voice trailing off as they left the store.

A few seconds later, Ollie calmed down enough to take my money and complete my purchase. Frank strolled over to the counter. “I guess those Big Air Games are a big deal, huh,” he said to Ollie.

Ollie rolled his eyes. “A big pain,” he sneered. “The whole city is tied up in knots, with all the traffic and the cops everywhere.”

“Well, an event that big must attract a lot of weirdos,” said Frank. “Maybe even terrorists. Someone told me they heard a rumor that someone was going to sabotage the games.”

Ollie laughed. “That would be fine with me,” he growled. “I even know how they could do it.”

“Oh, really?” said Frank, leaning over the counter like he was really interested. “How?”

I found myself watching Ollie’s tattoos as he grabbed a skateboard off the display and flipped it over. On each forearm was an intricate Chinese-style dragon. They seemed to move every time he did.

“See the axis of the wheel here?” he asked, giving the neon-green wheel a spin. “That’s where the ball bearings usually go. But some of these new models use liquid bearings, smoother spin. No balls, just liquid, understand?”

Frank and I nodded. Absently, I noticed the design on the underside of the skateboard. It was a screen print of the Grim Reaper surrounded by putrid green flames.

“Well, imagine this,” Ollie continued. “What if someone replaced the liquid with an explosive like nitroglycerin? Think about it. The faster the skater goes, the hotter the nitro gets. Faster and hotter...until ka-boom! I think you get the picture,” he added, giving us a grin.

Oh we got the picture all right and it wasn’t very pretty. I tore my eyes from the image of the Grim Reaper. Talk about killer wheels. I grabbed my new skateboard and nudged my brother. “Come on, Frank, I’m hungry.”

My brother nodded. “Bye, Ollie,” he said as we left the store. “Nice talking with you.”

I grunted and eyed my brother as we continued down the sidewalk, wondering if Ollie had picked up on the sarcasm. I put my skateboard down and pushed off. “Let’s go eat.”

Frank followed as best as he could, catching up to me in front of a small pizzeria. Glancing into the windows I saw quite a few fans and extreme athletes inside. Their gear – skateboards, rollerblades – were by the booths they were sitting in. I got off the skateboard, hit the back end with my foot to flip it up and caught it. “Come on, Frank.”

Frank followed me inside where we went up to the counter to order a pizza with the works and two sodas. Lucky for us, a group of teenagers were leaving and we had a secluded booth in the back. I slid the skateboard under the table and propped my feet on it. I looked at Frank. “You think Ollie’s behind it?”

Frank eyed the crowd and shrugged. “If he’s bitter about the way his career ended, and resentful of all the attention the athletes get, maybe.”

“You think he really has a gun under the counter?”

“Possibly.”

“Am I only going to get vague answers from you?”

Frank flashed me a grin then, and watched the waiter bring our order. “Yeah.”

I decided kicking him wasn’t worth it, not with the pizza sitting between us. I started to tell the waiter not to bother with plates. We’d eat straight from the pan. I grabbed a steaming slice of pizza watching the cheese form long strings as I pulled it away. I wrapped the cheese around the tip of the pizza and took a bite.

Frank thanked the waiter, a guy probably our age, and helped himself. We didn’t talk again until three-quarters of the pizza was gone. I sighed and finished off the last of my soda. “That was good.”

“Wonder why they wouldn’t allow Ollie to set up shop outside the stadium?”

I shrugged. “It could be they want exclusive rights to sell stuff. You know, T-shirts are big business, perfect way to advertise.”

“True.” Frank pulled a pepperoni off one of the few slices still sitting between us. “So does your board have liquid bearings?”

“No, the THX-720s are traditional ball bearings. The THX-800s though do have the new bearings. I’ve heard good things and bad about the liquid bearings.”

“Oh?”

“Some boarders say the wheels spin too freely. That they have trouble getting the boards to stop when they want them to. Also, they say that it throws off their speed just enough to make stunts awkward.” I shrugged, gave into temptation and grabbed another slice of pizza.

“Others say they like the feel of flying, because the ride’s smooth. And there’s no rattle from ball bearings.”

Frank grabbed the slice of pizza he’d stolen the pepperoni from. “So...you think the liquid bearings might not be the big breakthrough for the skateboard industry?”

Doesn’t he sound like an economics professor or something? I rolled my eyes. “That wasn’t exactly the topic of the article I read. Anyway, those wheels are sealed. I don’t see how you could put nitro inside.”

Frank sighed. “So Ollie could just be talking off his head.”

I finished off the slice and knew I’d had enough. My stomach felt like it would explode if I ate anymore. “Maybe. But he does sound really bitter. You think he’d really take it out on the athletes?”

“If he does, we’ll get him.”

I nodded, hoping that it would be that simple an assignment. Somehow, I didn’t think it would be.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.