Bob gave the gaudy lowriders a block’s head start before he began to follow them. He had to keep reducing speed to stay far enough behind the slow procession. At last they reached the edge of the barrio. Bob was still hanging back when the lowriders all turned into a car wash next to a Taco Bell only two blocks from Rocky Beach High School. On a school holiday there were a lot of cars parked at the Taco Bell, even after midnight. It was a hangout Bob and Jupiter knew well.
They cruised slowly past the car wash, where Tiburon, the Piranhas, and their girlfriends had left their cars. Now they were lounging in the indoor waiting area, having snacks and soft drinks. Some other young Latinos had joined them.
“We’d better stake out,” Jupiter said. “The Taco Bell looks like a good place.”
“I’ll bet it does.” Bob grinned.
“And what does that mean?” Jupiter demanded.
“I never heard of a diet with fast-food tacos.”
“There are diets with everything on them,” Jupiter said loftily.
“Not tacos on a grapefruit and cottage cheese diet.”
Jupiter groaned. “But I’m starving.”
“Hey, I don’t care if you’re fat.”
“I am not fat! A little… heavy, maybe, but — ”
“Jupe, it’s okay. Pete and I like you, heavy or skinny. Now come on, what do we do?”
“We stake out at the Taco Bell,” Jupiter said stiffly. “And if we don’t have a taco, we’ll stand out too much.”
Bob turned his head to hide his smile as he made a U-turn. He drove back down the street and into the Taco Bell parking lot. They got out and mingled with the crowd at the stand. They knew some of the kids from high school and chatted with them as they waited in line.
Bob and Jupe took their tacos to a table by the window. They had a perfect view of the car wash. The bench was gone from this table, so they sat on the table as they munched and watched.
At this late hour the car wash was closed to customers, but it seemed to open for El Tiburon and the Piranhas. An older man stood behind the food counter, but all the car wash attendants were gone. El Tiburon was clearly in charge. He lounged in the only easy chair, with the Piranhas and their girlfriends all around him. He talked and they all listened.
Except one girl. She got up and went to buy something at the counter. El Tiburon pointed a long finger and shouted loud enough for Bob and Jupiter to hear at the Taco Bell.
“Get back here, chick! No groceries when we talk business. You got that, Owner?”
At the food counter the older man shrugged and shook his head at the girl. She whirled around and snapped out something to Tiburon. Instantly Tiburon was up and beside her. He grabbed her arm. One of the guys who wasn’t a Piranha jumped up and pulled Tiburon’s hand away.
Everyone froze inside the car-wash lounge.
Tiburon reached out and held the other guy’s shirt. The guy knocked Tiburon’s hand away. Tiburon hit him with a hard right. The girl’s defender staggered but came back with a wild left of his own and then a right-hand punch. Tiburon ducked the left, blocked the right, and knocked the other guy down with a single powerful punch. This time the guy didn’t try to get up.
Tiburon said something and laughed. Everyone laughed. Except the girl who had defied Tiburon. She bent down over her fallen champion. Tiburon strode back to his easy chair and started to talk again as if nothing had happened.
Jupiter and Bob watched from their table at the Taco Bell.
“He acts more like a gang leader than a band-leader,” Bob said.
“Yes,” Jupiter agreed. “He seems to be both. As if the band is part of a larger gang. I think — ” The leader of the Investigators stopped in mid-sentence.
A car had pulled into the car wash. A man got out and motioned toward the lounge.
“It’s Joe Torres!” Jupiter exclaimed.
Inside the lounge Tiburon stood up, said something to a Piranha, and hurried outside to meet Torres. They stood talking in the shadows for some time as the rest of the gang waited inside.
“Torres was lying!” Bob cried. “He definitely does know Tiburon. I’ll bet he was the one the stolen car was really supposed to be delivered to. Tiburon just made up the story about his brother.”
“Maybe and maybe not,” Jupiter said. “Torres was lying about not knowing Tiburon, but that doesn’t make the rest true, Bob. I mean, maybe Torres was protecting Tiburon, but doesn’t know anything about the stolen cars. Or Tiburon did what Ty says up in Oxnard, but was only being used. Maybe Tiburon had no idea the car was stolen.”
“So how do we find out?”
“We have to know more,” Jupiter said. “We’ll watch awhile longer.”
“It’s getting late,” Bob said. “If Sax gets back from L.A. tonight, I might have to work tomorrow.”
“We’ve got to find out if Tiburon knew the car was stolen, or if he didn’t, who told him to get Ty to drive it down to Torres’s bodega.”
“Jupe!” Bob said suddenly.
Tiburon had gone back inside the lounge, and Joe Torres was heading straight for the Taco Bell!
“He’ll recognize me!” Jupiter said, panic-stricken.
He looked for a place to hide. There was nowhere!
The Taco Bell was all but deserted now, the few remaining patrons widely scattered among the bare tables. The parking lot was well lighted and almost empty. The long counter inside the hacienda-like building had no customers.
“Quick!” Bob said. “Kneel down!”
Jupiter knelt down on the floor beside their bench-less table. Bob took off his denim jacket and sat on Jupiter’s back, using it like a bench! He draped his jacket over his knees as if his legs were cold. Then he leaned casually back against the table in the dim light, munching the last of his second taco.
Bob looked innocently at Torres as the scrawny Latino went by. He hoped the bodega owner wouldn’t notice that there was no bench on either side of the hidden Jupiter. But Torres barely glanced at Bob as he walked past him to the counter.
Jupiter’s voice was muffled. “For a skinny runt you weigh a ton. Can I get up?”
“He’s still at the counter. He could look this way again any second. Better stay down.”
Jupiter groaned.
Bob laughed silently. “You make a pretty good bench. Nice and soft.”
“You wait!” Jupiter’s muffled voice fumed. Bob gave Jupiter a gentle poke in the ribs. There was a strangled explosion as Jupiter fought to stay silent. Bob stopped teasing him as Torres got his burrito and came back past them on his way to the car wash and his car. This time the thin, dark Latino didn’t even glance at Bob.
“Okay, he’s gone,” Bob said, standing up.
Jupiter got to his feet, holding his back and hanging on to the table until he could straighten up. He glared at Bob, and then smiled.
“That was fast thinking,” he admitted. “But we’d better get out of here. Some of the others could decide to have a taco.”
They hurried to Bob’s red VW in the parking lot and drove to the salvage yard and Jupiter’s house. The yard was locked and dark. So was the house.
“Everyone’s asleep,” Jupiter said. “But let’s find out if Ty’s here.”
Inside the house they tiptoed to the downstairs den. The door was open and the room was empty. Upstairs they looked into the guest bedroom. It was empty, too. Bob was worried.
“Maybe the police have more evidence than you thought.”
“Perhaps,” Jupiter said. “I’ll ask Aunt Mathilda in the morning. But I still think Ty is telling the truth.”
“I sure hope you’re right, Jupe.”
“Anyway, we’ll all meet at HQ after breakfast.”
“Unless Kelly’s got something for Pete to do.”
Jupiter didn’t seem to hear this last thrust at their absent friend. “You know,” he said slowly, “a band that
