“Not The Deuces?” Jupiter asked.
“Tiburon’d be crazy to hire a guy where they were playing,” Pete said.
“I’d know better if I could see him and hear him talk,” Ty said, staring at the photo.
“That we can arrange,” Jupiter said. “We’ll meet at HQ tonight and talk over our plans.”
Ty continued to watch the rearview mirror above Pete. “Someone’s tailing us, guys. Ever since we left the courthouse. Probably the cops keeping me under surveillance, but it could be the car thieves.”
Three cars were behind them. A red Nissan and a Porsche, and between them a black American sedan.
“Is it a Buick?” Jupiter asked quickly.
“Not sure,” Ty said. “But it looks like a GM car of some sort.”
Pete and Jupiter told him about the black Buick of Max the gunman. Ty watched the mirror.
“Could be, but it could be detectives too.”
“What do we do?” Pete asked.
“We watch them,” Ty said.
They reached the house and salvage yard. Ty and Aunt Mathilda went into the house. Pete and Jupe crossed to the yard. Pete stood behind the gatepost and watched the black car pass. It wasn’t a Buick.
“It’s an Oldsmobile,” Pete said. “And it just turned at the next corner.”
“Let’s reconnoiter,” Jupiter said.
They ran across the salvage yard and climbed onto some packing crates so they could see over the high board fence. The black car was parked practically in front of them.
As they peeked over the fence, the car moved off.
“You think they saw us?”
Jupiter nodded. “I think so.”
They returned to HQ and called Ty to report.
“Okay,” Ty said. “It’s probably the cops. Let’s wait until morning to make our next move.”
Ty settled into the upstairs guest room. Pete worked on the Corvair until dark. Jupiter tinkered with some mini walkie-talkies in his workshop.
They saw the black car twice. Once driving slowly past the yard. Once hidden again behind the salvage yard fence.
Ty stood at the window of HQ, as if he could see through the yard fence to the street. It was next morning, and he was worried about the black car.
“It’s out there,” he said. “I can feel it.”
“Who?” Pete said. “The police or the crooks?”
“It could be either,” Jupiter said at his desk.
“Jupe’s right,” Ty agreed. “The question is, who are they tailing? You — probably means the guys you suspect. Me — probably means the police.”
Jupiter nodded. “Torres and Tiburon wouldn’t have known when or even if you were going to get out. And I’d think they’d want to stay far away from you in case you could recognize Tiburon.”
“Let’s split up and see which car they tail,” Pete suggested.
Jupiter nodded. “I wanted to do some research, and someone should watch the Freeway Garage to see if Tiburon or the Piranhas show up. Bob’s probably working again today. So Pete can watch the garage while Ty and I take a pickup and do my research.”
“And we can buy you a car,” Ty said.
Jupiter nodded eagerly. “If they follow you, Pete, don’t go near the garage until you lose them.”
They went to Uncle Titus for permission to use one of the salvage-yard pickups. Ty and Jupe got into the truck, and Pete got into his battered Fiero. Jupe slumped down so only Ty could be seen in the truck. Ty and Pete drove out of the salvage yard together, but turned in opposite directions. If the black car was watching, it would have to choose which one it wanted to tail.
Ty turned at the first corner. He speeded up around the next corner, made a U-turn, and drove back the same way he had come.
The black Oldsmobile was driving straight at them! It quickly parked to pretend it wasn’t tailing the truck, but Ty wasn’t fooled.
“So they’re watching me,” Ty said. “That means it’s the cops. They must have been hidden near the salvage yard. Sit up, Jupe, and we’ll go get you a car. Let them figure out why a car thief is buying used wheels!”
Ty drove from dealer to dealer, from owner-sales lot to owner-sales lot. He spurned every car in Jupe’s price range — which wasn’t very many. Then, at a small owners-lot near the harbor, Ty sported a ten-year-old Honda Civic.
The owner of the little two-door hatchback needed money and was asking exactly five hundred dollars. He said the car had a rebuilt engine with less than twenty thousand miles on it. Ty examined the engine, took the car out for a drive with Jupiter, and pronounced that it did indeed have a new rebuilt engine and was a good buy.
Jupiter made the deal. The car would be ready to be picked up the next day after the paperwork and some small repairs Ty wanted were completed. The owner promised to replace a missing window crank and a burned-out overhead light. Jupiter was so excited he could barely talk. He touched the little blue and white car with awe.
“It’s all mine. Can’t I drive it off now?”
Ty laughed. “Better let the owner make those repairs. We can take the truck to your research. Where do we go, Jupe?”
Jupiter grinned. “Police headquarters.”
*
Pete took back streets down to the Freeway Garage. He saw no sign of the black Oldsmobile. To be safe, he parked behind a lumberyard two blocks away. He walked to the garage and settled behind a fence surrounding the vacant lot across the street.
Hours passed with cars going in for service or to be painted or just to park. They stopped outside the garage and gave a couple of honks until the doors opened. The garage attendant on duty at the door was Max, Torres’s guntoting companion of the day before. Pete tried to decide if some of the cars were stolen. Some of the drivers who came out right away, as if they had just parked inside, didn’t look much like businessmen. But Pete had no real reason to think the cars they had driven in were stolen.
Until he saw a gray BMW sedan.
The driver looked carefully up and down the street before honking: one long, two short, a long, and a short. The doors opened and he drove the BMW in.
The driver was Joe Torres.
Pete left his post and ran back to his Fiero. He drove closer to the garage and parked where he could watch the door.
Ten minutes later the black Buick appeared with two men in it. They drove past Pete without seeing him. The man in the passenger seat was Torres.
Pete pulled out and went after the Buick.
*
Ty laughed as he parked in the lot of Rocky Beach’s police headquarters. “The cops in the Olds’re gonna be real confused.”
“Look!” Jupiter said.
The black Oldsmobile cruised past, hesitating as if its occupants were staring in disbelief.
“What are we doing here anyway?” Ty wanted to know as they walked into police headquarters.
“If Tiburon and the Piranhas are stealing cars when they go out of town on their gigs, there should be a lot of reports of stolen cars where they play.”
