He strained to listen for other sounds. The orange Cadillac had vanished somewhere inside this building. And Joe Torres and the gunman had come from somewhere in the black Buick.
But where?
*
At four o’clock, Ty looked at his watch. Nothing had happened at the car wash. All he’d seen was a steady stream of cars that Pete and his fellow hand finishers swarmed over like ants on a log full of honey.
There had been no sign of Tiburon and the Piranhas or their girlfriends. Joe Torres had not appeared. It was almost time to go and pick up the Honda and Jupiter.
Soon they would all have to quit for the day.
*
Twice Jupiter had to duck down as Max the gunman passed on his patrol of the floor. Jupe’s watch read four thirty when he slipped out of the little Honda. He crept through the dimness of the garage interior toward the automobile elevator.
He listened intently as he moved, in case Max returned. He had seen no one else. No cars had driven in, stolen or otherwise.
Now he circled the entire floor to see if there was anything he and Pete had somehow overlooked the first time. He even opened the half-glass doors of the offices. All were being used as storerooms, or were unfurnished and abandoned.
He ended his search at the car elevator with its slatted wooden gates. The platform was down on the ground floor. The wide shaft above was as dimly lit as the floor itself. Two rectangles of light showed where it opened onto each upper floor.
The footsteps caught him by surprise!
Max the gunman was walking down the ramp.
*
Tiburon and the Piranhas arrived at the car wash in their lowriders. They looked like a western outlaw gang riding into their hideout after a raid. It was five o’clock, closing time at the car wash. Pete was being paid as Tiburon strode into the owner’s office.
“Thanks, sir,” Pete said loud enough for anyone to hear. “I sure need the money. My dad’s out of work, so if you hear of anyone who needs a good mechanic, I’d appreciate knowing about it.”
“Sure, Crenshaw,” the owner said. “You do a good job. I’ll keep my ears open for you.”
“I’m a really good mechanic,” Pete emphasized. “I’ll do anything to make some money.”
When he saw that Tiburon was looking at him, Pete left. He didn’t want to lay it on too thick and make the bandleader suspicious. Outside, he walked two blocks to his Fiero.
As he passed the Taco Bell he saw that Ty had gone.
*
Jupiter held his breath as the footsteps of Max the gunman came steadily closer. There had been no time to get back to his Honda, and barely enough time to dive beside the first car facing the elevator.
Now Max walked along the clear lane between the elevator and the first row of cars. All he had to do was glance left and down and he couldn’t miss Jupiter. In a matter of seconds he would look straight down the aisle where Jupiter crouched.
The leader of the Investigators lay flat on the dirty, greasy, oil-splattered concrete floor and rolled under the car. He watched Max’s legs walk past only a few feet from his head. The gunman paused, as if he were looking along the now empty aisle.
Jupiter breathed slowly and wiped the sweat and oil off his brow. It seemed like Max would never move on. His legs were so close that Jupiter could have touched them.
Then the small outside door opened, letting in a long shaft of late-afternoon sunlight.
“Yeah?” Max challenged instantly.
Ty’s voice loudly answered, “Hi. Just came to get my car.”
“Let’s see your ticket.”
“Right here,” Ty called out.
The legs disappeared. Jupiter waited a long minute, then rolled out on the other side of the car and peered over it. The gunman walked toward the front door, where Ty stood in the shaft of sunlight.
Jupiter stood and waved, then dropped low again to work his way through the silent rows to his car. He hoped Ty had seen him and would hold the gunman long enough for Jupe to reach the Honda.
“We close at six o’clock,” Jupiter heard Max say.
“You don’t get back, you don’t park till tomorrow.”
“I won’t need to park until tomorrow,” Ty’s voice said. “You have a phone I can use?”
“Over there on the wall.”
“You want to show me?”
“You want a lot for a lousy hundred bucks.” The distraction gave Jupiter time to reach the Honda and crawl in. Moments later Ty got behind the wheel. When Ty slowed the car at the front door, Max the gunman leaned in.
“Six o’clock, or wait until tomorrow.”
“How early tomorrow?” Ty said.
“Someone opens seven a.m. It ain’t me.”
Ty laughed at the joke. Max didn’t laugh. It wasn’t a joke. The gunman was proud that he was important enough to not have to come in at seven a.m. Ty drove slowly out of the garage. “You okay, Jupiter?”
“I’m fine. But I didn’t see anything.” The garage doors closed behind them. Ty turned at the corner and pulled to the curb. Jupiter opened the passenger door, slid out and into the front seat. “Did Tiburon come to the car wash?”
“Not until after five.”
At the salvage yard they hurried into the trailer. Pete was counting his pay before putting it into the team’s treasury. Calls to Bob’s office and home failed to locate the elusive third Investigator, so they made their plans without him.
“I think we continue tomorrow exactly as we did today,” Jupiter said. “Pete goes to the car wash, Ty waits for a chance to sabotage Tiburon’s car, and I watch in the garage.”
“Tiburon better show up earlier tomorrow,” Ty said, “or we’re stymied.”
*
Tiburon did show up earlier the next day, but Ty had no chance to sabotage his graffiti-covered low-rider. Jupiter watched all day in the garage and saw nothing. The only good thing was that Tiburon liked Pete’s energy and good humor — and the string tie with its shark head slide that hid Pete’s mini walkie-talkie!
“You’re a okay guy for an Anglo,” Tiburon said. “That’s a kick bolo slide, too. We find a big-bucks job for you, hey?”
Pete said he’d like that, but nothing more happened that day. Time was running out. Spring break would be over in three days.
But the next day Ty finally got his chance. Tiburon and the Piranhas came early and stopped at the Taco Bell. While they were all inside arguing about what to eat and how much, Ty slipped under Tiburon’s low-rider and pulled two hidden wires from the electrical system. He had told Pete what he’d do. Pete would know just what to reconnect.
When Tiburon tried to start his car, nothing happened. As he worked at the car wash, Pete saw them all hovering and arguing around Tiburon’s car. First the car-wash owner went over. Then one of the older employees. Finally, Tiburon yelled from the Taco Bell. “Hey, you, the new Anglo guy, come on over here!”
Pete dried his hands on a rag as he walked to the Taco Bell lot. “Me?”
“You’re a hotshot mechanic, right? So let’s see you get my heap running.”
Pete leaned into the open hood. He looked at the engine, poked at the battery and spark plugs, and made noises. Then he slid under the car, where he knew the loose wires were but where no one else had thought to look.
“Someone hand me a half-inch combination wrench,” Pete said from under the car.
There was a discussion about tools. The car-wash owner went to his office and returned with the proper
