At last the Aries reached the opposite end of the lot. The Investigators were on edge, looking for a motorcycle that was suddenly invisible.
“He’s disappeared into thin air!” Bob exclaimed.
Then, like breaking glass, the motorcycle’s roar shattered the silence. The guys jumped.
“There he goes!” Pete shouted as a streak of light zipped from around a dumpster enclosure and roared behind them back across the lot. The cycle had been hiding in the dumpster’s shadows, its lights off.
Pete raced the Aries in a circle toward the exit. But the street was deserted, and Jupe was dizzy.
“So close,” Bob moaned.
“We haven’t lost him yet!” Pete said stubbornly. “Hang on!”
Pete pressed the gas feed and the souped-up Aries took off, crisscrossing the area’s streets.
“Let’s get that turkey!” Jupe urged, holding his stomach. Maybe he wasn’t dizzy, he decided, maybe he was hungry. He thought longingly of a ripe banana slathered with peanut butter.
Suddenly the sound of a motorcycle again pierced the twilight. The Investigators leaned forward eagerly as Pete raced toward it.
“We’re closing in!” Bob said, excited. The motorcycle sound was a roar.
And then they rounded a corner.
“Oh, boy! Hell’s Angels!” Pete groaned as they came in on the tail end of a pack of motorcyclists. The famous gang members wore leather vests, long hair in ponytails, and tattoos on their arms. They glanced disdainfully over their shoulders at Pete’s souped-up Aries, then resumed their ride as if the guys in the car didn’t exist.
“Good going, Pete.” Jupe shivered.
“Think that about does it,” Pete grumbled as he let the Angels roll far ahead. “We lost Greenjacket, I guess.”
Bob and Jupe nodded.
“I hate to wimp out on you guys,” Bob said, “but I’m going to be late for work.”
Pete turned the Aries back toward the salvage yard and wondered aloud, “Who is that guy?”
The Jones Salvage Yard was closed for the night. Pete dropped Bob off at his antique red Volkswagen beetle, which was parked on the street, and Bob drove away.
Inside the junkyard, light bathed only the grease pit where Ty was hard at work, finishing the tune-up on the Ford van.
“So what’s the report?” Ty took out a rag and wiped his hands.
As Jupiter and Pete filled Ty in, the three guys headed into Jupe’s electronics workshop. The shack was an even bigger mess than the trailer. Pieces of three dead PCs were spread out on the worktable, surrounded by tools and parts and wires. TV sets, a VCR, tape deck, and stereo system crowded the walls beneath posters of rock stars. Junk-food containers cluttered every surface.
Pete pulled cans of soda from the refrigerator and handed them around. Jupe peeled an overripe banana and spread peanut butter thickly along it.
“What’s
“Supper,” Jupiter said, and took a huge bite.
Ty rolled his eyes. “His new diet?” he asked Pete.
“Uh — huh.” Pete grinned.
“Man, you’re not gonna lose weight eatin’ that,” Ty advised. “I mean, look who eats peanuts and bananas —
Ty and Pete roared with laughter while Jupiter paused in midchew. His round face flushed.
Then Jupiter said calmly, “You know who else eats peanuts and bananas? Monkeys, that’s who. Have you ever seen a fat monkey? No! All monkeys are
Ty and Pete brushed empty pizza boxes off the couch and stretched out with their cans of soda. Jupe finished his banana, and then fiddled with a balky keyboard.
“One thin’ you can count on,” Ty said. “This guy Rome and the dude in the green Windbreaker are connected somehow.”
“But we don’t know if Greenjacket is connected to the virus,” Pete reminded him.
“Sure would be terrific to find Rome,” Jupe mused.
Jupiter stared off into space. Suddenly he slid a hand into his pants pocket. He pulled out the piece of paper he’d shown the guys before — the one with Norton Rome’s name and telephone number on it.
“What gives?” asked Pete.
“I forgot that I know where Rome works. See, I put a notice on some of the BBSs around town — ”
“Hold it.” Ty lifted a hand. “What’s a BBS?”
“An electronic bulletin board system,” Jupe explained. “You call it up on your computer, and it shows on your screen. It’s a place where computer users leave messages, write letters to each other, share software… and help each other solve computer problems.”
“Okay,” said Ty. “You put up a notice. Why?”
“When our computer club decided to have guest speakers,” Jupe said, “I put up messages asking for volunteers. Norton Rome called to say he could talk about designing computer games — ”
“Speed it up, Jupe,” Ty said. “There’s a van out there waitin’ for my TLC.
“The Reasoner Corporation.” Jupiter grinned triumphantly. “Rome mentioned he was a programmer there, and I jotted it down!” He waved the paper again.
“What happened to your photographic memory?” gibed Pete.
“Tomorrow’s Monday,” Jupiter went on, ignoring him. He got out the workshop’s copy of the phone directory and turned pages, looking for the address of the Reasoner Corporation. “Everyone will be going back to work. We can drive over to see if Rome shows up!”
“Yeah,” Ty said. “Hope the dude’s in better shape than his apartment.” He leaned back and tossed his empty soda can into a cardboard box. “Gotta get back to the van. You comin’?” he asked Pete.
“Right with you.” Pete glugged down the last of his soda, and the two mechanics headed for the door.
“That’s weird.” Jupe looked up. “There’s no Reasoner Corporation. In the white
“Try information,” Pete suggested.
Jupiter dialed on the workshop extension and asked for the telephone number. As he listened to the operator, he shook his head at Pete and Ty. He hung up. “She shows no entry for it. She’s never even
“Another dead end,” Pete said, disgusted. “How can a guy work for a business that doesn’t even exist?”
“Maybe he lied,” Jupe groaned.
Pete and Ty could only shrug as they went out to the grease pit.
Alone, Jupiter sat for a long time thinking. He made himself another peanut butter and banana, ate it, and at last shook his head again. He was getting nowhere fast.
Jupiter went over to the trailer and spent the rest of the evening cleaning out the virus’s garbage from his PC. Devon called to bring him up to date: Everyone in the club had an infected PC. To try to stop the virus’s spread, each would contact the people to whom they’d loaned software.
By the time Jupe quit, it was near midnight. Both Ty and Pete had left long ago, after completing the van’s tune-up. Jupe trudged tiredly across the street to the two-story house where he lived with Aunt Mathilda and Uncle Titus. He couldn’t wait to see his comfortable bed. He brushed his teeth and fell exhausted into it.
Soon he was dreaming of a smoothly working PC — no glitches, no viruses, just well-organized data…
And then, suddenly, he heard some strange noise he couldn’t identify. He was confused and groggy, still half-asleep and dreaming. His dark room was shadowy. He heard the noise again. Chills crept up his spine. Something was outside!
