Free Hot Wheels by William Arden

in the pickup across from the shabby building on the edge of downtown. Bob had made his date with Grace Salieri. Ty and Jupiter had left the black Olds looking for them in the back streets near the harbor. Jake Hatch was safely up the coast in Port Huerieme observing a punk band, and would not be back before ten p.m. Jupiter and Ty could make their move as soon as Bob emerged.
    “There he is,” Jupiter said.
    Bob came out with Grace Salieri on his arm. She was laughing as if it were a good joke that she was going out with someone Bob’s age. But she held his arm with both hands and seemed to be enjoying herself. As soon as they had disappeared toward the center of town, Ty and Jupiter crossed the street and entered the building. Most of the windows were dark, but lights were on in the stairwell and corridors.
    On the third floor they found Hatch’s office dark, the Yale lock open. The band charts for the month were on the wall. Jupiter called out the dates and locations of Tiburon and the Piranhas’ gigs. Ty checked them against the computer printout of car thefts.
    Jupiter stopped. Ty looked up. “Cars were stolen almost every place and day Tiburon and the Piranhas played the whole month. I’m convinced, Jupiter.”
    “But will the police be?” Ty shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
    “Neither do I. I think we’ll have to catch them red-handed. I just want to try one more thing. I’m going to call out some random gigs of Hatch’s other bands. See if cars were stolen at those times and places, too.”
    Jupiter called out the gigs, Ty checked, and the results were the same — cars had been stolen almost every place any of Jake Hatch’s bands appeared.
    “Hatch is involved. Maybe behind the whole operation,” Ty said. “No doubt now.”
    “But we still can’t prove it.”
    “Okay, what next?”
    Jupiter looked back at the charts of the bands. “The Piranhas are playing tonight at the Lemon Tree Lounge. It’s in Topanga Canyon, near Malibu. We’ll go up there. Maybe we’ll be able to wrap up the case tonight.”
     

11
No Bumps in the Night
    When Bob returned to HQ after his date with Gracie, Ty and Jupiter were waiting. They told him what they had found.
    “The Lemon Tree? Yeah, it’s a roadhouse club in the woods out in Topanga Canyon. It’s pretty big for the Piranhas. We can’t get in there, Jupe.”
    “What if you’re with me?” Ty said.
    “Maybe. Depends on how much they’ve been raided.”
    “We’ll take a chance,” Jupiter decided.
    The three of them piled into the yard pickup and headed up the Coast Highway. At Topanga Canyon they turned onto a dark two-lane road into the mountains. The Lemon Tree Lounge was five or so miles from the highway. It was a rustic building standing under tall oak and eucalyptus trees, without a lemon tree in sight. Cars were parked in an open field around it, and the music already rocked out into the night.
    The place was jammed. No one seemed to be watching the door. The guys found an unobtrusive corner in the mobbed room. The customers were talking, laughing, and drinking. They weren’t paying much attention to El Tiburon and the Piranhas, who were already pounding away. In front, Tiburon gyrated in his white suit, belting out the words. “La bamba… bamba… bamba…!”
    “Is that him?” Jupiter pointed at the bandstand. Ty studied the showman.
    “I still don’t know for sure, guys,” he admitted. “He looks awful different up there, singing and dancing around. I mean, he sort of looks like the guy I met, but I’m really not too good at remembering faces, you know?”
    “Maybe if you watch him for a while,” Bob suggested.
    So they watched the smiling Latino do his act with the four Piranhas pounding behind him. The same four girls sat at a table by the dance floor. Couples were slamming and rocking and doing Latino steps the guys had never seen.
    They weren’t worried about having to order drinks and being carded by a waitress —