Free Line of Fire by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

hammer. "I saw you pick it up, kid. Don't try to con me."
    "I pretended to pick it up, to scare you off," Joe admitted. "Then we were going to call the cops. My brother's probably doing that right now."
    George cocked an ear and grinned. "I don't hear any sirens, do you? Maybe your brother messed up." His face went cold again. "Start emptying your pockets."
    Joe slowly obeyed, even though he knew it would only buy him a little more time. And time for what?
    As Joe began turning his pockets out, Frank Hardy sat watching the scene perched on top of the nearest set of shelves. He was just leaving the warehouse office when he had heard a gunshot and hurried to help his brother.
    He hadn't found anything to help them in the office. It contained a desk, lots of papers, a pack of cigarettes and some matches, and an old-fashioned dial phone. The workmen must have been using the phone too much, because there was a lock on it. Frank couldn't even call the police.
    He'd snatched up the matches on his way out of the office, however. The hazy beginnings of an idea were forming in his brain.
    Now, as he watched Joe in George's line of fire, the idea was his only hope. He had to find some way to neutralize George's gun and laser sight. And his only weapons were the matches and the boxes of paper goods.
    While Joe emptied his left-hand pocket, Frank cautiously tore open the carton nearest to him. Loose papers — perfect. He found another box, opened it, then slid the two boxes to the edge of the shelf.
    By now, Joe stood with all his pockets turned out, his belongings in his hands. Frank tore out half the matches in the matchbook and lit the boxes of paper. They went up in flames right away.
    He shoved them off the shelf and they landed right in front of George.
    "Joe! Jump!" Frank yelled. Joe vaulted over] the side of the stairs as George shied back from the flames. And even as he was yelling, Frank was striking the rest of his matches and holding them up to a nozzle over his head, part of the warehouse sprinkler system.
    Water started spurting down, like an indoor monsoon. It hit the burning paper, sending up a dense cloud of smoke. George coughed and waved a hand in front of his face. The red laser; beam stabbed out, but couldn't penetrate the murk.
    That was all Frank needed to see. He climbed down off his shelf and took off after his brother.
    Frank and Joe stumbled out of the warehouse, psoaking wet. "Well, at least it washed off that concrete dust," Joe said as they ran for their van.
    'Just be glad I was carrying the keys. I was afraid you were going to give them to George," Frank shot back as he unlocked the van door.
    They were pulling around the corner when George appeared at the warehouse entrance. In the rear-view mirror, Frank saw him shove the gun under his jacket and stare after them.
    The ride back to Bayport was as fast as legally possible. They stopped once, long enough for Frank to make his warning call to the Philadelphia police. While he was doing that, Joe had changed into dry clothes. Frank changed in the back of the van while Joe drove.
    As they reached the outskirts of Bayport, Joe turned onto the road that led to the Paysons' house.
    "What's up?" Frank looked at his brother in surprise. "I thought we were going straight to the grand jury hearings."
    "I wanted to see if I could catch Denny at home first," Joe said. "When he took off the way he did, I knew he was upset. It's understandable, seeing what happened to Steve Vittorio. But he was Denny's last hope for a witness. I wanted to tell him it's not all over. We have a chance of nailing Crowell through George."
    "If the Philadelphia police find that spent bullet," Frank reminded him.
    "Well, it's better than giving up completely— which, I'm afraid, is what Denny's going to do," Joe answered.
    He pulled up in front of the house, and walked up to the front door. "Hey, Denny!" he called, ringing the bell.
    The door opened, but it wasn't Denny who greeted him. It