Free Boardwalk Bust by Franklin W. Dixon

with the shark tattoo moved on, giving up on Frank.
    Victory!
    â€œHey, Frank, come on!” I said, playing like I was him and he was me. “We’ve got work to do!”
    Frank came over. “This place is giving me the creeps,” he said. “Let’s find Ricardo.”
    â€œHe’s gotta be back there,” I said, indicating the curtain.
    Over it was a sign reading: EMPLOYEES ONLY. We waited for the manager to turn his back, then sneaked behind it.
    Back here, there were little cubicles on either side of a long, brightly lit room. In each cubicle someone was getting pierced or tattooed.
    Five of the workers were female. That left three possibilities, and two of them looked like they were at least fifty years old. Mary had said Ricardo was young.
    We tried the other guy, who was dressed in shorts and sandals but no shirt. He had a ponytail that hid the tattoo in the middle of his back, but Icould see that it was some kind of snake wound around its prey.
    This guy was obviously not someone to be messed with.
    â€œRicardo Myers?” Frank said.
    Snake Man looked right at him.
    â€œWho wants to know?”
    He left off what he was doing and said to his customer, “I’ll be right back.” Coming over to us, he said, “Who are you?”
    â€œI’m Frank Hardy, and this is my brother, Joe.”
    â€œYeah? So who sent you?”
    â€œActually,” Frank said, “we’re looking into the break-in at The Shore Thing. We wanted to ask you a few questions.”
    â€œWhat are you, cops?”
    I could see that Ricardo was getting angry, but the steam wasn’t quite coming out of his ears yet.
    â€œNot cops, really,” Frank said. “We’re sort of checking it out on our own. Turns out some people are saying you might be involved.”
    â€œOh, yeah? Like who?”
    â€œUm, I’m not at liberty to say,” Frank told him.
    â€œThat Fleming lady,” Ricardo said bitterly. “I hate that woman—she’s a snob, man. She thinks if you’re tough, you must be a criminal.”
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    SUSPECT PROFILE
    Name: Ricardo Myers
    Hometown: Newark, New Jersey
    Physical description: Age: 23, 5′7″, 160 lbs., hair in ponytail, several tattoos.
    Occupation: Tatto artist, may have mystery occupation on the side.
    Background: Grew up in the ’hood, spends summers at the shore. Considered a tattoo artist. Hurting for money, throws away whatever he has by betting it at Atlantic City. Hates rich people and snobs.
    Suspicious behavior: His hatred of Mary Fleming and his dread of cops.
    Suspected of: Jewel theft.
    Possible motives: Revenge on his ex-boss. Need to pay his debts (gamblers often owe lots of money to loan sharks).
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    â€œSo … I guess it’s good she fired you, then?” I said.
    â€œHey! Nobody fires me!” he snapped, grabbing me by the arm. He was so angry, and so strong,that I thought he was going to snap it right off. “Get it?”
    â€œI get it, I get it!” I said. I would have said anything right then, just to make him stop.
    Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed me, he relaxed his grip and let out a little laugh. “Yeah, man. I like it better here. I make my own hours. Plus I can express myself, y’know? Get into my art.”
    â€œHow’s the pay?” Frank asked.
    Good question.
    â€œStinks.” Ricardo’s smile vanished.
    â€œHow do you get by, then?” Frank asked.
    Ricardo’s face got ugly in a hurry. “Bug off, okay? It’s none of your business how I get by. Mind your own business!”
    He gave Frank a shove that sent him into the wall, hard.
    Man, talk about mood swings! This guy needed medication, or some serious help.
    Frank stayed cool. He just worked out the kinks in his neck and said, “What I really want to ask you, Ricardo, is—”
    Just then, the manager lifted the curtain and saw us. “Hey! No customers back