Free A Killing in the Market by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

to shoulder. Hundreds of backs were moving as people craned their necks, trying to watch something the Hardys couldn't see.
    Frank and Joe started back down the hill, but stopped when they noticed all four of Fleckman's goons rushing them. There was only one way to go.
    "Excuse me — excuse me—" Frank and Joe said, pushing their way through the crowd.
    People called out as the Hardys pressed desperately onward: "Hey, knock it off!" "Don't push me, man!" "Where are you going, pal? This is a parade!"
    Sure enough, Joe glanced up to see a motorcade rolling down the street. In front of it was a large banner that said NYC WELCOMES ITS OWN WORLD SERIES CHAMPS! Ticker-tape and computer paper rained down from the skies.
    "I wonder how much of this will end up in a trash compactor," Frank mused, elbowing people right and left.
    In convertible limos baseball players sat waving triumphantly to the crowd. Between the cars walked more of the players, bat boys, front-office people, and others. Everyone was whooping it up. "I don't even recognize half those people!" said Joe. "Maybe we could fit in with them!"
    They burst through the crowd and vaulted over the police barricade that lined the street. "Now, look triumphant!" Joe said as they joined the parade. They marched with a group of celebrating ballplayers, waving and throwing kisses into the crowd.
    The four men had reached the barricade by now, and the potbellied goon ducked under first. He was met on the other side by a large, annoyed policeman, tapping a billy club into his palm.
    After a few blocks Frank and Joe scanned the onlookers and saw no sign of their attackers.
    "Let's get out of here!" Joe said.
    The two brothers slipped away from the parade and back into the crowd, where they finally made their way toward the subway.
    "All aboard the Bridgefield train, leaving Track Eighteen in one minute!" the voice echoed through the train station.
    "Come on!" Joe called to his brother. "That's the one that stops in Bayport! We've got to get aboard!"
    Frank and Joe hurried to the top of the stairs. The station was especially jammed with people who had come to town for the parade. Below them, a throng of people was scrambling to get into the train before the doors closed. Joe caught a glimpse of Eric Clifton boarding one of the cars.
    "Clifton's in the second car up!" Joe called back to Frank. The two of them tried to make some headway in that direction.
    "Welcome to New York," Joe muttered. "It feels like all I've done today is fight crowds."
    "That may not be all we'll have to fight," Frank said in his ear. "Look who's over there."
    Joe glanced to his right and fell silent. Forcing their way down the stairs and onto the platform were two familiar faces — the goons Fleckman had sent. They were without the custodians this time though; they must have split up. In the crush of the crowd, the jacket one of the thugs wore flapped open—revealing a leather shoulder holster!
    The man pulled his jacket closed and stepped onto the train. In seconds another man squeezed out of the train.
    "That was Bart, Spears's assistant!" Frank said.
    "What's going on here?" Joe asked. He and Frank maneuvered their way halfway down the stairs to get closer to the train. They could just see Clifton sitting right beside the window. They also saw the two goons take seats—right behind him!
    "Clifton!" Joe shouted as he tried to shove his way down to the train.
    The doors closed tight just as Frank and Joe hit the platform.
    "Fleckman knows who Clifton is and what he's investigating," said Frank. "He's probably got those guys after him too!"
    "Clifton!" Frank and Joe shouted, running beside the train as it slowly started up. They pointed wildly to the seat behind him.
    But as the train picked up speed and pulled away, Clifton just stared back at them, looking bewildered. Only Frank and Joe knew that behind him sat two armed killers.

Chapter 11
    WITH A RHYTHMIC chunk - a - chunk - a - chunk, the