JOE 9

  Chinatown Showdown

  Tom stared at the PDA. “How did you get Phillip’s device?” he asked.

  “It fell out of his pocket when we were up in the helicopter,” I said.

  “I picked it up and then forgot about it until we got here,” Frank added.

  “Who knows you have it?” Tom asked.

  “Whoever called and sent this text.” Frank picked up the PDA, scrolled through the menu, and found the text message. He showed it to Tom.

  “Whoa,” he said. “They sound serious. What do you think is in there?”

  “Evidence of the bootlegging ring,” said Frank.

  “And who knows what else,” I added. “But Phillip was tidy. He must have cleared his logs on a daily basis.”

  “We searched through the files,” Frank told Tom. “But they’re in Chinese. We were hoping you’d be able to translate.”

  Tom fiddled with the buttons and screens on the PDA. “Can you print them out for me?” he asked. “I’m not totally fluent, and I’ll need to read slowly and carefully. There’s a lot here. It will be much easier as hard copy.”

  “Sure thing,” Frank said. “We’ll get it downloaded and overnight it to you.”

  “This is definitely a rush job,” I said. “Someone really wants this back, and we want to know why. There are probably all sorts of files important to the case.”

  “Got it.”

  Mae came to the table with a bowl of steaming noodles. They smelled great. We dug in. I’m happy to report there wasn’t a single scary dish.

  After stuffing ourselves, we walked Tom to his bus stop. Now that the sidewalk peddlers were gone, the streets were really deserted. Some areas were pretty dark, and most of the stores were closed.

  The express bus that went direct between Chinatown and Atlantic City was under an elevated subway bridge. The arches supporting it were massive, and every time a train passed the sound was deafening. There were ten or twelve other people—all Chinese—waiting for the bus too.

  We didn’t have a long wait. A bus lumbered around a corner, letting out a wheeze as its brakes engaged and the door opened.

  “Well, this is me,” said Tom. “Are you going to be able to find your way back to the subway?”

  “Sure,” I said, though I actually wasn’t all that confident. “We just need to find Canal Street and we’re golden.”

  Tom boarded the bus after promising again to make the translation a priority. We waved as it pulled out. Then Frank and I were left under the dark bridge alone.

  “So, which way?” Frank asked me. “You seemed to know the way back.”

  “Uh, well, I knew that we had to find Canal Street. Now, where that is, I can’t exactly tell you.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. Again. I really had to call him out on that later.

  “I say we should just head toward any street that looks like a major thoroughfare or is well-lit. It’s bound to get us to Canal Street,” I went on, hoping I sounded confident.

  “We’ll also try to find a store that’s open and ask directions,” said Frank.

  “If that makes you feel better,” I said.

  “I think we passed one of the streets we took when we walked to the restaurant from the subway. So let’s head thataway.”

  We began walking, and I thought over all the strange events of the last weeks. “This is one freaky case.”

  “That’s because we don’t even know what the case is,” Frank said. “All we know is that a lot of weird things have been happening.”

  “We need to get a handle on what’s going on.”

  “It seems like we’ve got two things going on. Something with Phillip and the PDA—”

  “Probably related to the film bootlegging business,” I pointed out.

  “And we’ve got Justin running hot and cold,” said Frank.

  “Which may be a result of doing drugs,” I said. “And we have Ryan somewhere out there and impossible to find.”

  “Let’s start with Justin,” Frank suggested. “We’ll maker a list and see if that gets us anywhere.”

  JUSTIN’S STRANGE BEHAVIOR

  •Acted like he didn’t know Phillip; Phillip acted like he knew Justin.

  •Isn’t worried about Phillip; is scared to death of Phillip.

  •Suddenly responsible during shooting; skipping parties to learn his lines.

  •Madly in love with Emily; couldn’t stand her last week.

  •Madly in love with Emily but can’t remember things they used to do together.

  •Very nervous, very jumpy, sometimes likes us, sometimes doesn’t.

  •A LOT less laid-back.

  •Doesn’t seem worried about his own twin’s disappearance, even though everyone else is.

  “Does this add up to drugs to you?” I asked.

  “Could be. But you know what I see from this list? Justin only started to get weird once Ryan disappeared.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Remember in Atlantic City when the director said his performance was off? That it just wasn’t the same as the scenes they’d shot before? Slick asked Justin if it was because Ryan wasn’t around.”

  “Ryan’s a lot more important to Justin than even he realizes.”

  “And to the Justin fame machine.”

  “Phillip is on this list,” Frank commented. “Could what’s going on with Justin have anything to do with Phillip?”

  “I don’t see how, but who knows?”

  PHILLIP

  •Phillip jumps out of the helicopter but may have been at Justin’s premiere.

  •Phillip seemed to have it in for Justin in Atlantic City.

  •Phillip was on the guest list—they were friends at some point.

  •Phillip’s bodyguards—are they tailing us or tailing Justin?

  •Someone called Phillip’s PDA. Did he know Phillip was dead or not?

  •Someone wants this PDA back—is it the same person?

  •Who murdered Slick and why? How does it relate to the fact that he was the industry insider?

  •Does ANY of this relate to the murder of Elijah Gorman?

  I threw up my hands. “I say let’s make everyone a suspect. Suspected of: complete strangeness.”

  “Once the files are translated, we’ll have a lot more answers,” said Frank.

  The birds chirped again. Frank pulled the PDA out of his pocket. “Another text,” he said.

  He held it out to show me.

  This device doesn’t belong to you. Leave it at the foot of the Confucius statue in Confucius Square. Now. Or suffer the consequences.

  “I don’t even know where we are now!” I protested. “How are we supposed to find that statue?”

  Frank wore a grim expression. “We have a bigger problem,” he said. “Whoever sent this message knows we’re in Chinatown.”

  “You’re right.” I dropped my voice. “Do you think we’re being watched right now?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised.” Frank made a fist and banged it into his thigh in frustration. “I thought we were being followed when we were on our way to the restaurant.”

  I gaped at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Frank looked sheepish. “I should have. But I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to freak out Tom.”

  “We need to get someplace better populated,” I said. “Pronto.”

  We picked up our pace. A few blocks up ahead there seemed to be more light—and more street traffic.

  When things are dicey, I sometimes get what feels like 360-degree vision—a heightened sense of everything around me. And that sense was telling me we were being followed.

  “Someone’s behind us,” I whispered to Frank.

  “Let’s face the threat head-on,” Frank whispered back. “There are two of us. I’m only hearing one set of footsteps.”

  We whirled around, ready for anything.

  Okay, maybe not anything.

  We weren’t prepared for the dude standing in front of us dressed all in black, with a ski mask totally covering his face.

  The ninja attire on a hot summer night wasn’t the problem.

  It was the little silver gun pointing straight at us.

  FRANK 10

  Race Across Rooftops

  For one second I actually thought it was a joke. First of all, the outfit was straight out of some cheesy movie. But it was the gun that made it hard to take seriously. It just didn’t look real. It was small, silver, and seemed to have some kind of ornate decoration on it.

  Another second later my brain kicked in—and so did the fear.

  “Give me the PDA,” the masked man said.

  His voice was low and growly, as if he were trying to disguise it. He was about the same height as me, which meant it could be one of Phillip’s bodyguards. The black garb was loose so it was hard to tell if he was built like the powerhouses I’d seen in action before.

  I didn’t want to wait to find out.

  Screeech! The sound of a speeding taxi rounding the corner startled the gunman. In the split second he looked over his shoulder I shouted, “Run!”

  Joe and I booked it out of there. If we can get to an area where there are people, we’ll be safe, I told myself. He’s not going to open fire surrounded by witnesses.

  The thudding footsteps behind me told me he might catch up to us long before we got to a major avenue.

  “Divert!” Joe shouted to me.

  He pulled ahead and rounded a corner. I followed him, hoping we could lose the gunman. I spotted a fire escape ladder. “Up!” I yelled to Joe. If the guy chasing us saw which street we’d run down, he might not notice us if we were above him.

  I jumped and grabbed the metal rung, then pulled myself up and planted my feet on the ladder. I scrambled onto the fire escape, then quickly raced up to the next level, Joe right behind me. I took a moment to breathe, then started up to the next landing, hoping we’d lost the guy.

  Pow! Pow! The sound of gunfire and the whiz of a bullet zipping by my head told me otherwise.

  I covered my head with my arms and kept going up. We made it to the roof.

  “Are we cool?” Joe asked, panting.

  He heard the footsteps clattering up the metal fire escape the same moment I did.

  “No—we’re still piping hot!” I cried. “We need another way down!”

  Joe raced to the door that led into the building, while I charged across the roof to see if there was another fire escape on the other side.

  Joe dashed up beside me. “It’s locked.”

  I stared into the alley below us. “And there’s no way down.”

  “We’ve got to do something,” said Joe. “We’re sitting ducks up here.”

  “No kidding.”

  I studied the building across the way. In this part of town the buildings were narrow and crammed together. “I think we’ve got to jump.”

  “You serious?”

  I glanced behind me, just in time to see the hood of the ski mask start to rise above the edge of the roof. “Serious as a heart attack.”

  I backed up, even though I knew that brought me toward the gunman and my goal was to be as far away from him and his gun as possible. But I needed the running start if I was going to make it across the gap between the buildings.

  Joe darted beside me. “One, two, three…”

  “Go!” I pumped my arms and legs as hard as I could, picking up speed as I approached the edge of the building. Never slowing for a moment, I bent my knees to give myself the strongest launch possible.

  I was airborne.

  A moment later I landed hard and went sprawling on the roof next door.

  Made it!

  I heard Joe land beside me. I say I heard him because, yes, I shut my eyes when I made the leap.

  “Is he still following us?” Joe asked.

  I pushed myself up and immediately slammed back down. The dude was firing again!

  “Doesn’t this guy ever quit?” Joe said.

  “Let’s not stick around to find out.” I rolled away, wanting to get to the other side of the roof. There had to be a fire escape we could use to get down.

  I hadn’t made much progress when I realized that the shooting had stopped. And Joe and I were still on the roof alone. Could he have finally given up—or run out of bullets?

  “What do you think?” asked Joe.

  “Don’t know.”

  Joe carefully and slowly raised himself inch by inch to check out the other rooftop. Then he straightened all the way up. “All clear,” he said.

  Something shiny caught my eye. I crept over to it and realized it was a bullet. “I wish I had a plastic bag with me.”

  “What did you find?” asked Joe, dropping down beside me.

  “Evidence,” I said. I fished around in my pocket and pulled out a gum wrapper. “This will have to do.” I picked up the still warm bullet in the shiny foil. “Don’t want my fingerprints on this baby.”

  I pulled out the PDA so I could slip the bullet in below it in my pocket.

  “Oh, man,” Joe groaned. “Do you think it will still work?”

  “Huh?” Then I looked at the PDA.

  I stared at the shattered screen and the banged-up casing. “I must have crushed it when I landed on the roof,” I said.

  I looked at Joe. “Did I destroy our most important piece of evidence?”

  JOE 11

  Desperately Seeking Data

  Frank looked so bummed that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I thought the PDA was toast. “We might still be able to pull off the files,” I told him.

  “I hope so,” Frank said. “Let’s get this baby to the tech doctor quick. I don’t want anything else to happen to it.”

  We climbed down the fire escape and discovered that our run through Chinatown and up and over buildings had brought us right to Canal Street. The hotel was our first stop—after rolling around on the roof, we looked pretty much the worse for wear. And we needed to research places that would still be open, where we could download files and ship them out overnight. That required a phone book or internet access. All back at the hotel.

  The elevator opened onto our floor, and we discovered Emily pacing back and forth outside the door to Justin’s room.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I asked. “Waiting for Justin?”

  Emily opened her mouth, but before she could speak there was a crash from Justin’s room. “That is totally unacceptable!” he shouted.

  “Who’s he fighting with?” asked Frank.

  “His accountant,” Emily said.

  “At this time of night?” I asked. It was already after ten p.m.

  “He’s in California,” Emily explained. “Three hours earlier. Besides, Justin said it was an emergency.”

  Another crash came from Justin’s room. “You work for me!” Justin yelled. “I can have you fired!”

  “What’s the problem?” I asked.

  “Justin wants some more money, but the accountant won’t release it.”

  “Why would he have to ask his accountant for it?” asked Frank.

  “The money he makes is in a trust,” Emily explained. “That’s how it is with most actors who start as kids. We’re given an allowance, but everything else we can’t touch—usually until we’re twenty-one.” She frowned. “It can be really annoying. I mean, it’s our money! We earned it. But someone else decides how much we get and when.”

  “That would annoy me, too,” I said.

  “But Justin always seems flush,” Frank said.

  Emily shrugged. “He’s short right now. In fact, he canceled our dinner plans and—” She glanced around to be sure no one would overhear her. “I think it’s because he didn’t have enough money. But you can’t let him know I told you. He’d be so humiliated!”

  “We won’t,” Frank promised.

  “We know how it is for a guy to feel like he can’t take his girl out,” I said. “Been there myself.” Though Justin’s allowance was a lot heftier than mine.

  “Does Justin fight with the accountant a lot?” asked Frank. “I’d hate it if I had to ask permission all the time.”

  Emily shook her head. “As far as I know, this is the first time they ever had a fight about it.”

  I tucked that piece of info away. He was certainly spending a lot more these days because of all those daily gifts to Emily, but could there be something else requiring cash? According to Rick, Justin used to get into high-stakes games out in Las Vegas, and that costs money. But he wasn’t into that scene at all in Atlantic City.

  A dark thought entered—but one I couldn’t push aside. Drugs cost money. This could be more evidence that Sydney’s fears were all too well-founded.

  “I hope that all works out,” Frank said, nodding toward Justin’s door. “We should get out of here before Justin comes out.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Emily. “He’d hate it if he knew you heard this.”

  We went to our room and changed out of our roof-rashed clothes. “That guy must just blow through money.”

  “Why is it so bad now?” Frank wondered.

  “Hey remember his memorabilia website?” I said.

  “Justin Time?” said Frank. “What about it?”

  “Maybe he’s always been a lavish spender, and the way he made up the difference was with the sales through the website. That way he’d have cash he wouldn’t have to ask the accountant for.”

  “Could be. Maybe sales have been down or something, so he hasn’t had the usual supplement.”

  “You check in with Vijay,” I said. “I’ll find us a place to download the PDA.”

  By the time I had located a place that would print out files and another place that would messenger late-night mail, Frank had gotten some info from Vijay.

  “Sales on the website have been kind of low for a while,” Frank informed me. “But there was just a bump—probably thanks to the premiere.”

  “So that’s not a big moneymaker,” I concluded.

  “Not big enough for Justin’s current needs, anyway,” Frank confirmed.

 

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