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    The Mark of the Blue Tattoo
    The Mark of the Blue Tattoo
    The Mark of the Blue Tattoo
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    The Mark of the Blue Tattoo

    By Franklin W. Dixon

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    About this ebook

    Chet Morton’s very first day on the job—driving a Freddy Frost Ice Cream truck—sends him straight into the deep freeze. Two thugs in ski masks hijack the truck and kidnap Chet! Frank and Joe find him tied up in an empty garage, and the only clue to the identity of his kidnappers is the blue star tattooed on their wrists—the mark of the Starz. A local street gang.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAladdin
    Release dateJan 22, 2013
    ISBN9781442489080
    The Mark of the Blue Tattoo
    Author

    Franklin W. Dixon

    Franklin W. Dixon is the author of the ever-popular Hardy Boys books.

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      Book preview

      The Mark of the Blue Tattoo - Franklin W. Dixon

      title

      Contents

      1 A Call for Help

      2 Kidnapped!

      3 Tracking the Tailer

      4 Schoolyard Battleground

      5 Sidelined

      6 Hedda Steps In

      7 The Inside Scoop

      8 Danger on Wheels

      9 Rumble at the Diner

      10 Battle in the Dark

      11 Springing the Trap

      12 Taken for a Ride

      13 Supergang

      14 Iola Plays It Cool

      15 A Wild Ride

      1 A Call for Help

      Joe Hardy carried his lunch tray across the crowded cafeteria of Bayport High School. Tall and blond, he moved with the casual grace of a star running back. Two girls, deep in conversation, crossed directly in front of him. Without breaking stride, Joe neatly stepped around them without spilling a drop of his soda.

      Joe’s older brother, Frank, was already at the table where they usually sat, against the far wall. Frank was sitting with his girlfriend, Callie Shaw. They were listening closely to their friend Chet Morton. As Joe approached, they looked up and smiled. Joe put his tray down next to Chet’s.

      Joe, wait until you hear this, Chet said. I just had this incredibly brilliant idea. How does guacamole sherbet sound?

      Yuck! Joe said, making a face. Are you guys having a gross-out contest or what?

      Chet’s new job starts this afternoon, Frank explained. He’s going to be driving a Freddy Frost ice-cream truck.

      The company’s having a contest, Chet added.

      The person who comes up with the best idea for a new flavor before the end of the week gets a free ice cream every day for a year. I’m not eligible because I work for Freddy Frost, but I want to show them how enthusiastic I am.

      Guacamole sherbet? Joe repeated in disbelief. Would you serve it in a cone made out of corn chips?

      Chet’s jaw dropped. That’s it, Joe! I knew I needed a gimmick that would grab people, and you just gave it to me. Maybe they’ll put my picture on the wrapper.

      They will, Callie said with a laugh, with ’Wanted’ under it.

      Genius is always misunderstood, Chet said with a hurt expression. It’s the penalty for being ahead of my time.

      You just gave me an idea, though, Callie added. I’ll bet cream cheese and jelly ice cream would be terrific.

      Not you, too! Joe groaned. He looked up and spotted his girlfriend, Iola Morton, coming toward them. He smiled and waved.

      Iola was Chet’s sister. She put her tray next to Joe’s and sat down. Has Chet been telling you about his new dessert inventions? she asked.

      Frank chuckled. He certainly has.

      A grin spread across Iola’s face. Did he mention last night? she continued. He was in the kitchen for hours working on a secret formula for—get this—cheeseburger ice cream.

      That reminds me, Joe said. I forgot to get ketchup. He pushed his chair back. As he was getting to his feet, another student bumped into him and gave the leg of his chair a sharp kick.

      Hey, watch it, Joe said over his shoulder.

      "No, you watch it, turkey."

      Joe turned to face his opponent, who was an inch or so under six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a bull neck. His dark hair was cropped close at the sides and back, and left long on top. He was wearing baggy jeans, unlaced work boots, and a black T-shirt with the image of a heavy metal group on the front.

      I’m afraid you blew your line, Joe said with a tight smile. When you crash into somebody, you’re supposed to say, ‘sorry.’ 

      Joe drew himself up. There was a flicker of indecision in his opponent’s eyes as he realized that Joe outreached and outweighed him.

      Joe, let it go, Iola said, taking his elbow. It’s not worth the hassle.

      With a shrug, Joe took a half step backward. The boy sneered and walked away.

      Joe looked over at his friends. Who’s Mr. Attitude? he asked. Anybody know him?

      I do, Callie replied. That’s Gus French. He’s in my history class. He’s pretty tight with Marlon Masters.

      There was a short silence. Marlon Masters was the most powerful gang leader at Bayport High. Joe and Frank had never tangled with him and his followers—yet, at least.

      So, he’s one of the Starz, right? Joe said, using the gang name that had recently started appearing on walls and desktops around school. I wonder if he bumped me by accident or if he was trying to start something.

      Accident, Frank said. Bet on it. If he’d done it on purpose, he would have brought a few buddies along as backup.

      Joe noticed Mr. Vincenza, the school counselor, striding across the cafeteria. He stopped next to their table and said, Joe, Frank? Could I speak to you for a second?

      The Hardys followed Mr. Vincenza out into the corridor. Joe wondered if they were in some kind of trouble.

      Boys, I need your help, Mr. Vincenza began, after glancing around. There’s an epidemic starting at Bayport High. We’ve got to get it under control, before it’s too late.

      What is it? Joe asked. Flu?

      No. Something a lot more serious than that. Extortion, Mr. Vincenza replied. Our younger students are being forced to make payoffs to avoid being assaulted. That’s bad enough at any time. But the town council is going to be taking up a plan to help the high school. If this gets into the papers, it could badly damage us for years to come.

      What can we do? Frank asked.

      Everybody knows that you’re both skilled detectives, Mr. Vincenza said. And you have the advantage of being students yourselves. What I want you to do is find out who is behind all this. Give us the evidence we need to stop them.

      We’ll do our best, Joe promised.

      I knew I could count on you, Mr. Vincenza said. He took a card from his pocket and wrote on the back. Here are my office and home numbers. If you need to reach me, call.

      Joe and Frank returned to their friends in the cafeteria. As they sat down, Chet said, Hey, guys. What about pizza sherbet? How does that grab you?

      Joe clutched his stomach. It grabs me, he said. Right about here. And I can tell you, it’s not a pleasant feeling.

      •   •   •

      After school Joe and Frank met near the parking lot.

      Any luck? Frank asked.

      Some people in my classes have heard about kids getting leaned on for money, Joe replied. I got the names of a couple of victims, both freshmen. We can call them later. How about you—did you find out anything?

      Frank shook his head. I tried to get more information about the Starz, but nobody wanted to talk about them. We can try again tomorrow. For now, why don’t we go find Callie and Iola? I want to surprise Chet by waiting for him somewhere along his ice-cream route.

      Great idea, Joe said with a chuckle. As long as you don’t expect me to try one of his specials. But how do we find out his route?

      Iola might know, Frank said. If she doesn’t, we could call the Freddy Frost office. As detective work goes, it should be something we can handle without Dad’s help, he added with a sly grin.

      Joe grinned back. Their father, Fenton Hardy, had held a high post in the New York City Police Department before retiring to become a private investigator.

      Callie and Iola came into view. Frank waved them over, then told them his idea.

      Perfect, Iola said. I have to go home first, but we can catch Chet next to the playground in Jefferson Park at around four-thirty.

      Good deal, Joe said, grinning. I’ll even order one of his special broccoli sundaes.

      Is that the one with a brussels sprout on top of the whipped cream, instead of a cherry? Frank asked with an innocent look.

      I’d better go, Iola said, before I throw up. See you later.

      After Iola headed home, Joe, Frank, and Callie took the Hardy’s van to Mr. Pizza for a snack. Then they drove across town to Jefferson Park. The park took up two square blocks in one of the older sections of Bayport. Around the park stood rows of narrow two-story houses, each with its own front yard and covered porch.

      Iola was waiting for them on a bench next to the playground. Am I glad to see you, she said. I looked at Chet’s schedule when I got home. He was due here earlier than I thought. I was afraid you’d miss him.

      Joe listened for a moment. He could hear the shouts of kids in the playground and the hum of traffic over on Winthrop Street. He even heard the rustle of leaves from nearby trees—but not the tinkly sounds of the Freddy Frost music.

      "He can’t be that close, or we’d hear

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