18-A Killing in the Market by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Juvenile Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Mystery and detective stories, Family, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Boys & Men, Siblings
ISBN: 9780671684723
Google: ajPrGfiF18kC
Amazon: 0671684728
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 1988-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

FRANK AND JOE swung around and looked up. The bare light bulb on the second-floor landing created two broad silhouettes as the two men ran down the stairs.

Joe tensed his body and looked at his brother. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's go for it!"

Together, Frank and Joe leapt up at the men's legs.

"Hey, wait!" one of them cried out. He tried to climb back up the stairs, but it was too late. Joe's arms locked around his knees, and the two of them tumbled to the ground-floor landing.

"Stop!" the man said as Joe pinned him to the ground in a wrestling hold.

With a muted whomp, Frank and the other man landed on the floor next to them. "What are you guys doing?" Frank's adversary protested. "We didn't do anything to you!"

Joe's fist was poised in the air. "That's right," the man beneath him said. "And don't think we couldn't mess you up if we wanted to!"

"Who are you?" Joe demanded.

"We work for Norman Fleckman," the man said. "He told us to find you and bring you to his office. Peacefully."

Joe was baffled. "How did he know we were here?"

"And why didn't you tell us about yourselves before?" Frank added.

"He overheard you saying you'd go to Spears's office," came the answer. "So we came up and staked out the elevator."

Frank and Joe got up and brushed themselves off. "What do you think, Frank?" Joe asked.

"I think we should meet this Fleckman character," Frank answered, picking up the envelope of financial records. He turned back to the two men. "All right, guys, take us to your leader."

Joe exhaled loudly, pacing back and forth on the cool gray carpet of the reception area. He and Frank had just discovered a suspect to get the police investigation moving in a new direction— and get their aunt Gertrude out of jail. But they were stuck in a high-rise tomb, waiting.

From behind a long desk a young man looked up and said, "Mr. Fleckman should be out any minute now. It's been a long morning."

Joe just grunted and continued pacing.

Suddenly a gruff voice sounded over the intercom on the desk. "Albert, I want the Sullivan file right away. Send a memo to Skinner: sell! Get Norita on the phone in Tokyo, tell him the real-estate deal is off, and get me a turkey club and black coffee. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," the secretary said, rolling his eyes.

"Late lunch?" Joe asked.

The secretary shrugged. "One-thirty isn't so late."

The intercom cracked again. "Oh, and send those kids in here, will you?"

"There you have it," the young man said dryly. "His highness has spoken. First door on your left."

Frank and Joe walked into Fleckman's office. Stacks and stacks of papers lay all over the shelves, the floor, the chairs. A phone in one hand and a cigar in the other, Norman Fleckman sat at a desk by the window.

This place looks almost as bad as Spears's did, Joe thought. And nobody's even ransacked it.

"What do you mean, pork bellies have bottomed out?" Fleckman shouted into the phone.

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