Double Deception by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2009-06-28T16:00:00+00:00

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.

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