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Marty McLamb felt good on this morning in summer. He stretched and yawned, then bounced out of bed. After more pandiculation,
Marty looked out the window. The cerulean sky greeted him in the aftermath of the thunderstorm the previous night. With
another oscitancy, Marty swallowed the air. The fresh air kissed his lentiginous face, cooled his snoached nostrils, and
tousled his copper blond hair.
The thought of another day with his ginger buddy, Jeff Garrett exhilarated Marty. Marty used to be painfully shy, especially
after last year when his father died, but the local agency provided him with an adult male. This "Big Brother" had encouraged
him to partake in the social bonding so essential for success in a complex society.
Marty left the bedroom in his pajamas to wash up in the bathroom. The smell of his mother's cooking wafted up the stairs.
Apparently his mother's sensitive ears had detected his footfalls.
"Marty," she called from the null post. "Do you want toast?"
He answered affirmatively as he passed the top of the the stairs. Soon he was strolling to Jeff's house. He sat down on
the stoop and waited for his friend. Jeff was also a ruddy blond, only his hair was darker.
Jeff came to the screen door. "My mother just gave me permission to go to my great grandmother's house to get some balls."
Marty's eyes lit up. "How far is it to walk?"
Jeff paused. "We'd better go on bicycle. It's four kilometers from here."
Three kilometers in the same direction sat my own and new property. Late in 1993, I had bought the house next to my residence.
I converted the original house, a bungalow, into an office. I had been seeking to sell the bungalow, but the market was too
flat. When the Cape Cod next door went up for sale, I used the bungalow for collateral.
Keith Cahill, a Celtic, little guy I had met in Wilkes-Barré, now occupied the bungalow. He had returned to State College
for the summer. Although he was seeking to become a writer, he served well as my assistant.
It was a Monday afternoon, the last in June. Keith was minding my business while I was running errands. A blue truck pulled
into the parking lot, and out stepped a similarly dark, little guy. He stepped out of the cab, looked around with disgust,
and took a last drag on his cigarette.
He slung the lit stick onto the concrete, closed the door of the cab, and walked toward the building. He knocked on the door
of my office, and Keith invited him in. The two little guys looked alike.
"Is George Król here?"
"This is his office. I am his assistant. May I help you?"
"I am a client. The name's Norman Baczynski. George prepared my taxes last March. I need his help. I just came into some
money, and I am inquiring into the tax consequences."
"George is on some errands right now. If you leave the information, he'll get back to you when he returns," Keith answered.
"When do you expect him back?" Norm inquired somewhat impatiently.
"Any minute now," Keith smiled, revealing the gelasins in his rosy cheeks.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" Norm asked.
"No," Keith assured. "It will give me an excuse for a few drags myself."
Just then, Jeff Garrett burst into the room. Both men were momentarily taken aback. The ruddy boy looked around, then faced
the two men. "Where may I find George Król, sirs?"
Norm and Keith just looked at each other. "Why do you want Mr. Król?" Keith interrogated the boy.
"Marty asked me to summon him," Jeff answered. "I've never met the man."
Norm and Keith looked at each other again while they stole drags. The smoke curled among the cerebration. Both knew that
Marty McLamb was my "little brother" since September.
"Would Marty mind if I came along instead of Mr Król?" Keith proposed gently.
"Make that we -- I'm intrigued," Norm added.
"Well," Jeff paused. "If Mr. Król is not available, I suppose any adult will do."
"I'll leave George a note," Keith decided. "What is you name, son, and where are we going?"
"We're going to the house of my great grandmother. I'll give you the address."
Imagine my surprise when I returned to my office to find no one there, and my assistant and a client on a chase! I took the
address off the note and drove to the house.
It was a small, three-bedroom house in the middle of the woods and within walking distance of my properties. Subsequently,
I learned that Jeff's great grandmother had gone to a nursing home, leaving the house folkless.
When I arrived, a found a strange truck and two bicycles in front of the house. I rang the doorbell, but no one answered.
Finally, I went inside and called names. I found Marty in the cellar with his buddies and with mine.
"What gives, Marty?" I questioned as I descended the stairs.
"Can you smell this cellar?" Marty indicated.
I sniffed to the confusion of Keith and Norm. "You're right, son. I smell marijuana and crack."
Keith flashed his gelasins. "Now you know why I trust him with my life."
Norm only shook his head.
"My great grandmother went to the hospital last October," Jeff informed us as we sat in the kitchen. "Then she went to a gerontocomium
in December."
"What's that?" Norm asked.
"A fancy name for a nursing home," Keith replied as they dragged on cigarettes.
"So the place has been devoid of humans -- legitimate human influence," I concluded. "Since December, someone must be taking
advantage of the situation."
"But the neighbors have been watching the house," Jeff protested.
"I don't doubt it," I assured. "But in this area of State College, it is difficult to keep the criminal element away. Someone
is using this place as a crack house."
"It must be a relative," Keith concluded. "How else can someone get in?"
I began to examine all the casements. There were bars over the windows. Then I went upstairs and checked the windows on the
first floor, where I found a loose window. "Here's how they're getting in."
Marty blanched his freckled face. "Does this mean drug dealers are using this house?"
"I'm afraid so, son."
"How do we catch these crooks?" Jeff spat.
"That is the problem," I simplified. "We don't know how they're getting their commerce done in here. I'll alert the police
about my suspicions."
Like many of the mysteries, I based it upon reality. At the time, my mother and I were trying to sell my grandmother's house.
First, the house was virtually abandoned, then my grandmother died. It took almost a year to sell the house.
That's the last of the booths," Allen declared as he finished nailing the last board.
"Are you sure?" his younger brother Darrell asked. "I see a loose nail on the other side of that board."
Allen and Darrell Stacy became my junior partners a few years ago, and they had gained my confidence with their efforts in
some of my roughest cases. Their father, a professor of business law, had insisted that I apprentice them.
They had volunteered to set up some booths for the Arts Festival. Tuesday was the last day before the festivities began. The
Stacys also volunteered to police the festival as auxiliaries for safety.
"Hey, guys," their younger sibling Jennifer called as she passed the area. "When are you going to be finished?"
"Give Allen and me five minutes," Darrell replied. "Then we'll drive you home."
"Say," Allen interrupted. "Did you see what I saw?'
He motioned with his hand toward a building at the corner of Allen and College.
Darrell followed the indication.
"I don't see anything."
Allen screwed his face.
"It could have been a delusion, but I was sure I'd seen someone aim a rifle toward that window. I could see only an outline,
and it was too long to be a hair dryer."
"Which window?"
The brothers continued to finish their work. They took another look at the area, then even Allen admitted he had seen an illusion.'
"Don't tell Jennifer," Allen added.
"Allen, I'd never kid around about that. We'll just make sure what you saw was an illusion when we patrol during the Arts
Festival."
"Today's children's day at the Arts Festival," Keith casually mentioned. "Are you taking Marty and his buddies?"
"Let's see. I have a last appointment at 3 o'clock, I think. I asked his mother to pull duty until four. Surely I am not the
indispensable adult of his life. Besides, I have the weekend.
The telephone rang for the first time that morning. Keith picked it up. I could see his handsome face blanch. He gestured
for me to pick up the receiver on my desk. I did so embraced with bated breath.
"George, it's Kevin. The word is out that Renchberg has put out another contract on you."
"He must be very angry when he blew his chance five years ago. I would like to know how he survives in Ontario."
"In any case, I'm coming to State College to help. It's dull in Wilkes-Barré."
"I suppose no one uncovered the culprit in the murder of Robert Curley."
"The district attorney is still in denial."
"Well, Kev, if you'd be bored, I'm quite happy to give you a shot. Your sources were correct the time Renchberg put a hit
on me for Christmas. Does your source say why Renchberg chose this particular time for a hit?"
"Well, it's been a decade since you helped unmask him. He probably fumes over his lost job as district attorney of Centre
County. He'd probably be on Superior Court by now, maybe even in the federal system.
"In any case, George, he's still wanted for murder in Pennsylvania. It's ironic how he used to rant about how long it took
to execute a convicted murderer. It's been a decade since he went into hiding, the average length of a sentence in the entire
country."
"I don't want to run up a big bill. When will you be here?"
"I'll be there tonight to give you a hand."
"I know what you're thinking," I shot to Keith after I'd cradled the receiver. He lowered his eyes and flashed his gelasins.
His dimpled smile returned my gaze when he raised his head. I knew my little buddy no long feared death after his near death
experience a few years ago. Still, he trusted me implicitly to keep us both safe, despite any peril we had faced the past
eight years. He had told me so on many occasions.
"I suppose we'd have to wait until tonight, little bro, for the rest of the story. Kev should be here after we're done for
the day. Let's get back to work. I have an afternoon of appointments."
Kevin was rather morose when he walked in. Keith and I had been trying to keep our minds busy at my place. It was almost dark
when Kevin arrived alone. We hugged, so did Keith and Kevin. Then Kevin sat in my couch, Keith returned to my armchair, and
I returned to my JFK rocker.
Keith was finally relaxed enough to take out a cigarette. He sat in silent contemplation and smoked while Kevin and I exchanged
information.
"Mom says her sources picked up information that Renchberg had infiltrated the committee for your ten-year reunion."
"What does this information mean?"
"well." Kevin started, then he too took out a cigarette. "Renchberg still has links to State College. They must monitor you
constantly. However, so do we. Renchberg decided to miss the tenth anniversary of his débâcle in December. Someone from the
MBA program must've told him about your attempts at a ten-year reunion during the Arts Festival. Renchberg figured you were
the most vulnerable in such a crowd, so he ordered a hit."
Kevin tilted his blondpate back, then shot smoke upwards.
"That information was enough to go on. George, have you ever considered leaving State College?"
"No, I have built a practice here over the past five years. I don't intend to run. Besides, Renchberg and my other enemies
would discover where I had gone eventually. I am much better if I should stay put and arm myself."
"Arm yourself? Don't you have guns?"
"More than that, Kev. I've been ordering some various tricks I can use if necessary."
A knock at my door broke off whatever Kevin was going to say. Kevin, who was the closest to the door, arose and answered it.
"Were you expecting Joe Tunk?"
"Yes, let him in," I answered as Keith and I stood up. Joe was momentarily stunned when he saw Kevin at the door. He gave
me a look of resignation.
"How do you do, Kev," Joe greeted. "Don't tell me you're here for a social visit."
Keith and I took turns embracing Joe. Then I replied to his unspoken question. "I just found out today. Renchberg is going
to try again."
"Ugh! I remember that Christmas well," Joe reminisced. "A hitman tried to kill us all."
"Joe, don't worry," Kevin calmed. "Renchberg had no idea you'd be here. The hit is on George."
"Not if we can help it," Keith chimed in.
Joe broke into a smile, "Right."
Kevin slept in my downstairs bedroom. The next day, he left for downtown State College. He went to survey the scene and to
exchange information with the local constables. Joe went with him to enjoy the first time at the festival.
Keith and I tried to clean up work for an early weekend. Despite my diligence, I was still behind schedule due to my taking
Monday off.
It was late in the afternoon when my last client left. My telephone rang, and I answered it. Someone wanted a notary public,
so I obliged to keep the place open a little longer.
"Keith, why don't you go eat? I'll take care of this client. You can go to the festival."
The doorbell rang, and Mark Royer walked in.
"George, it's good to see you again."
We embraced. Then I saw a blond boy.
"This must be Peter. How're you, son?"
A freckled face beamed.
"I'm glad to meet you, Mister Król."
"well. he does have your blond hair, and what's this?"
"I started wearing a ring in my left ear."
"Don't tell me you're imitating the baby busters!' I mocked. "Next thing you'd be picking up another of their bad habits."
"I heard that comment!" Keith yelled from the kitchen.
"Who's that?" Mark asked with his head turned toward the kitchen.
"Keith, can you come out for a minute?"
Keith did come out, and shook hands.
"Any buddy of George is a buddy of mine."
"When will you have to leave Pete here?"
I cut to the point of the visit.
"About nine o'clock," Mark estimated. "I expect to be gone all day."
"One of us should be here. I'll call Marty's mom, and Pete can play all day with boys his age. None of them wear earrings.
Did your wife divorce you when you started wearing an earring?"
Pete betrayed a strange reaction to my last sentence. Mark looked at Pete with a stern visage. Pete had momentarily looked
pained, then he backed off.
"Actually, I started wearing an earring after we were separated. I decided to rebel!"
"Okay, someone should be here at nine. Shall we feed him breakfast?"
"Yes. Thanks," Mark said as they left.
Keith returned from the kitchen.
"What's wrong, big buddy?" he quizzed as he noticed my posture.
"Mark is not telling me something."
"We're having cocktails at Kern tonight," I told Kevin when he returned. "I doubt if the danger be on campus."
"I agree," Kevin concurred. "Renchberg would pick a crowd where you'd be the most vulnerable."
"Where else are you going with the reunion?"
"Well, when I arranged the schedule, no one took my suggestion. We're having a private dinner this evening at the Nittany
Lion Inn. I had suggested the Corner."
While I was speaking, a blond curlipate walked into my office. Keith, who was already there, waited on him.
"How do you do? I'm Tom Fink," the man introduced himself. "I just dropped by to see George Król's business. You must be his
assistant, Keith Cahill."
"As they shook hands, Keith said, "Do you want to see him? He's in the back."
Tom just beamed. "No. Besides spying on him, I came to remind George that cocktails at seven o'clock. Later dude."
Keith watched Tom leave. He was going to inform me of Tom's visit when the telephone rang.
"Keith, it's Allen. We have a problem. The patrol will be two short this weekend. Can you and George fill in?"
"When do you have to know?"
"As soon as possible."
"I'll get George."
I picked up the receiver in the back.
"When do you need us?"
"If we could get four of you, you could split the time. We need patrols for the peak hours on Friday afternoon and evening
and Sundays."
"Kevin, how'd you like to patrol?"
"It'll give me a reason to be there."
"Do you think we'll get Joe and Keith?"
"Let's find out."
"Allen, I'll have to get back to you. I must talk to Keith and Joe."
"Okay, George, thanks."
"Sure, guys. I'll join you on this job," Joe agreed when he returned. "Would it be rather dangerous for George?"
"George has taken care of the problem. Would you care to explain?" Kevin retorted.
"It's rather simple," I began. "I had a mission back in 1984 which I called 'The Pittsburgh Peril'. There was a one-legged
runner who was doing a marathon from Boston to Los Angeles, and someone had threatened him. As it turned out, he ran through
State College during the Arts Festival, and my group followed him to Pittsburgh."
"So what does that case have to do with this caper?" Keith asked impatiently.
"Little buddy, here's a chance to hide you handsome face. We disguised ourselves as clowns."
"What a wonderful idea," Joe lauded.
"I always have had it in mind since George told me about it ten years ago," Kevin admitted.
"Where will we get the makeup?" Keith objected. "Not to mention the props."
"I still have tubes of whiteface from Halloween," I informed. "I never know when I'll need some kind of disguise. I also have
plenty of old clothes for all of you."
"It looks as though we'd be going to have a great adventure, regardless of what happens," Keith remarked.
Friday morning saw me busy with work. Mark dropped his son at my office, and Keith took Pete into the kitchen to feed him
breakfast. About ten o'clock, Marty took Pete. Jeff with him, along with Jeff's brother Paul. Paul had medium brown hair and
was four years older.
"How's your baseball, Pete?" Paul asked as they left my office.
"Well, I was supposed to play Little League this summer, but my dad never stayed home long enough for me to learn the game."
Marty was puzzled. "Couldn't your mother take you to practice and the games?"
Pete looked as if he had been going to scream. Then he said, "No, I just didn't get the chance. However, I'm available now."
"Good," Paul continued. "Put this helmet on and ride with me. We're going to our great grandmother's home to pick up the baseball
gloves and bats in the basement. Then we're going to a lot nearby and play some catch and batting."
The boys arrived soon after. Paul led the entourage to the front door, fished out a key and unlocked the door.
"There's that strange odor, Marty noted.
"It seems to be stronger in the kitchen," Paul added. A faint smell of smoke, somewhat stale, hung in the air. It was indeed
the heaviest in the kitchen. Paul walked to the back door. No. The door was still locked. He turned around to the direction
of the sink, took a careful look, then walked to the door of the basement.
He unlocked the door with relief on his face.
"Jeff," he nodded to his younger brother. "You and I know where the equipment is, so we'll go down to the cellar. You other
guys, stay here until we get back."
Jeff looked puzzled at this request, but Paul's eyes indicated he should follow along. When they reached the bottom of the
stairs, Paul whispered, "Keep a lookout for anything unusual down here."
Jeff showed signs of stress; he gulped, his hands shook, and his breathing increased. Paul put his arm around his little brother.
"Don't worry, Jeff. We'll be out of here in a few minutes," he whispered.
Jeff lowered his brows, went directly to the corner, and pulled out three bats. Paul went to another corner, near the water
heater, and pulled out a box of baseballs and gloves. Then Jeff ascended the stairs, ahead of Paul, who took another glance
at the basement.
"C'mon, guys, we've found the equipment," Paul said rather loudly. "The lot is just a little farther up the road."
The five boys then filed out of the house. Paul locked the door behind him. They were at their bicycles when Jeff asked,"
What gives? What did you see, Paul?"
Paul shook his head.
"Wait until we reach the lot."
The boys walked a few hundred meters until they reached the lot. They divided the equipment, then Paul instructed them.
"I don't want to alarm anyone, but we've stumbled upon a crackhouse."
"Wait a minute," Marty protested. "Jeff and I already knew that. We called George Król into investigating the place. He told
the police to watch the place."
"How are they using the place if the police be watching the place?" Jeff contemplated.
"I don't have a definite answer. Suppose we go to Mister Król's place and tell him," Marty suggested.
Paul pondered a minute.
"We'll be there this afternoon to leave Pete. We can report to him then. My concern is the crooks who were upstairs when we
came into the house."
"How did you know someone was in there?" Jeff asked astonishedly. "We had smelled the same marijuana smoke the last time,
and no one was there. Was there something on the sink?"
"There was an open bottle of drain cleaner, an empty bottle of Epsom salts, and the remains of a battery on the sink. At first,
I'd thought that someone had been cleaning the sink until I saw the battery. I think some one's using that stuff to make drugs.
"Because of that stuff and the smell of marijuana, I concluded that someone was there recently, if not presently. The door
to the cellar was not unlocked, so no one could have been hiding in the basement. Anyone still there must have been upstairs,
maybe sleeping off the effects of the drugs!"
By this time, Pete was very agitated.
"Why don't we go back now?"
"Because I'm afraid that they're watching us to see if we had been wise to them. Let's play an hour, then go back for lunch."
"We look like twins!" Kevin exclaimed when we were done. Indeed we did, for our makeup matched. We each had on an auburn
wig, red noses, cheeks and mouths, the same character marks in black, jean jackets and sneakers.
"Keith, Joe, come out," Kevin called.
"Yes," I added. "I want to see how well you painted your faces."
I had done Keith and Kevin had done Joe.
"I think I left my dignity in the kitchen," Keith complained. He and Joe were similarly dressed and made up.
"Nonsense," Kevin rebuked. "You look great!"
"I wanted the black wig," Keith murmured.
"Little buddy," I dismissed his comment. "You look great as a blond. Besides, joe had the problem of keeping the black wig
on his head."
"Yeah, thanks a lot," Joe said lugubriously.
"Are we ready?" Kevin asked at the door.
Just a minute. Take our picture," I requested as I handed him my camera.
After I had taken the next picture, I put the camera in the inside breast pocket of my jacket. Then we left the office for
our patrol. Each of us took a walkie-talkie and scattered at the festival.
I spent most of the afternoon frolicking with the kids. The best kind of work is the kind with distractions from the prosaic.
I would occasionally duck into an alley and report my position.
Dusk was following, and I made a rush toward the end of the shift. We would go home at nine, and I would redress and join
my former classmates. I invited them to an open house of the Astronomy Club, atop Davy Lab. For once, I wished I had had an
office on campus, so I could avoid going home to change.
It was five to nine. I was at the far end of Allen Street. Slowly, I sauntered my way toward campus. Suddenly a murmur reverberated
ahead of me. Then I heard Kevin's voice in my ear"
"Guys, come quickly to the alley in the first block of South Allen. Someone just took a shot at me!"
I hurried my pace. At the corner of South Allen and Beaver Avenue, I could see Keith on my left and Joe on my right. I halted
enough for them to meet me at the intersection. We must've looked like escapees from the circus, for I heard the mumbling
of the crowd as we sped through it.
There was a crowd encircling the corner. I called for Kevin, and his reply led me inside the circle. He was shaking off his
fear and assuring the bystanders he was alright. A nick in the lamppost a meter away told the story. I looked more closely.
The bullet has shattered upon impact. As I was looking for fragments, the police arrived.
"From where did the shot come?" I asked my brother. His indication wasn't quite correct with my judgment of the trajectory.
"The Stacys have already taken off after the culprit," Kevin clued us.
The police began their initial interrogation as Keith, Joe and I slipped away.,
"Where do you think the shot sourced?" Keith asked me.
"Follow me. Let's see if we could figure it out before the police get up there."
I suspected the shooter firing had occurred off the roof of the first building at the corner of South Allen and College Avenue.
We ran around to the back of the buildings and found the stairs.
We were only up to the second floor when we saw the Stacys' descending above us.
"George," Darrell shouted. "Come on up!"
They stopped long enough for us to join them on the stairs, then we ascended together. We found an empty room on the third
floor. A side window was still open, and we ducked through it to a roof. Allen took us to the edge of the front of the building.
Along the cornice, I could see a viewpoint directly to the spot where Kevin stood.
"Well, at least we can give the police a decent lead," I remarked.
Allen frowned. Then he told us about the gun-like object he had seen three nights ago. It had appeared in the window where
we had passed to get to the roof!
The boys had assumed someone would be at my office all day. In essence, I had arranged for Mark to pick up Pete about five
o'clock. Afterwards, they were to go to the Arts Festival. Consequently, when the boys broke the schedule and arrived at my
office, no one was there.
Even Paul didn't know what to do about his suspicions. Rather than returning to the great grandparents' house, the boys returned
to their bicycles and went to the Garrett's place.
No adults were around that Friday afternoon. Paul insisted they stay put until five o'clock.
"George Król did not tell us where they would be this afternoon," he reasoned. "But he did tell us to be back by five."
"Suppose I call my mother," Marty suggested. "And tell her what we know."
Paul looked askance at the suggestion. "Do you think we could convince her that were serious? I'd have a difficult time with
my parents, let alone yours."
"Perhaps if I told my dad when he comes for me this afternoon, he would help us investigate", Pete suggested.
Paul shrugged his shoulders.
"It sounds like the best plan I've heard all day. Unless we could get at least one grownup to join us, we should stay away
from that house."
"Let's go to another lot and resume our game of catch," Jeff changed the subject.
Jennifer Stacy met us at the bottom of the stairs. Still panting, she shouted at us, "Follow me!"
The four of us nearly jumped off the stairs. The younger Stacys took the lead. When Jennifer was onto something, we'd learned
somewhat painfully that we should follow her.
She led us to a parking lot behind College Avenue. She stopped and pointed at the tire impression in the mud.
"I chased the gunman to here. He hopped into a blue Buick and left me in the exhaust."
"Didn't he take a shot at you?" Joe asked rather surprisedly.
"No. He didn't have time."
"Maybe he didn't have the bullets," I speculated.
"In any case, he surely didn't want me to see him. He took all the alleys, carefully avoiding the streetlights. All I could
make out were the trenchcoat and the and the fedora and a quick glance of him."
"Ah, a real spy," Keith commented.
"So the only lead we have is the kind of car he drives and the impression of the tire," I concluded.
Good job, Jenny! If we don't catch him, maybe we'd be ready for him the next time."
"Uh, George," Keith mentioned. "We must get back."
"Great. It's already after nine. I'll tell you what. Let's go directly to Davey Lab and meet the fellow MBA's on the roof
for the Open House.
"We're going to have to wait for Kevin anyway while he gives a statement. Then Jennifer will tell the police what she knows.
It's be best if we should spend the next two hours elsewhere.
"we and Joe can duck into a restroom before we go up the elevator and wash off the makeup. I'll tell Jennifer to pass along
this plan. Kevin can come get us when he's ready."
Fortunately we had been wearing rather prosaic clothes, and mere soap and water took off all the makeup. It was a quarter
past nine when I joined the group at the rooftop. I introduced Lisa, Annette, and Tom. Both Mark and ken Frazier were still
missing.
"Did Mark or Ken say they'd be late?" I asked. "Mark was going to bring Pete to look at the stars, but what could've held
up Ken?"
"Maybe he didn't come in," Lisa ventured.
"No," Annette noted. "He was at the dinner Wednesday night. He said traffic in New York State was bad."
"Maybe Ken forgot. After all, I had a devil of a time getting half of you up here," I remarked.
The best time to observe the nightsky in after a hot and humid day. The heat of the day still dissipated off the stones on
the roof. Because the Arts Festival was on, there was a fairly large crowd. About ten o'clock I spotted Ken Frazier, and he
joined us as I gave the group at tour around the sky while pointing with a meterstick.
When I asked Ken about his tardiness, he replied that he had been lost in the crowd and had forgotten the time. Given Ken's
small stature, I easily imagined his getting lost in the crowd!
Kevin showed up at eleven. He helped us close the place down. Then the four of us went down the elevator together.
The conversation shifted to the case.
"I still can't understand why anyone would take a shot at me," Kevin was saying.
"I suppose what Jenny told the police did not shed light upon the attempt."
"Bro, even Allen's revelation of the phantom gun did not help me sort it out," Kevin added to my surmise. "Why would anyone
want to shoot a clown?"
After a moment of silence, I spoke.
"If we knew why someone had shot at you, we'd certainly be able to guess who did it."
"When's Mark going to dop Pete off?" Keith changed the subject.
"I think it's none o'clock again. We're having a farewell breakfast on Sunday, so tomorrow's the last. Don't worry. I'll be
up, and I'll take care of Pete until Marty arrives."
I arose at seven and jogged around the property. I found the mornings the best time to go over cases in my mind. However,
nothing made sense. Did Renchberg send a hit on me? Why did anyone shoot at Kevin in the twilight? Did it have anything to
do with the phantom gun Allen had seen on Tuesday night? I was sure that the State College police had gone over that angle
enough times. Perhaps Jennifer's finding of the blue Buick and its tire tracks helped uncover the assailant.
I approached my house, slowed down, and put the questions into my subconscious. Physical exercise energizes me almost every
time. This Saturday morning showed a few cumulous clouds in an azure sky. Like any day in July, it felt overheated.
I was even happier to see the week end. I found my undercover work the day before just a little too strenuous after my mad
rush to relax this weekend. Besides, I still didn't know whether Renchberg really had a contract on me.
My little group would meet again at noon. I had arranged to take the boys around the festival after the meeting. Marty's mother
had charge of the boys that morning. She called me just before nine o'clock.
"Mark Royer's here. He decided to drop Pete off here this morning. He had called earlier for directions. He left me in a hurry,
so I didn't get chance to find out why he'd changed the dropoff."
"No matter. I have other things I can take care of. I'll see you at the festival at two."
No sooner had I hung up the receiver when the phone rang. I had thought it had been a customer.
"Król's Accounting Service"
"George, this's Darrell. We have a lead on the assailant. Can you and Kevin get back downtown in fifteen minutes?"
"I may have to awaken him. We'll get there as soon as possible. Do we meet you at the room of the phantom gun?"
"No. Meet us at a place called Affordable Used Car Rental System on North Atherton Street. It is almost where you used to
live, but it's on the other side of the street."
I put the telephone down and wrote a note for Keith for when he awakened and came down the stairs. In retrospect, I should
have written that Pete had never arrived at nine.
In my haste, I didn't bother to check if Keith had been awake, not did I check on Joe downstairs. I merely left my office,
locked the door, and ran to my residence. Kevin was already awake and at breakfast. He changed from pajamas and joined me
in five minutes.
We took the jeep to downtown State College, then onto Atherton, which borders the campus. Kevin easily picked out the place,
and I parked.
All the Stacys were there. Jennifer, who saw we had arrived, left the group discussion her brothers were having with the manager.
She looked rather disappointed.
"The ones who rented the blue Buick does not match the description of the man I saw last night."
"Maybe the car was stolen," Kevin suggested.
"No, I distinctly saw a rental plate. I remembered it this morning along with the description. We must have called all the
rentals in State College."
"What is the description of the lessee?" I asked.
"Average height, dark hair, somatotonic."
"...And the guy you saw last night..."
"Short, brown-haired, cerebrotonic."
Kevin and I looked at each other. Jennifer was about to apologize when the Stacy boys approached.
"It's kind of a shame," Allen interjected. "The tire tracks on the vehicle match."
"Do we have enough evidence for the police?" Darrell joined in the conversation.
"I don't know. Would the proprietor allow us to examine it?" I confessed.
He allowed us to look at the outside, for what it's worth. Could you bluff a look inside?"
"First I want to know the name the lessee gave the manager and the other details," Kevin answered while he contemplated a
plan."
"He gave the name of Bob Muir," Darrell began.
He borrowed the car on Wednesday and brought it back this morning," Jennifer continued.
"He refuses to give us any other information," Allen ended. "He said that he'd give it only to the police."
"Is that so?" Kevin intoned indignantly. "We'll see about that." He stormed away from us and straight into the office. When
I saw Kevin sign a contract and hand over money, I had an idea of what was going on.
Kevin left the office, waved for us to follow, and led us to the car.
"I had to pay extra so no one cleaned out the car. Let's take this car back to the scene of the escape."
"Did you get any information on Bob Muir?"
"George, I have a copy of the lease. You might as well look at it, for you paid for the lease!"
I looked at the copy as I walked to my jeep. The address was out of town, a rural number not far from my home! I knew my next
move after we had checked out this angle of the case.
Keith arose around ten o'clock. He readied himself for the day, and he was reading the Centre Daily Times when the telephone
rang.
"Is Mister Król there?"
"No, he's chasing a lead in the case."
"Paul has been urging me to tell him about the goingson at the Garrett's great grandmother's. They claim the crack dealers
are back."
"Do they think they're in danger?"
"No, but they want someone to investigate the place."
"George isn't here, and I don't know when he'll be back. If the kids be so agitated, bring them here, and we'll go there after
I inform the police, or have you done so?"
"I don't know what to do. The police confirmed they'd keep an eye on the place, but what Paul told me makes one wonder. The
Garretts don't know what to make of it either."
Keith had just heard that sentence when the doorbell rang. Keith excused himself, put down the receiver, and answered the
door.
An unusual man stood at the door. Midheight and somatotonic, the dark man asked, "I am looking for Mark Royer's son. He wants
me to retrieve him."
Keith was taken aback for a moment. Then he said, "You mean Keith? None of the kids are here. Does Keith know you?"
The stranger paused.
"No, he doesn't know me. I'm Bob Muir. Mark Royer and I went to school together."
"Oh, so you're here with the reunion? When did you get your bachelor's degree?"
Muir paused. "I'll come back if Mark should want me to do so." Then he walked to a red Corvette."
As Keith watched him go, only one thing lingered in his mind. He retreated to the telephone and resumed his conversation with
Marty's mother.
"Bring the kids back here, and we'll wait for George to return. Someone just tried to abduct Pete."
I perused the copy of the rental agreement. Indeed, I was paying for half the rental. I trusted my brother enough to reserve
judgment until we had executed his plan. We were soon at the scene where Jennifer had seen Muir leave.
Kevin drove as close to the tracks as possible. The ground was day as the previous night, and the tracks matched by shape
and depth.
"The next move we make is a through search in the interior for clues," Kevin commanded. "We can do so at George's place."
"Okay, Kev. I can trust you four will be thorough enough without me. I'm going to check out the address on this rental agreement."
I drove the jeep almost to the address. Then I parked it in the woods out of sight from the road. I sneaked to the mailbox,
checked the number, then looked around. A car approached farther up the road. As it sped past, I felt a familiarity with it.
From my hiding place, I jotted the license number. Nonplussed, I could not shake the intuition. Then it hit me; I had seen
the car before! But its presence on the highway did not make sense. I checked the odometer and measured a few distances.
I took the extra clues and placed them in my subconscious. Then I drove back.
"You must be mistaken," Kevin told me. "How could anyone else drive Mark Royer's car?"
Keith, upon seeing my arrival, came out of my office and walked over to my residence.
"Something is terribly wrong at the great grandparents' house! The kids say the dealers have moved in again."
"Get this," I told Keith. "Some guy named Bob Muir rented the car of the guy who took a shot at Kevin. He gave an address
near the same great grandparents' house!"
"Bob Muir?" Keith repeated. "Is he of average height, dark, and somatotonic?"
"Why, yes," I stammered. "That description matches Jennifer's. and I matches the one of the guys I saw driving Mark's car!"
A moment of contemplation followed, then an infandous thought crossed my mind. Kevin and Keith soon matched my horror.
"You don't think," Keith began.
"Let's leave the Stacys here in case Muir returns. We'd better take the van; It has a carphone."
Kevin , Keith, and I hopped into the van. I retraced the tracks of the jeep and passed where I had observed the car. All the
time, I could not shake the feeling of dread. I parked the van in the driveway in full view of the house. After Kevin and
Keith alit, I reached into the glove compartment and grabbed my revolver. Just in case of trouble, I thought.
Keith and Kevin were standing in the door when I produced the key. When I had gone to talk to the Stacys, Paul had given me
his key. Pete was extremely worried when he told me that his father had gone to investigate the house. Combined with my seeing
Mark's car nearby and Muir's attempt to kidnap Pete. I knew the possibilities.
We entered the livingroom without incident. I led the way in case of trouble. No one was on the firs floor. I went to the
stairway and yelled for Mark without response. No one was upstairs, but every bed in the three bedrooms was unmade. We found
evidence of needles, syringes, and other drug paraphernalia.
The closet in the back bedroom led to the attic. The heat alone convinced me that no one was up there. I looked at the guys,
and we knew where to look next. The tension was tangible enough to cut. We limbed downstairs and returned to the kitchen.
The mess that Paul had described was still there.
Both locks on the door to the cellar were turned. I unlocked them, opened the door and called Mark again. I paused in the
silence. Originally I had thought I might find Mark trussed to a pole in the cellar. Because of the impossibility that an
adversary could have been in the basement, I holstered my revolver and led the way. Regardless of the arm, I never could have
defended against the psychological blow which awaited me.
Kevin and Keith searched toward the back of the basement, while I headed toward the coalbin under the front porch.
"George," Kevin shouted from behind me. I whirled and hurried back, nearly whacking my head on the low ceiling. I had seen
corpses, but this one was excruciating to view.
"It looks as though they had tortured Mark, probably to kidnap Pete," Kevin reported. "Then someone stabbed him in the belly
three times."
A nauseating flash hit me as I turned away.
"Was that how Don had been killed?" Kevin deducted from my reaction.
Keith walked up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.
"You still miss him after thirteen years."
"If it hadn't been for him, I doubt whether I'd have ever procured the skills of detective work. I've been running away from
it since he died, yet it keeps coming back."
"It looks as if someone had cut his intestines the first time and hit his heart the last time," Kevin announced.
"Stuck like a pig in the slaughter," I spat.
"I'll call the police," Keith volunteered. Then he slowly climbed the stairs.
"I want Muir," I stated. "I saw him in Mark's car, and he tried to kidnap Pete."
"Pete," Kevin repeated. "We're going to have to tell him!"
"All the more to punish Muir' he deserves death for this crime!" Then my analytical mind kicked in the task.
"What did you find in the Buick?"
"Outside of fingerprints, nothing much. How are we going to find the other perpetrator who shot at me."
"Let's take it one step at a time. Perhaps Muir will tell us whether there's a nexus between crimes."
We spent the rest of the afternoon giving the police all the details we had. Muir must have known we were after him because
he had vanished. Evening was falling when we returned. I knew I had to break the news to Pete and to make arrangement for
his mother to take him back. He and Marty were so much alike, they should have been brothers.
Each set of parents came for their children. Then Marty's mother left with him. Pete looked quite disturbed when the McLambs
left.
Keith and I decided to postpone the inevitable until we had contacted Pete's mother. I gave the little guy my downstairs bedroom
in the office, but he could not sleep alone. Keith took him upstairs, and they cuddled throughout the night.
Sunday the Tenth began cloudy. The last day of the Arts Festival usually began with an abundant crowd, which faded away by
evening. I met with my little group for the last time at noon. Ken Frazier suggested we meet later in the evening for a memorial
service. I invited everyone to such a service until we could determine when the funeral would occur.
Then I let don my guard. We had the service at Eisenhower Chapel around five. I bade the others goodbye and headed back down
to the end of the festival. I had the feeling someone had been following me. I wondered into the dwindling crowed on South
Allen street. Already people were taking down their displays, leaving the frames behind. I still couldn't detect anyone hostile,
o I ducked into the alley.
I sauntered down the alley toward Atherton Street to shake off the angst. I fell into deep thought of analysis when I head
a familiar voice.
"Did you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?"
Temporarily stunned, I whirled to face Ken Frazier. Imitating the Joker in "Batman", he pointed a pistol at me! He smiled
in nikhedonia as he savored the moment.
"Renchberg has a rich prize awaiting me," He answered my unspoken question. "I'm deeply in debt, and you're the ticket out."
"That pistol will report you," I stalled as I turned around completely.
"It has a silencer," Frazier mentioned the obvious. By this time, I had my arms stretched out before me. I noted how far I
had to jump to the corner of the alley
"Where do you want it?" Frazier asked as he came out of the far corner and into the alley itself. Meanwhile, I continued to
raise my arms and aim.
"Right here!" I yelled and squirted a stream of foam from the canister on my wrist. All along, I moved into the corner while
concentrating the spray into his face. It had been rather hot for a jacket, but I was happy to be wearing it at that moment.
I slipped out my pistol, then I heard shots! I jumped back into the alley, only to find Frazier on the ground.
The pistol lay three meters away. It had landed unfired. By the time I was past Frazier, I could see a shadow at the end of
the alley.
I sprinted after the man. Kevin met me at Allen Street.
"That was Bob Muir!" we shouted
"He must've set up Frazier to kill me. Then Renchberg wanted Frazier killed," I added.
"I'll get the police after him," Kevin said. "You tend to Frazier."
I agreed because I knew that Frazier was dying and that Muir would love a shot at me. I met a perplexed face as Frazier writhed
on the ground.
"Ken, you have one chance to help me uncover the truth," I said brutally. "Did Muir kill Royer?"
"Please, George."
"Tell me, Ken. I must know."
"I suppose I deserved this fate for trying to assassinate you. Royer stumbled into our crackhouse. I was here solely to kill
you, but Muir coerced me into renting the car. He also set me up in that apartment.
"When Muir found out you guys were working undercover, he told me that I could shoot you. His description of your makeup matched.
I didn't know that I'd just missed killing your brother.
"Muir tortured Royer to get his son. Mark bravely refused to get Pete in danger, so Muir finally stabbed him in the basement.
He still tried to get Pet afterwards.
"I'm sorry I ever became involved. I suppose Renchberg will be furious. Do you promise to get him for me?"
"I can't promise anything. I've been after Renchberg for nearly eleven years. Now that I know what a vicious killer Muir is,
my main thrust will be to stop him."
While I was speaking, Frazier expired on the ground. I turned to walk out of the alley. An ambulance wailed nearby, but the
vehicle couldn't get into the alley due to the structures. I met the attendants in the street.
Kevin flagged me down as I told the paramedics they were unneeded.
"Get the coroner," I commanded. Then Kevin spoke.
"Muir grabbed a car and took off for the highway. We're getting the State Police into the chase."
"Holy O J Simpson!" I imprecated. I raced back to my jeep, found my radio and began monitoring the chase.
"At the very least, this guy should never see freedom," Kevin opined.
"Even better, he belongs in Muncy," I referred to the place of execution.
Kevin looked somber.
"We still must tell Pete his father is dead."
"I will call his mother tomorrow to arrange the funeral. I think all the boys should know."
The radio interrupted our train of thought.
"Red Corvette driven off the road near Bellefonte. Backup requested in shootout."
"I wonder how many of Muir's gang is with him," I pondered.
A tremendous explosion sifted through the receiver.
"Corvette exploded! Request fire fighting to confine the blaze."
"Justice on Route 322," I noted.
Muir did not die easily. He went out with guns ablazing. One of the shots from the police hit the tank after Muir had died
on the pavement. Two of his gang went up with the crack in the trunk.
Monday produced my birthday. I suppose the solution to this case was my present. I checked on Ken Frazier. Indeed, he was
deeply in debt, and I should have suspected him because he lived in Canada. Renchberg was last reportedly i Ontario, still
trying to strike me.
Muir was supposed to cover the murder by shooting Frazier after he had succeeded. My guess that Muir did not kill Frazier
when he shot at Kevin was either he had missed or Muir know that Kevin and I were similarly made up. Because both are dead,
we'll never know exactly what had happened.
Muir was the local syndicate, and Renchberg must have contacted him to lead Frazier along. Muir's crackhouse was merely a
coďcidence.
The Stacys actually played little in this caper, although they did help accelerate the solution. Frazier had borrowed the
rented car from Muir to pull off the assassination. He had left nothing substantial in the car, nor had he in the apartment.
His sole and fatal mistake was his trust in Muir.
Both Marty and Pete found circumstances had brought them together. They accepted their situation as predestination. Nonetheless,
it did not wake the pain away from fatherlessness.
On Monday, I had found out that Pete's mother lived nearby. Keith was with me when I broke the news of his father's death.
I arranged the funeral the next day.
We broke out in comploration and had a group hug when I told him. Pete held me for the longest time, saying, "Will you be
my Big Brother like Marty?"
Keith and I were stunned. We decided to keep the little guy until we could have other arrangements. Kevin was amused.
"You never wanted kids, but another little boy needs you now."
Marty and Pete became virtual brothers. I allowed every relationship that could soften the blow. Pete and I -- along with
Keith and Marty -- plotted through that summer. This nadir of his life had actually strengthened Pete's character. I found
Pete invaluable ally after he grew up. I will explain further in these cases in the twentyfirst century. Mark would have been
very proud of his son.
Marty and Pete became very close. They shared a brotherhood even I have never understood. They first exhibited this bond in
the next adventure in Philadelphia.
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