“When will you know if we can get him out?”
“There’s a hearing later,” she said. “But my lawyer wants to talk to a judge before then.”
“Keep trying, okay, Aunt Mathilda?” Jupiter urged. “It’s vital we get him out to help us”
The angry woman agreed, and went back to the office to call her lawyer again. In the workshop the Three Investigators looked at one another.
“Can we go ahead without him, Jupe?” Pete asked.
“We’ll have to.” Jupiter became thoughtful. “So the police think there’s a ring of car thieves in Rocky Beach, do they? That has to mean there have been a lot of other car thefts in the area recently.” He turned to Bob. “Bob, can you find out if El Tiburon and the Piranhas were playing a gig in Oxnard the night Ty says Tiburon asked him to drive the Mercedes down here?”
“Sure. I can ask Jake Hatch.”
“No. I don’t want anyone to know we’re investigating.”
Bob grinned. “I’ll figure something out.”
“How about right now,” Jupiter said.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Pete groaned. “I can’t miss karate class this afternoon. It’s my kata demonstration.”
“What’s so important about that?” Jupiter said.
“The kata are the ancient training exercises, Jupe,” Bob explained. “They’re the whole spirit of karate. There are about fifty of them, and you have to do a lot of exact moves in an exact amount of time. We do one a month.”
“Anyway, I have to pick up Kelly at the Y after,” Pete added. “She has her aerobics class at the same time.”
“I guess Bob and I can handle it,” Jupiter said. “Meet us back here later, okay?”
Bob grinned. “We’ll tell you all about the excitement and fun we had hoodwinking Jake Hatch.”
“Forget it,” Pete said hotly. “I’ll skip karate and pick up Kelly later. Come on, guys!”
They all laughed as Pete ran for his battered Fiero and Bob headed for his antique but shining VW. While Jupiter decided who to ride with, a sleek silver Jaguar XJ6 sedan drove into the salvage yard. A slim brunette in sky-blue exercise sweats bounced out of the Jag. She waved back to someone inside.
“Thanks bunches, Dad! Pete’ll bring me home. Bye!”
The Jaguar zoomed away. Kelly Madigan ran across the salvage yard to Pete and took his arm. She barely came to his shoulder. Kelly looked up at Pete with her big green eyes and smiled into his startled face.
“Daddy couldn’t drive me to aerobics, so I told him to bring me here and you would.” On tiptoe she kissed Pete on the nose and grinned. “I mean, we always meet after your karate class anyway.”
Pete gulped. “I’m not going to karate today, Kel… I — ”
“Not going? Why not, for heaven’s sake?”
“We… we’ve got a big case, Kel. Jupiter’s cousin Ty is in, trouble and we have to solve the case and get him out of jail.”
“Case? Oh, I know that’s important, but we always go to karate and aerobics on Monday. How are you going to take me home if you’re on a case? And Mother expects us for dinner afterward, remember? I’m sure Jupe and Bob can do it all fine for today. Anyway, we better go or we’ll be late.”
She took Pete’s hand, waved to Jupiter and Bob, and pulled the confused Pete to his car. With a helpless shrug to his friends, Pete got in. The Fiero drove out of the yard and turned toward the YWCA across town.
“That,” Bob said, “is why I don’t let any girl make me go steady, no sir! Play the field, that’s the only way, right, Jupe?”
“I guess I’d like to play any way I could.”
“Come on, Jupe, I bring enough girls around for you. So does Pete. Don’t you like any of them?”
Jupiter sighed. “It’s more they don’t like me.”
“A lot of girls like you, I can see that. I mean, take that little Ruthie today. She definitely liked you. All you have to do is make your move.”
Jupiter flushed. “Anyway, what about finding out about El Tiburon and the Piranhas?”
“No problem. Let’s go.”
They got into Bob’s bug and drove out of the salvage yard. Bob turned toward downtown.
“Where are we going?” Jupe asked.
“Jake Hatch’s office.”
“But we don’t want him to know we’re investigating — ”
Bob smiled. “Trust me.”
They reached a seedy, dilapidated building on the edge of the main downtown shopping area. Bob parked in the lot at the rear.
There was no elevator in the run-down building. Only a feeble light filtered in through the dusty sky-light over the stairwell. Rows of scarred half-glass doors lined the uncarpeted hallways. On the third floor Bob opened the last door on the right. The Investigators stepped into an outer office. Beyond it was Jake Hatch’s private inner office.
“Hi, Gracie,” Bob said. “Is Mr. Hatch in?” A pretty young woman with blond hair sat at the only desk in the outer office. She was typing some long list. She looked up and smiled when she saw Bob.
“You know it’s his lunchtime.” Bob sat on the edge of her desk and flashed his most charming smile. “Sure, that’s why I came now.”
The young woman laughed and shook her head at Bob’s brashness. He had to be five years younger than she was, but her eyes said she was pleased to see him. “You’re much too sure of yourself, Bob Andrews.”
“Is it a crime that I like to talk to you instead of old Jake, Gracie?” Bob’s smile widened. “Besides, I brought my friend Jupiter along today so he could meet you. Jupe, this is Grace Salieri, the best secretary in the business.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Salieri,” Jupiter said.
“Call me Gracie, Jupiter,” Grace Salieri said. “Now cut the soft soap, okay, Bob? What are you doing here?”
“Sax has a client who wants a La Bamba band,” Bob explained. “We don’t have one. The guy was up in Oxnard a couple of nights ago and saw a gig he liked. He couldn’t remember the name of the group. I thought it might have been El Tiburon and the Piranhas. Were they up in Oxnard two nights ago, and where are they playing the next couple of days?”
“Jake’d want the full commission on Tiburon.”
“Sax doesn’t care about his split on this. He just wants to please the client.”
Grace got up and walked into the inner office.
“What’s she doing, Bob?” Jupiter whispered.
“Checking the booking charts on Jake’s wall. Sax uses the same system. It’s faster than a computer — you see where all your bands are at once.”
Grace Salieri came back. “Yep, Tiburon and his boys were up in Oxnard at The Deuces two nights ago. They play The Shack the next two days.” She sat down behind her desk.
“Great, Gracie, thanks,” Bob said. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Sax’ll ask if that’s where the client saw the La Bamba band he liked. If it is, old Jake has a nice fat commission.”
She laughed. “Get out of here, Bob Andrews.”
Outside the office, Bob winked at Jupiter as they hurried back down the dusty stairs to his bug.
“Even if Gracie tells Jake, all he’ll see is easy money. And now we know Tiburon was in Oxnard when Ty was.”
“And The Shack is a pizza cafe that we can get into,” Jupiter said. “If Ty is out of jail, maybe he can identify Tiburon. If not, we can talk to Tiburon and maybe get some answers.”
“When?”
“Tonight. We’ll meet at HQ,” Jupiter said. “Then we’ll go to The Shack and talk to El Tiburon and the Piranhas.”
Small and shabby, The Shack attracted students from the local high school and junior college. Most places with live music sold liquor, which meant they were off-limits to anyone under twenty-one. The law was rigorously enforced, even to making underage performers sit behind the bandstand under the watch of a club employee. But The Shack was a pizza restaurant, serving only soft drinks, and teenagers flocked to it.
On most nights they flocked. Not this night.
As Jupiter and Bob walked in they saw two high school guys playing a rickety old pinball machine in a corner. Two more ate pizza, their eyes glued to a silent TV set. Four Latino girls sat at one of the tables around the postage-stamp-size dance floor. They had to be the girlfriends of the band players because they were the only ones watching the bandstand.
The Shack was nearly empty, but the sound in the small cafe was deafening.
“La… bamba… bamba… bamba!”
Five Latinos sang and played a Latin rhythm on electric guitars, a bass, and a keyboard that sounded like a Mexican street band. The drummer pounded bongos and gongs and rattled gourds. The musicians were up to their ankles in cables, amplifiers, pedals, and fifty other pieces of equipment that left them almost no room to move on the tiny bandstand.
“La… bam… ba… I”
El Tiburon and the Piranhas! They pounded, gyrated, and grinned like fiends into the almost empty room. Their faces glistened with sweat. They looked eagerly at the door as Jupiter and Bob came in and took seats at a rear table.
“I hate to say this,” Jupiter whispered, “but they’re not very good.”
“Sax says they shout instead of sing,” Bob agreed. “They don’t play very well either.”
“I assume El Tiburon’s the one in the white suit?”
“Right. The tall guy in front playing lead guitar.”
Jupiter watched the tall Latino as he sang and pranced around the wire-tangled stage. Slim and handsome in an exotic white suit with skin-tight pants, a long jacket, and silk shirt open over his chest, he was all showman — a lot of style and not much talent. The four shorter Piranhas playing behind him were dressed in red and black.
“This isn’t much of a Latino hangout,” Bob said. “I don’t know why Hatch booked them in here.”
“I don’t think they do either,” Jupiter said.
The hardworking band switched to straight Rock ‘n’ Roll. The high school guys stopped eating and playing pinball and began to listen. More people drifted in, but it still wasn’t a crowd. Suddenly Bob leaned close to Jupiter.
“There’s Jake Hatch.”
A short, stocky man in an expensive gray suit had come into the cafe. He wore a watch chain and vest over his ample belly. He had the kind of pale, heavy face that always looks like it needs a shave.
Hatch scowled at the gyrating band, and at the room that was still more than half empty.
“Will he recognize you?” Jupiter asked.
“Definitely,” Bob said. “He won’t know what we want with Tiburon, but Gracie’ll have told him about my visit.”
Hatch stood just inside the door. He looked sourly at the pounding band and watched a few more people trickle in as the set came to a crashing end. The Piranhas immediately abandoned their instruments and joined the girls at the front table. Tiburon circulated through the small crowd, talking and grinning. Jake Hatch lit a cigar. Then he saw Bob, and his heavy eyebrows went up. He came over to the table.
“So?” Hatch said as he sat down. “Sendler needs Tiburon and the Piranhas, eh? Get it straight: I don’t split commissions.”
“We might be interested in a La Bamba band,” Bob said. “Sax sent us to look at Tiburon. He’s looking in L.A.”
Hatch laughed nastily. “That ain’t what Gracie tells me. You got a guy that spotted Tiburon and the boys up in Oxnard a couple of nights ago. He’s hot for them.”
“But we don’t have to find Tiburon do we?” Bob grinned. “If we do, it’s a fifty-fifty split.”
Hatch’s face darkened with anger. “Someday I’m gonna run that Sendler out of town. Everyone knows he lies and cheats to get clients and gigs. You’ll go with him, kid, if you don’t wise up and get your act straight.”
“Glad to see you’re so interested in my career,” Bob said smoothly.
“Take my advice and dump Sendler,” Jake Hatch said. He puffed on his cigar. “How’d you like to make some good money right now?”
“I always like to make money.” Bob smiled.
“Tell me everything Sendler does. Who his clients are, how he lines up his bands, the works.”
“Gosh, that’d be spying, wouldn’t it, Mr. Hatch?” Bob said in mock horror.
“Everyone spies, kid.”
“Sorry, Mr. Hatch. That’s not my style.”
Hatch glared at him.
“Don’t play so honest with me. What do you call what you’re doing in here? You think I don’t know Sendler sent you here to make a deal with Tiburon behind my back.”
“Says who?” Bob smiled. “Sax doesn’t — ”
Jupiter kicked Bob under the table. They couldn’t tell Jake Hatch that Saxon Sendler didn’t know they were there. Hatch would realize that the whole story about someone wanting El Tiburon and the Piranhas was a hoax. The agent looked at them suspiciously. Just then El Tiburon appeared at the table.
“Hey, you’re talking about El Tiburon, eh?” the tall, flashy bandleader announced. “My fans, right? You love our music. You gotta have El Tiburon and the Piranhas.”
“Well — ” Bob began.
“You’re all great,” Jupiter said hastily. “Especially you. Are you El Tiburon himself?”
“You’re looking at him.” The guitarist-singer drew himself up to his full height. Close up, he had a long, proud face as smooth as pale-brown glove leather. “You want a autographed picture? Jake, give these guys a pub shot.”
Hatch looked dubiously at Jupiter, not sure what his connection to Bob was. The uncertainty was clear on his face. If Jupiter was a real fan, Hatch didn’t want to offend him. But if Jupe was only there with Bob, Hatch wouldn’t do him any favors. He played it safe by trying to pass it over and tell Tiburon about Bob at the same time.
“They’re out in the car. I’ll get one later.” He nodded at Bob. “This guy here ain’t a fan. He works — ”
“Hey, I know my fans.” Tiburon scowled. His teeth showed, making his sharp face look a lot like his namesake. “Go get a picture for my friend, okay?”
Both Bob and Jupiter thought Hatch would explode. But the talent agent only swallowed hard. He managed a smile, got up, and went out the front door.
“Could I get a picture for my cousin Ty too?” Jupiter asked after Hatch had gone.
“Sure, Jake’ll bring a couple. Your cousin’s another fan of mine?”
“Not exactly,” Jupiter said. “Ty says he knows you. He wanted me to talk to you.”
“He someone in another band? I know a lot of guys in bands.”
“No,” Jupiter said. “He’s the guy who drove your brother’s car to Rocky Beach for you. He tried to, anyway, but he couldn’t find your brother.”
El Tiburon’s smile slowly faded. Then the smile came back, but it was a different smile now. The smile of a real shark.
“Yeah, I heard about this loco Anglo, steals some hot wheels and comes around with a crazy story about I asks him to drive it to my brother. Hey, even the cops don’t buy a story like that.” He shook his head as if sad for poor, crazy Ty. “Your cousin, hey? Too bad.”
“So you don’t know about the car or Ty?” Bob said.
Tiburon laughed. “Hey, man, this cousin you got should’ve stayed up in Oxnard. I mean, I ain’t even got no brother!” And the tall bandleader walked off, laughing all the way to the bandstand.