Motocross Madness (10 page)

Paco dropped by, and the boys talked to him for a while, turning the
conversation away from the mysterious goings-on to more casual subjects. As start time
approached, the racers made their final preparations.

The Hayday sisters helped out Marissa. Jules Kendallson stopped by to lend
Sylvia Short a hand. Paco had some of his local crew with him. Richard Navarro showed up
to help his daughter, Elizabeth. And the Hardys assisted each other and Jamal.

Finally, they all took their starting positions on the well-worn dirt
track.

With the sounds of the Klaxon, they shot off the line in a roar of engines
and a cloud of dust. Elizabeth Navarro took an early lead, but Marissa Hay-day soon
passed her. The Hardys paced the leaders for a while. Then Jamal pulled ahead of his
friends, and challenged Sylvia.

The two of them dueled atop the berms for a lap, chasing each other over
the whoopdedoos and down the muddy slopes. The Hardys nearly caught up, but—even
on a borrowed motorbike—Jamal had too much practice for them.

He passed Marissa and led the race for two laps. Then Amber Hawk made her
move. She barreled past Jamal on the inside of a hairpin turn, then beat him over the
top of the next whoopdedoo. The cloud of dust from her back wheel blinded Jamal
momentarily, and Paco Fernandez passed him, too.

Justin Davies took a bad spill in the middle of the race and had to be
carried away from the track on a stretcher. The hay bales piled by the side of the
course saved him from serious injury.

Frank shot Joe a questioning look as they passed the scene of the crash.
No one had been near Davies when he went down, and it seemed unlikely that anyone had
interfered with him. The brothers were having no luck catching the leaders. “Face
it,” Joe called to Frank as they raced side by side on the course's longest
straightaway, “we're just outclassed in this event.”

“Keep at it!” Frank radioed back encouragingly. “Like
Jamal said earlier, you can never tell when things might turn your way.”

The teens ended up crossing the finish line in the middle of the pack,
along with Elizabeth and Taylor Fohr. They were well ahead of Sylvia Short. Amber Hawk
finished first, barely edging out Paco. Marissa came in behind the top two, with Jamal
placing fourth.

“I'd have done better if I'd been on my own bike,”
he told the Hardys afterward. “On the other hand, I guess I should be happy to
just be here.” He smiled genuinely.

“Let's pick up the final placement sheet and see where we
stand,” Joe said. “I'm anxious to check my handicap for the
Enduro.”

“Me too,” Frank agreed. “The
woodlands should be kinder to Joe and me than this dirt track has been. Maybe we can
make up for some lost time.”

“After we do that,” Jamal said, “we should get to
modifying our bikes for tomorrow. The race starts at 8
A.M
. That doesn't leave us a lot of time in the morning to get
ready.”

They picked up the sheet from the Officials' Pavilion, then decided
to stop by the office.

“I want to thank Pops for letting me continue in the race,”
Jamal explained.

The three friends headed over to the old trailer on the east side of the
property that served as the track's office. As they approached, they heard the
sound of loud conversation drifting from the open window.

“I can't believe it!” a voice said. “You know what
this means? If it's true, it could be the end of the benefit! It might be the end
of the track, too,” the voice continued. “This could ruin
everything
for us.”

“That sounds like Pops,” Jamal whispered to his friends,
listening to the conversation inside the main office. The Hardys nodded in
agreement.

“Who do you think he's talking to?” Joe asked.

“I can't hear anyone else,” Frank said. “Maybe
he's on the phone.”

“Should we listen in?” Jamal asked.

“I think we've heard enough,” Joe said. He strode
forward, knocked briefly, then hurried inside the trailer.

“I'll have to talk to you later,” Pops said into the
receiver, then hung up the phone.

“We couldn't help but overhear,” Joe said as Frank and
Jamal followed him inside. “What's going on?”

“Nothing to concern you, boys,” Pops
replied. “Just some track business.”

“If it's about closing down the race, then I think it
is
our concern,” Jamal said.

“Is this related to the other problems with the track?” Frank
asked. “The attempted burglary in your office, the explosion of Henderson's
motorcycle, the near-theft of the gate receipts, the impersonation of Jamal? These
things look pretty suspicious when you put them all together.”

“Really, boys, it's nothing,” Pops replied. But his
brave face was slipping.

“Something
's happening here,”
Joe pressed, “and it's putting both the competition and the competitors in
danger. Who were you talking to on the phone? Why might it mean the end of the benefit?
Mr. Fernandez, please tell us what's going on.”

“Maybe we can help,” Jamal added. “We don't want
any trouble for Corrine, or your family.”

Pops leaned against his desk and let out a long, low sigh. “Please
don't go to the media with any of this,” he said. “It really could be
our ruin.”

“We won't,” Frank said. “And we'll try to
keep the police out of it too.”

“I was talking to Bob Ingersoll, my lawyer,” Pops said.
“He's just informed me that one of our sponsors is a dud. He doesn't
have the money he's pretending to have.”

“Who?” Joe asked.

“Asa Goldberg,” Pops said.
“He's as phony as that slight Texas accent of his. Goldberg's import
company is deeply in debt. He's hoping publicity from this race series will boost
his sales. That way, he can pay off his creditors, and keep his promise to us. If his
sales don't rise, though . . .”

“Then he defaults on his part of the sponsorship package,”
Frank said, finishing the thought.

“Goldberg mentioned gambling to us,” Joe said thoughtfully.
“I wonder if that's how he got into debt.”

“It doesn't matter,” Pops said. He plopped heavily into
a seat behind his paper-covered desk. “There's nothing we can do about it
now. Without Goldberg coming through, we could end up deeper in debt than ever. We can
only soldier on and hope that Goldberg's scheme works out. I'm not even sure
that what he's doing is
illegal
—even if it is
unethical. If the media learned about it, though, they'd shift their attention
from the benefit to the scandal, and then . . .” He leaned his
elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands.

“Don't worry, Mr. Fernandez,” Joe said, “we
won't breathe a word of it to the media.”

“I'm sorry that we barged in too,” Frank continued.
“We'd really only come to thank you for letting Jamal finish the race on his
borrowed motorcycle.”

“Don't thank me,” Pops said wearily. “It was the
decision of the rules committee. They're not
associated with
the race, and are only here to make sure the outcome is fair.”

“Well, I'm sure you made a recommendation to them,”
Jamal said.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Pops replied.

“So, thanks,” Jamal concluded.

“You're welcome, Jamal,” Pops said.

“Don't worry, Mr. Fernandez,” Joe said.
“We'll help you figure out who's behind this trouble. We've
solved cases like this before.”

Pops thanked the boys, then stood and said good-bye. The Hardys and their
friend returned to their garage bay.

“If Goldberg has gambling debts, he might be willing to do anything
to pay them off,” Joe said as they readied their bikes for tomorrow's
Enduro.

“Whatever he owes money for,” Frank said, “it's
clear he benefits from added publicity at the race.”

“Good publicity, or bad,” Jamal added. “Like spectacular
crashes, and robberies—”

“And the impersonation of one of the racers,” Joe
concluded.

“There's a lot going on here,” Frank said, “We may
not be able to sort it out right now, but before the race is over, we'll get to
the bottom of this.”

   •   •   •

Tensions were already running high at the track by the time the Hardys
and Jamal showed up the next
morning for the final phase of the
competition: the Enduro.

Riders and their teams busily prepared for the race, jacking up their
bikes' suspensions, swapping out tires, and trying to optimize their engine
performance for the cross-country leg of the challenge.

The Enduro would be hours long—by far the longest race of the
benefit. The competitors would start at the dirt course, enter the woodland area to the
north of the Fernandez compound, then run a circuitous route overland before ending up
back at the raceway.

While the trails of the course were known to some of the local racers, the
exact route had been kept secret during the previous two days of the race. Before the
race, officials delivered a map of the course to the Hardys and the other riders.

“It looks like they've got big Day-Glo orange tags marking the
course trail,” Frank said.

“We've ridden through those woods before,” Joe said.
“That should give us an advantage.”

“This will still be the toughest part of the race,” Jamal told
them. “The staggered start will make it tricky to catch up to the
leaders.”

“Harder for us than for you,” Joe said. “You have an
earlier start than we do, because you did better on the first two days.”

“But we'll still have a chance to catch
you once we get going,” Frank said.

Jamal nodded. “The race is designed to give everyone a
chance.”

“That probably burns Amber Hawk up,” Joe said. “She
toasted the rest of us during the first two days of competition.”

“Only because Ed Henderson was out of the race,” Frank noted.
“He'd have given her a run for her money if he hadn't gotten
hurt.”

“So, Hawk and Goldberg have benefited from the race's troubles
so far,” Jamal said. “Any more suspects?”

“Justin Davies had a grudge against you, but he's out of the
picture,” Frank said.

“There are still the folks that want that O'Sullivan
SD5,” Joe reminded them. “Trent Howard wants it badly enough to loan Jamal a
replacement cycle. Someone else could be making a play for it too.”

“Do you really think the bike could be what all this is
about?” Jamal asked. “Even with the parts from Garth Metzger's garage,
it's not worth that much. Mr. Howard told us that himself.”

“I hope we can figure this out before anyone else gets hurt,”
Frank said. “Let's prep our bikes. Then we can scout our
competition.”

Joe chuckled. “And by ‘competition,' my brother means
suspects.”

The other riders kept mostly to themselves as
they
prepared for the race. Amber Hawk closed the doors to her private bay as she readied her
motorcycle. The Hayday sisters worked animatedly on Marissa's bike. Richard
Navarro showed up to help his daughter, Elizabeth, again. He was covered in grease and
holding a wrench in his hand when the brothers walked by the Navarro bay. Taylor Fohr
shared that space, but he wasn't talking to his garage-mates.

“You know, it'd be so much easier if villains wore symbols to
make them stand out,” Joe mused.

“You mean something like a skull-and-crossbones?” Frank asked,
glancing at Elizabeth's helmet.

“Yeah. Like that. Of course, her yellow and white uniform detracts
from the overall menacing effect.” The younger Hardy smiled.

“So does her new motorcycle,” Frank said. “If
you're going to be a racing pirate, you really need a beat-up old bike.”

“Like that one with the kick-starter that the prowler had,”
Joe concluded.

The brothers found Paco Fernandez near the race office, talking to Jules
Kendallson. The two shook hands, though Paco looked somewhat disappointed. Kendallson
wasn't dressed for riding. He was wearing cutoffs and a T-shirt. A new white
bandage was wound around his forehead and another around his right knee.

“What's wrong?” Joe asked Paco.

“Jules and Sylvia are dropping out of the
race,” Paco said glumly. “We hate to see them go, especially at this late
stage.”

Frank frowned. “Why are you leaving, Jules?” he asked.

“Sylvia and I were out partying last night,” Kendallson said.
“We had a little wipeout, and got banged up.” He pointed to the bandage on
his head. “So Sylvia and I are taking the day off. We hate missing out on the
prizes, but . . . well, we aren't in the top rankings
anyway.”

“What about your pledges?” Joe asked.

Kendallson scratched his head. “They'll come through,”
he said. “Hey, Paco, again, tell the rest of the family we're sorry.”
He turned and headed for the main gate.

Paco shook his head. “With Henderson and Davies out, and now these
two plus a few more, the field is looking kind of thin. I just hope our sponsors
don't see it that way.”

“The top racers are still in the hunt, though,” Frank said.
“And you're one of them, aren't you?”

“I'm right behind Hawk,” Paco replied. He forced a
smile. “We're counting on everyone left to make this a really great and
exciting race.”

“No problem,” Joe said.

Paco gazed toward the track. “You'd better get to your
bikes—it's almost start time.”