Street Spies Read Free Page A

"Who's she?" he asked curiously.
    "Name's Gypsy," Slim replied. "She's only been here a couple of months, but she seems to be working out okay. She's weird, though. Keeps to herself, won't talk to anybody. Word has it she's moonlighting with another messenger company. She's already made enough to buy herself a new bike, and she was flashing some big bucks around here the other day."
    Joe made a mental note to find out more about Gypsy. A new bike, big bucks — could she be making that money working for MUX? He picked up the forms he'd just filled out and took them to Gus's desk, where the dispatcher was just putting the phone down.
    He glanced up at Joe. "Okay, Hot Dog," he said, "time to earn your pay. You've got a pickup in the financial district."
    Joe took the work order Gus waved at him and headed for the front door. As he reached it, he turned back toward Slim. "Hey, thanks," he said.
    "Sure thing." Slim shrugged. "Good luck."
    Joe wheeled his bike down the front steps. "On my way to Chase Manhattan Plaza," he said out loud, hoping Frank could still hear him.
    Joe was amazed at how easy it was for somebody on a bike — somebody who was willing to take chances—to cut through New York City traffic.
    At the first intersection, he wanted to dismount and cross with the light, but he could see the cross-street traffic was snarled up so he rode - across it without stopping. When the columns of bumper-to-bumper traffic traveling beside him ground to a stop, he threaded his way between two rows of cars all the way to the next light. He got a jump on the light, turned left on Water Street, and was off at the head of the column, pedaling south.
    Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the Hardys' black van swinging into the lane behind him. Good, he thought to himself. Frank was on his way, so the radio must still be working.
    "Hey, Frank, can you hear me?" he said. "If you can, give me a beep." A second later he was rewarded with the familiar sound of the van's horn honking amid all the other traffic noise. "So far, so good." Joe pedaled harder.
    At the next corner Joe dodged between the lines of stalled traffic, slipping into the intersection as the light turned green. With a burst of energy, he rapidly pulled away from the lumbering buses and delivery trucks, pushing himself to top speed. But the van was stuck behind a bus.
    Joe had driven in New York traffic often, but never on a bike. In the van he never got the feel of the traffic the way he did on the bike — and he didn't have the freedom, either. Joe felt wonderful that he was moving faster than anything around him. It was hard for him to remember that he was on a job, and that there could be real danger involved. This was fun—and he was getting paid for it, too!
    In less time than he thought possible, Joe was locking his bike to a parking meter outside a sixty-five-story, glass-and-steel building. He didn't see a sign of Frank. He grinned, picturing his brother still stuck behind that bus. He rode the express elevator to his pickup on the thirty-eighth floor, where a smiling secretary handed him a brown envelope. Then back down the elevator, into the plaza,' and onto his bike.
    "I'm headed for West Broadway and Chambers," he said out loud for Frank's benefit, and pedaled off again. After he delivered the envelope, he stopped at a pay phone in a drugstore and dialed the number of the mobile phone in the van.
    "Yeah, what is it?" Frank said. Joe could hear the frustration in his voice.
    "It's me," Joe said. "How's the radio working? You picking me up okay?"
    "No, I lost you when I got stuck in traffic. Too many buildings between us. Also, I don't think I'll be able to hear a thing when you go inside."
    "We have two other problems," Joe said. "We need two-way communication. The guy in the car« needs to be able to contact the guy on the bike" And we've got to figure out a way to track other bikes without actually following them."
    "Right," Frank