Street Spies Read Free Page B

said. "A van can't keep up. with all those bikes, running all over the places, We've got to come up with something. Radar, No, that won't work. It's only line-of-sight. Listen, Joe, maybe Mr. Chilton can come up with something. How about meeting near WWT's offices at noon?"
    "I'll be there," Joe promised, and hung up. Then, with a sense of anticipation, he dialed SpeedWay's number. If he didn't have to meet Frank until noon, he might as well do another job. This messenger stuff was great.
    At noon Joe coasted off Fifteenth Street into Stuyvesant Park, scattering a flock of gray-winged pigeons picking up crumbs from the sidewalk. On one side of the park there were a couple of red brick buildings that gave the small square the look of a New England village green. The benches were filled with people eating their lunches, reading newspapers, or taking naps in the sun.
    In front of the peg-legged bronze statue of Peter Stuyvesant, Joe saw Frank, his army surplus messenger bag at his side. The two of them bought a couple of hot dogs from a vendor and found a bench in the corner of the small park.
    "Did you get the equipment you were after?" Joe asked, wolfing his food.
    Frank nodded. "Chilton sent down some great stuff," he said. He opened his bag and handed Joe a headset with a single earphone. It looked exactly like the portable radios people wore.
    "With this," Frank said, "you can always stay tuned to your favorite station — me. With two-way communication, we can keep in touch better." He reached into his bag again and pulled out a round, palm-size metal container. "We also have a supply of miniaturized transmitters. They're perfect for this job. Each of them has a unique signal."
    "That'll tell us who we're tracking," Joe said as he turned one of the transmitters over in his hand. "But it won't tell us where."
    "That's where Chilton really shines," said Frank, grinning. "We'll be able to receive each bike's signal over a special set in the van that tracks the messengers on a computerized display." Frank's grin got a little wider. "The man promised us state of the art, and ... "
    Joe gave his brother a high-five as he finished the sentence. "And he delivers!" Joe looked closer at the small black sphere. "But how do I attach these things to the bikes? It's not like I can toss them into the backseat."
    "They're magnetized," Frank said. "You can stick them on anything metal."
    Joe nodded knowingly. "Like the metal plate under a bicycle seat."
    "Yeah. With these gadgets, one of us gets his exercise biking all over Manhattan, While the other tunes in on likely suspects."
    "Great," Joe said, putting the headset on and stuffing half a dozen small transmitters into his bag. "I need to get back to SpeedWay before I'm missed." He flashed Frank a grin. "Stay tuned - fun and games coming up."
    The ride back to SpeedWay was uneventful until the last few blocks. Just south of the Seaport a yellow taxi raced past him, its right front tire splashing through a muddy puddle. A long wave arched directly in front of Joe and he plowed right through it. He was still dripping when he arrived at the office. The chair behind Gus's desk was empty.
    Slim looked up from the corner where he was playing checkers with Wipe-Out. "Hey, Hot Dog! Taking showers on company time?"
    Joe made a face. "Anywhere I can dry off?" Slim pointed to a door beside Gus's desk.
    Washroom's in there."
    Joe ducked inside. As he reached for the paper towels on the wall, he heard Gus's voice through the flimsy plywood wall that partitioned the washroom from the storage room. It sounded as though Gus didn't want to be overheard. Joe pulled off his headset so he could hear better.
    "Look, Lightfoot," he was saying, "World-Wide says the heat's on. There's gonna be an investigation, some private eye asking questions, poking his nose into things. One wrong move and the good times will disappear."
    Lightfoot mumbled something that Joe couldn't hear. Whatever it was, it seemed to make