22
THE UNHARDY BOYS
“Albert, come away from the window.”
“I can’t.”
“Albert, that’s not doing any good. You aren’t helping Herculeah by standing at the window. Come and watch TV.”
“And will that help her? My watching TV?”
His mother sighed. “I can’t do anything with you when you’re like this.”
“Then don’t try. Leave me alone.”
His mother came and stood beside him. Meat stiffened, warning her not to pat him. She didn’t. She put her hand back in her apron pocket.
“Where could he have taken her?” Meat said. “You ought to know. He’s your brother.”
“I have no idea. My own brother is a complete stranger to me. It’s probably as well we don’t watch TV. Neiman could be on the news.”
“Could they have gone back to the bookstore, do you think?”
She shook her head. “That’s where the trouble started. The gunman knows about the bookstore.”
“Do you think I should go across the street and at least tell Mrs. Jones about it?”
“They’re smart people. By now they know more about Neiman than we do.”
“Well, I’m going to go over there anyway.”
“Albert—”
“I’m going!”
Meat had been wanting to do this for hours, but he hadn’t thought of a good enough excuse.
He ran out the front door and across the street. He took the stairs to the Jones house by twos. This was the fastest Meat had ever gone up stairs in his life.
Mrs. Jones must have seen him coming, because she opened the door before he had a chance to ring the bell.
“You’ve heard something?”
Her face, pale with concern, lit up with quick hope. She put one hand over her heart.
Meat shook his head and watched her hope die. He wished he hadn’t come.
“No, no, Mrs. Jones. I’m sorry. I wish I had heard something.”
“Where are they? Where are they?”
“That’s what mom and I were talking about. That’s why I came over. Uncle Neiman has a bookstore, but Mom doesn’t think they went back there.”
“.Chico knows about that. He has a squad car driving past regularly, but there hasn’t been any sign of them. Where could they be, Meat? What kind of man is your uncle?”
“He was just a nice man who brought me books,” Meat said. “Always Hardy Boys.”
He remembered that those books always made him wish someone would write a series about the Unhardy Boys. He had considered writing the books himself, but he had never got any further than naming them Meat and Pete.
He shook off the thought. Mrs. Jones wouldn’t be interested in his mystery series when her only child was missing.
He said carefully, “I guess Uncle Neiman’s a desperate man.” She waited, knowing there was more. “I think he went to the school to get me to help him get out of town. I wasn’t there so he took Herculeah. My guess is that’s what she’s doing—helping him get away.”
“Neither of them can drive—he because of his eyes and Herculeah—well, she’s driven from here to the corner a time or two, but she’s certainly not capable of driving in traffic.”
“Have they checked the bus stations? The train stations?”
“Yes. And every policeman in the city has his picture—your mother found it for us—a description of what he was wearing and a picture of Herculeah and what she’s wearing. As soon as there’s any news, Chico’s going to call me. I’ve got to stay by the phone.”
“Will you let me know?”
“Yes.”
She closed the door in his face, and he remained on the steps for a moment, unwilling to give up this small contact with his friend.
He heard Mrs. Jones sag against the front door, as if she didn’t have the strength to get back to the phone. She asked again, “Where can they be?”