Текст книги "Murder To Go"

Автор книги: Megan Stine

Соавторы: William H. Stine
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

13
A (Brief) Case for Murder

The car hit the ground with a shattering crash. Fortunately the Three Investigators had dodged just in time. They crouched behind a stack of wrecked cars, watching the empty electromagnet swing freely in space. All by itself, the magnet was big enough and heavy enough to knock a person dead. And it was obvious that whoever was in the operator’s booth wouldn’t mind that kind of “accident” one bit.

When the giant magnet stopped swinging, Pete peeked out from his hiding place to see who was in the crane’s cab.

“I should have known,” he whispered to his buddies. “It’s Mr. Sweetness.”

All three Investigators came out from behind the stack of cars. They saw a tall man in army camouflage fatigues climbing out of the cab of the crane. He jumped down and gave Dick Miller a chop to the back of the neck to keep him from getting up.

“He’s coming this way,” Pete said, motioning to his friends to back away. The three of them ducked around to the other side of the car pile, trying to stay out of sight.

“He probably wants to get into Juliet’s car – just like we do,” Jupe said.

Suddenly they heard a bottle break followed by a sharp crackling sound. Pete didn’t look out again until he smelled the smoke. When he looked, he saw Mr. Sweetness tossing a second Molotov cocktail into Juliet’s car.

“He’s destroying the evidence!” Pete said frantically.

“So that’s it,” Jupe said. “He doesn’t want what’s in the car. He just wants to make sure we don’t get it!”

“If there’s still gas in the tank, that car will go off like a skyrocket!” Pete said.

As soon as the flames took hold, Mr. Sweetness ran for his Porsche at the entrance of the junkyard. Pete started to follow, but Bob and Jupe held him back.

“Never mind him,” Bob said, grabbing Pete’s arm forcefully. “We’ve got to get into that trunk!”

“Quick, before Juliet’s car burns up!” Jupe added.

“Explodes, you mean!” Bob said.

Pete took one look at Juliet’s flaming car and flew into action. He raced around the junkyard, looking in open car trunks and digging through piles. Finally he found what he needed – an old crowbar. Then he rushed to Juliet’s bombed-out Mustang. The flames had already eaten away most of the interior and were working their way toward the back – where the gas tank was.

Sweat flew off Pete’s forehead as he applied the crowbar to the trunk, all the while keeping an eye on the flames. Finally the trunk lid gave up and sprang open.

“Got it!” Pete called triumphantly as he reached inside and pulled out a soft brown leather briefcase. He waved it in the air for Jupe and Bob to see. “Let’s get out of here before this thing blows!” he cried.

Jupe smiled. “Being very familiar with the rules and regulations of junkyards, I know for a fact that gas tanks of wrecked cars are drained,” he said to Bob. “The car’s not going to blow up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Pete asked, giving Jupe an exasperated glare.

“I knew by the time I’d convinced you it was really safe, the car would have burned up,” Jupe said. “You work better when your raw instincts take over.”

“Thanks a lot.” Pete groaned.

After calling an ambulance, Jupe, Bob, and Pete hung around to make certain that Dick Miller was going to be all right.

“I always heard you guys were detectives,” Dick Miller said. “But I didn’t know you investigated bombers and stuff like that.”

“It’s not always this rough,” Jupe said with an apologetic smile.

Then they hurried to Big Barney’s mansion, where Juliet and Kelly were waiting for them. Big Barney himself was out and not expected home until late.

“Did you find anything?” the two anxious girls said at once as they opened the front door.

Jupe merely held up the briefcase as evidence of the morning’s adventure.

Juliet smiled and led the way into the living room, where Jupe laid the briefcase down on the glass coffee table. Eagerly she unzipped the front compartment and pulled out her blue morocco-leather appointment book. She turned to the page that listed her plans for that fateful Friday – the day of her accident, the day that was so blank in her memory.

“Here it is,” she said, breathing quickly.

She stared at the page for a minute and then shook her head. “All it says for the whole day is R&D.”

“That’s Research and Development, Pandro Mishkin’s department, isn’t it?” Jupe said. “Why would you have been meeting with him?”

“I was spending a whole day in each department, to learn the business,” Juliet said. “But I don’t remember anything more.”

“Maybe you will when you see what else is inside the briefcase,” Jupe urged.

Juliet opened the back leather flap and found a three-ring binder with about two hundred xeroxed pages in it. She took it out and flipped through the pages for a few minutes, then dropped it and shrugged. “I don’t recognize this material,” she said. It was clear that she had been counting on getting her memory of the accident back when the briefcase was found. She was terribly disappointed.

“Do you mind if I have a look?” Jupe said. He picked up the notebook. Pandro Mishkin’s name was stamped on the first page. Quickly Jupe scanned the report.

After reading silently for a few minutes, Jupe looked up and addressed the room.

“I believe I can now reconstruct much of what must have happened two Fridays ago, the night of Juliet’s accident,” he began. “This is Pandro Mishkin’s copy of a report about a food additive called Multisorbitane. It was invented by Don Dellasandro several years ago. In the summary it says that Multisorbitane, as a food enhancer, makes foods taste remarkably better and more intense – but there’s a catch. It makes food so good, in fact, it’s nearly addicting.”

“Is that the catch?” Bob asked.

“Surprisingly, it isn’t,” Jupe said. “The FDA – the Federal Food and Drug Administration – tested Multisorbitane, as it must test all new drugs and products of this nature. But it denied Don Dellasandro permission to market Multisorbitane because it found strong evidence that it might be a carcinogen.”

“A what?” asked Pete.

“It could cause cancer,” Bob explained.

Jupe cleared his throat and continued. “We know that you met with Pandro Mishkin on the Friday of your accident. And we know that you have his copy of this incriminating report in your possession. Now we move from what we know,” he said, tapping the report, “to what we think we know. I suspect that you discovered this report, perhaps by accident, sometime during your visit to Mishkin’s office. Considering the time of your accident, I’d say it was late in the day when you found it. And when you did, I think it upset you quite a bit,” Jupe said.

Jupe was pacing now, going into high gear. “I think it upset you so much that you took it from Pandro Mishkin’s office and fled. He probably chased you to get it back. And when you left the Chicken Coop Corp. building in your car, I think that Pandro Mishkin followed you. In short, I believe it was he who was driving the car that left the second set of tracks at the scene of your accident.”

“Time out,” Pete said. “Why did this report upset Juliet so much?”

“Yes, that is the key question, isn’t it?” Jupe said, smiling knowingly. “It upset her because she knew, or suspected, as I do, that Multisorbitane is a key ingredient in a delicious new product called Drippin Chicken!”

Jupe let them all digest that idea for a moment and then he began again. “You discovered the horrible fact that someone—maybe Pandro, maybe Dellasandro, maybe even your father – was knowingly and quite cold-bloodedly putting this poison into Drippin’ Chicken., Of course the effects of the Multisorbitane wouldn’t show up for years. But slowly, over a period of time, millions of people who had regularly eaten this carcinogen would begin to get cancer. No one would realize the danger until it was too late.”

Juliet’s mouth was trembling. “My father wouldn’t do something like that!” she cried out.

“We can’t really know that – unless you can help us prove it,” Jupe said without missing a beat.

It was clear to everyone that his mind, as usual, was working well ahead of the conversation.

“What kind of scheme do you have in mind, Jupe?” Bob asked.

“It’s simple,” Jupe said. “We’ve got to find out if Big Barney knows about the Multisorbitane in the Drippin’ Chicken recipe. Any idea how we can do that?”

“I know how,” said Juliet. “My father keeps the recipes for his products in a safe in his office.”

Jupe snapped his fingers. “I was hoping he did. Can you get it for us?”

“I don’t know the combination of the safe,” she replied. “Only Big Barney knows it.”

“Well, that’s no good,” Jupe said. “We have to get the recipe without Big Barney knowing it. He can’t suspect what we’re doing.”

Juliet suddenly smiled. “How about Dad’s secretary?” Juliet asked. “She probably knows more about him than he does. She might know the combination.”

“Let’s go,” Pete said.

“No. I want to go by myself,” said Juliet. “I’m not even sure I should be doing this. Dad’s recipes are top secret – you’ll have to promise. ”

“Of course, of course,” Jupe said. “Now, when do you think we can expect you?”

“A couple of hours,” said Juliet.

Two hours came and went. The Three Investigators and Kelly spent the time doing what Juliet had suggested. Eat her food, watch her TV, relax. The third one was too difficult for Jupiter.

Another hour passed.

Finally the door opened and Juliet came in, carrying a piece of paper and giving everyone a large smile.

“I’ve got the recipe,” she whispered, looking around to be sure her father wasn’t home. “There’s no mention of Multisorbitane in Drippin’ Chicken’s ingredients. See? My dad isn’t some kind of crazed killer.”

Jupe grabbed the paper quickly and started reading it.

“Looks like our case is going down the tubes,” Pete said.

Jupe folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Then he looked at Juliet. “If no one is poisoning the chicken, then why did you say so in your sleep? And why was it so important to you to find your briefcase? And why was this report about Multisorbitane, with Pandro Mishkin’s stamp, in your possession?”

“I don’t know,” said Juliet.

“We don’t know either,” Jupe said solemnly. “But there are a few things we do know. For one, our list of suspects is shrinking rapidly. Your father seems to be out. Michael Argenti is out, because we have nothing to connect him with Multisorbitane or with this report from Pandro Mishkin. Pandro himself is a question mark. He could be innocent, he could be involved. But the suspect I’m most interested in is the person who didn’t want us to find this report. the person who sent Mr. Sweetness to scare us off. the person who invented Drippin’ Chicken in the first place. Don Dellasandro!”

“What now?” Kelly asked. “Call the police?”

“No. We need proof,” Jupe said. “We’ve got to get into Miracle Tastes and find out exactly what Don Dellasandro is hiding.”

“Jupe, the place is a Class A security nightmare,” Pete warned.

“Okay, then we’ll have to go in there late tonight,” said Jupe, “when the guards are half asleep.”

“You’d better make that early tonight,” Juliet said. “My dad’s secretary reminded me of something else I forgot. There’s a big press party planned for this evening. Big Barney is going to introduce Drippin’ Chicken to the world! Everyone will be eating the stuff,”

“Oh, no!” Kelly exclaimed.

Remembering Big Barney’s own words, Jupe said, “The American people won’t know what hit them!”

14
The Secret Ingredient

At 5:00 p.m. the investigators were sitting in Bob’s car, parked inconspicuously across the road from the Miracle Tastes office and warehouse building in Long Beach. They had stopped first at home to change into black jeans and black T-shirts. Jupe also brought with him a small, mysterious black leather case, which he held carefully on his lap. It was something Pete and Bob had never seen before.

“As soon as Dellasandro leaves, we make our move,” Jupe said, cradling the black box.

“How do we know he’s in there?” Bob asked.

“His car is there,” Pete said. “I recognize it.”

“When did you see it?” Bob asked, surprised.

“After the taping of Big Barney’s new commercial. I followed Big Barney, remember?” Pete said. “And he came here, to Miracle Tastes.”

Little by little, the parking lot at Miracle Tastes emptied out. But it wasn’t until 6:00 p.m. that Don Dellasandro’s gray Cadillac Allante rolled out and headed up the road toward L.A.

“He’s probably going to Big Barney’s press party,” Pete said.

They got out of the car and ran across the nearly empty Miracle Tastes parking lot. When they reached the entrance, Bob kept watch as Pete and Jupe examined the door.

“Will you look at that security system?” Pete moaned.

All six of their eyes focused on a small electronic panel with a lighted keypad. It was located on the chrome wall beside the glass doorway. Just inside the door was a security guard’s station, but no one was there.

“He’s probably still making rounds,” Bob concluded. “Let’s make this snappy.”

From the look of the keypad, the Three Investigators decided that it worked something like their own security system at Headquarters. A special combination had to be entered on the keypad before the door would open. But who knew what would happen if the wrong codes were entered?

Jupe unzipped his small black leather case. “Luckily for us, I’ve been constructing an electronic lock combination decoder for weeks,” Jupe said. “Once I connect the decoder to the keypad, my device will read the combination. I’ve tried it at Headquarters and it works.”

Jupe quickly unscrewed the cover plate to the keypad and attached the decoder’s two alligator clips to two special wires in the security system. His heart was pounding. He flipped a switch, and after some beeps and flashes the decoder gave Jupe a combination of numbers.

“Okay, let’s try it,” Pete said, moving toward the door.

But Jupe grabbed Pete’s shoulder. “Wait! Something’s wrong.” Jupe nervously fiddled with the black decoder.

“I’ll say it is,” Bob agreed when he looked at Jupe’s device. “It’s giving you the wrong combination. That’s the combination of our security system at Headquarters!”

Jupe flushed red with embarrassment. “There must be a flaw in the capacitor. or the impedance could be incorrectly calculated. ahh, I’m sorry, guys.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bob said. “Just put that thing away – quick! Here comes the guard.”

Jupe stuffed the decoder in his shirt and the three of them tried to look casual as the security guard approached the front desk. Before he got there, Bob reached up and rang the night bell.

The guard opened the door only a crack, eyeing them up and down. “What can I do for you?” he asked cautiously.

Jupe was determined to make up for his failure with the lock decoder.

“Three Guys in Black T-Shirts Messenger Service,” Jupe said. “We’re supposed to pick up something in Mr. Dellasandro’s office. He said it was a matter of life and death.”

“It takes three guys to pick up a package?” asked the guard suspiciously.

“Well, I’ve got the job,” Jupe said.

“But I own the car,” added Bob.

“And I have a road map,” said Pete.

“I thought the Three Stooges were dead,” muttered the guard. He opened the door and let them in. “Get your package and get out of here.” He motioned impatiently toward a hall.

The Three Investigators followed the guard’s directions, taking the carpeted hallway to the left, which led to offices, rather than the concrete hallway to the right.

At the end of the hallway they came to a large walnut door marked executive suite.

Don Dellasandro’s office was spacious, with ceiling-to-floor windows on two sides. It smelled of fresh-cut flowers, even though there wasn’t a single bloom in the room. The central feature of the room was a large rosewood desk with a built-in telephone and computer. There was also Nautilus exercise equipment in one corner. All over the walls were mementos and awards from Dellasandro’s past flavoring achievements. Labels from candy bars, salad dressings, babies’ rubber pacifiers, frozen mixed eggplant and zucchini, and more were framed and displayed.

The awards didn’t impress Jupiter, but the thoroughness of Don Dellasandro’s filing system did.

“What are we looking for?” Pete asked, going through Dellasandro’s king-size executive desk.

“A jar of Multisorbitane would be helpful,” Jupe said, opening another file cabinet. “But I’ll settle for any evidence that Don Dellasandro has tampered with the ingredients of Drippin’ Chicken.” Jupe’s fingers flipped through one file folder after another.

“He has a computer terminal in his executive washroom,” Bob said from the bathroom, trying a splash of one of Dellasandro’s expensive men’s colognes. He reappeared in the room. “Does it make me smell like a million?”

“A million what?” Pete asked.

“Brominated pseudo phosphates!” Jupe exclaimed.

“Watch your language, Jupe,” Bob said. “Pete’s at an impressionable age.”

“Brominated pseudo phosphates is one of the ingredients in Drippin’ Chicken,” Jupe said. “At least, according to the recipe Juliet got for us.”

“It sounds more like something Pete put in my car engine last week,” Bob said.

Jupe slammed the file cabinet closed. “But I have just gone through two years’ worth of purchase orders, invoices, and inventory lists. There’s no evidence that Miracle Tastes has purchased or manufactured any of that ingredient! We’ve got to get into the warehouse immediately.”

They ran back down the carpeted hall and found the same security guard, dozing at the front desk. He woke up with a start. “Get your package?” he asked.

Pete and Bob looked to Jupe to supply an answer.

“No,” Jupe said. “He said it would be right here in the warehouse office, but it wasn’t.”

“Warehouse office?” sputtered the guard. “That isn’t the warehouse! Does this look like a warehouse? Don’t any of you boys have any common sense?”

“The fourth guy has common sense,” Bob said. “But he didn’t want to come tonight.”

“Go down that concrete hallway. Walk through three red doors. That’s the warehouse,” said the guard. “Do you know what a door looks like?”

“He does,” Pete said, pointing to Jupe.

Down the hall, through three red doors, the Investigators found themselves catching their breath in a cavernous room filled with pyramids of sealed drums full of chemicals.

“Spread out and check every label,” Jupe said.

“What time is it?” Bob called.

“Almost seven.”

“Don’t forget the press party starts at nine,” Bob reminded them. “We’ve got to hurry.”

Pete and Bob wandered separately up and down the aisles, surrounded by drums of powdered acids.

“Hey, guys, over here!” Bob suddenly called.

Pete and Jupe worked their way through the maze of barrels to reach Bob. Their shoes squeaked on the clean, painted concrete floor. They found Bob standing in front of a stack of barrels. Each one was marked in big letters – BROMINATED PSEUDO PHOSPHATES.

“Here’s what you’re looking for, Jupe,” Bob said. “But what does it prove?”

Jupiter examined the barrels carefully. “Look at the received dates on the barrels,” Jupe said.

“They came in a couple of months ago,” Pete said.

“How could they?” asked Jupe. “I just went through his invoices. They clearly indicate that in the last two years he hasn’t ordered or stocked a single pound, a single ounce of brominated pseudo phosphates. Let’s get a sample out of these drums. I’d like to know what’s really in them.”

“Bottom line? I think you can guess the answer to that question,” said a voice behind them.

The Investigators whirled around. Don Dellasandro stood behind them. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to interface like this,” he said. “I was hoping that you’d drop the ball on this investigation, but instead you’re impacting on me – negatively.”

The guys froze in fear.

“I’m sorry,” Don Dellasandro said, drawing a gun from his pocket. He aimed the gun at the Investigators, at about heart level. “You guys are expendable. I’ve got to waste you.”

15
A Taste of Fear

Holding his gun on the detectives, Don Dellasandro quickly looked at his watch. “Okay, there’s a little time before Big Barney’s party at the Beverly Hilton.” He reached into his other jacket pocket.

What now? thought Jupe.

Slowly Dellasandro pulled his hand out of his jacket, but he kept the hand closed. “We can network for a few minutes,” he said. “Want to do some market research before you go belly up?”

“What do you mean?” asked Jupe, staring hard at Dellasandro’s fist.

He opened his hand. He had more wrapped candies. “Try one,” he said.

“It’s poison, Jupe,” Pete warned.

“Would I poison someone with taste buds like his? It’s a shame I have to kill you, pal.”

Jupe looked at Dellasandro, then at the gun, then at the candy, then at the clock on the wall. What good would it do to stall? The police weren’t on their way. No one was coming to rescue them.

“I’d really value your input,” Dellasandro said. “Unless you’re in a big hurry to die. Tell me what you taste. Are my flavors on target?”

“Okay,” Jupe said reluctantly. “I’ll try it. But it’s going to cost you.”

“Everything has a price,” Dellasandro said. “I used to think being a scientist was a noble profession. But without marketing skills it’s just bottle pouring or germ breeding. Today if you can’t tune into your channels, what good are you?”

“You can always get hooked up to cable,” Bob said.

“Watch it!” Dellasandro said, suddenly wheeling toward Bob in anger. “I hate people who treat business like a joke! You’re lucky your friend here is such a genius in the taste bud department, or you’d already be dead meat.” He took two deep breaths to calm himself down and then added, “Dead meat is one of my best flavors, by the way.”

Jupe held very still, as it dawned on him that Dellasandro was more than a little unhinged. Maybe he’d ingested too much Multisorbitane over the years.

“I’ll try a piece of candy,” Jupe said calmly. “But only on one condition. You’ve got to answer a question.”

Dellasandro nodded and handed Jupe the candy. Jupe popped it into his mouth.

“Three tastes,” Jupe said. “Lemon—real lemon essence, not imitation– meringue, and graham cracker crust. It’s lemon meringue pie.”

“Phenomenal,” Dellasandro said.

“Now my turn,” Jupe said. “This is Multisorbitane in these drums, the ones marked ‘brominated pseudo phosphates,’ isn’t it?”

“It is,” Dellasandro said. “So what?”

“So what are you planning to use it for? I’m quite sure you know that it’s an unacceptable food additive as far as the FDA is concerned.”

“You want to ask another question? First you eat another candy. Pick one,” Dellasandro said with a devilish grin. He held out his hand for Jupe to choose.

“Don’t do it, Jupe. It’s a trick,” Pete said.

Jupe didn’t really think the candy was poison, but he did think it might have Multisorbitane in it. Nonetheless, he had no choice. He wanted a confession from Dellasandro, and he wanted more time. He took a foil-wrapped candy from Dellasandro and tasted it.

“Cherry Jell-O with banana floaters and whipped cream,” Jupe said, chomping down on the sample bonbon. “I’ve answered your question. Now answer mine. What are you going to do with these drums of Multisorbitane?”

Dellasandro took his time about answering. Finally he said, “Okay. I’ll tell you – since we all know you won’t be alive long enough to repeat it. Let me background a little. About a year ago, Big Barney Coop came to me. He wanted to collaborate on a new product, something no one had seen, tasted, or dreamed before – especially not Michael Argenti. He said he’d divide the profits with me and we were talking a dollar sign and then zeros off the page. But there were two conditions. One: the gravy had to be in the chicken. Two: it had to be sensationally delicious.”

“Did Big Barney say to make it deadly?” Bob asked.

“You shut up!” Dellasandro shouted at Bob. More deep-breathing exercises. Then he was calm again. “Getting the gravy into the chicken turned out to be easy,” Dellasandro continued. “Freeze-dried gravy injected as powder into the chicken fillets. When the chicken is fried at the restaurant, the gravy reconstitutes itself. The second puzzle was harder. How to irresistibilize the product. I tried every flavor, flavor savor, flavor enhancer, flavor duplicator I could think of for the gravy. They were good, but they weren’t perfect.”

“So you used Multisorbitane?” Jupe asked.

Dellasandro handed Jupe a third piece of candy. “Time was running out,” he said, checking his watch. “I couldn’t think of anything else to put in the gravy. My reputation and all those zeros after the dollar sign were at risk.” Then Dellasandro noticed that Jupe wasn’t eating the third candy. “What’s the matter – are you full?”

“I’m saving it for dessert,” Jupe said.

“Jupe, just remember he put a carcinogen into Drippin’ Chicken,” Bob warned.

“The cancer won’t impact on people for ten or twenty years,” Dellasandro said. “That’s a long time. No one will know. Big Barney won’t know because I’m on the supply side of the gravy powder for his food processors. They’ll send the prepared chicken to the restaurants, who interface with the customers directly. Everybody’s happy, which is, after all, the highest goal of our civilisation today.”

Jupe looked at the clock on the wall again. It was almost eight, and he was almost out of ideas. His first analysis had been right: there was no point in stalling. Still, the impulse to buy more time was a hard one to ignore.

“I have one more question, if you’ll allow me,” Jupe said. “What made you come back here tonight?”

“I pay my security team well,” Dellasandro replied. “The guard networked with me on my car phone as soon as you guys showed up.” He looked at the last candy, which was still in Jupe’s hand. “Eat your dessert, pal, because the bottom line is, your quality time is up.”

Jupe unwrapped the candy. This one was different. It was hard and heavy in his hand. “Mr. Sweetness works for you, doesn’t he?” said Jupe. “The guy in the army jacket.”

“Mr. Sweetness?” Dellasandro laughed. “Highly original. Yeah, Vinnie’s my next-door neighbor. Got a pink slip from the marines, I understand. They seemed to think he was too vicious to be a real team player. The moment Juliet mentioned at Big Barney’s party that you were detectives, I strategized that Vinnie could help me scare you guys off. I told him to do whatever he had to do. First he tapped your phone.”

“So that’s how he knew we ordered Chinese food,” Jupe realized.

“Yeah, he took the ball and ran with it. I was very impressed with his creativity. But somehow you kept getting away from him.” Dellasandro waved his gun toward Jupe’s mouth. “Eat the candy,” he said.

“Don’t do it, Jupe,” Pete warned.

Jupe slowly put the candy into his mouth. After a moment, he said, “Caramel.”

“Just wait,” said Don Dellasandro, smiling.

Jupe chewed some more and then said, “Oh, very clever. It’s caramel apple. Now I can taste the apple.”

“Mr. Sweetness – that’s what I’ll call that flavor,” Dellasandro said. “I’ll flash on you every time someone says it.”

“You’re a brilliant scientist, a clever marketing man, but a terrible killer,” said Jupe.

“In this new age we can’t always do what we like, but we have to do what’s important,” Dellasandro replied. “In my mind I can image myself wasting you three.”

“Not with the safety catch locked on your gun,” said Jupe.

“It is?” Dellasandro said, looking down.

Pete didn’t wait. He moved instinctively into a flying yoko-tobi-geri side kick, connecting with Dellasandro’s hand. The gun flew into the air and clattered on the ground.

Then Pete and Bob both charged Dellasandro, but the older man was strong and quick. He seemed to know some karate moves too. He gave Bob a quick kick in the knee, which sent Bob down. Then Dellasandro spun and arced a ridge hand at Pete. Pete blocked the blow and gave Dellasandro a gyaku-tsuki reverse punch to the ribs. The scientist winced and staggered backward. Pete leaped into the air, twisting and lifting his feet high.

“Miiya” Pete screamed, knocking Dellasandro down.

But Dellasandro rolled and stood up. He looked around. Then he saw the gun on the floor a second before Jupe did. He rushed to grab it. “I’m terminating this meeting!” he shouted.