The others nodded.
“Now you’re making some connections,” Ty said.
“So what do we do?” Pete said. “Tail Hatch?”
“Perhaps later,” Jupiter said. “First we’ve got to check this computer printout against all the places Tiburon and the Piranhas played this month.”
“How are we going to do that?” Pete asked.
“That’s easy,” Bob’s voice said behind them.
They’d been so busy talking, they hadn’t even heard Bob come into the workshop.“Tell us how it’s so easy,” Pete demanded.
“We sneak into Jake Hatch’s office and check his band schedule!” Bob grinned.
“If he catches us,” Jupiter warned, “our chances of helping Ty are just about zero.”
“I’ll call Gracie and find out where he’ll be tonight. He always watches his bands, just like Sax. We’ll know when to show up and how much time we have. I’ll take Gracie out for a pizza or something and leave the door unlocked so you and Pete don’t even have to bust in.”
Pete reddened. “Sorry, guys. I’m taking Kelly to a movie tonight.”
“I’ll go with Jupe,” Ty said.
“What about the police?”
“Police?” Bob said.
Jupiter explained about the black Oldsmobile.
“We’ll have to shake them,” Ty said. “They’ll know we’re on to them. But I guess this is the time to do it.”
Bob went into HQ to call Grace Salieri.
*
Jupiter and Ty sat in the pickup across from the shabby building on the edge of downtown. Bob had made his date with Grace Salieri. Ty and Jupiter had left the black Olds looking for them in the back streets near the harbor. Jake Hatch was safely up the coast in Port Huerieme observing a punk band, and would not be back before ten p.m. Jupiter and Ty could make their move as soon as Bob emerged.
“There he is,” Jupiter said.
Bob came out with Grace Salieri on his arm. She was laughing as if it were a good joke that she was going out with someone Bob’s age. But she held his arm with both hands and seemed to be enjoying herself. As soon as they had disappeared toward the center of town, Ty and Jupiter crossed the street and entered the building. Most of the windows were dark, but lights were on in the stairwell and corridors.
On the third floor they found Hatch’s office dark, the Yale lock open. The band charts for the month were on the wall. Jupiter called out the dates and locations of Tiburon and the Piranhas’ gigs. Ty checked them against the computer printout of car thefts.
Jupiter stopped. Ty looked up. “Cars were stolen almost every place and day Tiburon and the Piranhas played the whole month. I’m convinced, Jupiter.”
“But will the police be?” Ty shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I. I think we’ll have to catch them red-handed. I just want to try one more thing. I’m going to call out some random gigs of Hatch’s other bands. See if cars were stolen at those times and places, too.”
Jupiter called out the gigs, Ty checked, and the results were the same — cars had been stolen almost every place any of Jake Hatch’s bands appeared.
“Hatch is involved. Maybe behind the whole operation,” Ty said. “No doubt now.”
“But we still can’t prove it.”
“Okay, what next?”
Jupiter looked back at the charts of the bands. “The Piranhas are playing tonight at the Lemon Tree Lounge. It’s in Topanga Canyon, near Malibu. We’ll go up there. Maybe we’ll be able to wrap up the case tonight.”
When Bob returned to HQ after his date with Gracie, Ty and Jupiter were waiting. They told him what they had found.
“The Lemon Tree? Yeah, it’s a roadhouse club in the woods out in Topanga Canyon. It’s pretty big for the Piranhas. We can’t get in there, Jupe.”
“What if you’re with me?” Ty said.
“Maybe. Depends on how much they’ve been raided.”
“We’ll take a chance,” Jupiter decided.
The three of them piled into the yard pickup and headed up the Coast Highway. At Topanga Canyon they turned onto a dark two-lane road into the mountains. The Lemon Tree Lounge was five or so miles from the highway. It was a rustic building standing under tall oak and eucalyptus trees, without a lemon tree in sight. Cars were parked in an open field around it, and the music already rocked out into the night.
The place was jammed. No one seemed to be watching the door. The guys found an unobtrusive corner in the mobbed room. The customers were talking, laughing, and drinking. They weren’t paying much attention to El Tiburon and the Piranhas, who were already pounding away. In front, Tiburon gyrated in his white suit, belting out the words. “La bamba… bamba… bamba…!”
“Is that him?” Jupiter pointed at the bandstand. Ty studied the showman.
“I still don’t know for sure, guys,” he admitted. “He looks awful different up there, singing and dancing around. I mean, he sort of looks like the guy I met, but I’m really not too good at remembering faces, you know?”
“Maybe if you watch him for a while,” Bob suggested.
So they watched the smiling Latino do his act with the four Piranhas pounding behind him. The same four girls sat at a table by the dance floor. Couples were slamming and rocking and doing Latino steps the guys had never seen.
They weren’t worried about having to order drinks and being carded by a waitress — there were no waitresses. Ty went to the long bar and got a beer and a couple of Cokes, just so no one would hassle them about not drinking at all.
The first set ended with Ty still not sure if he recognized Tiburon. After the second set, they followed Tiburon and the Piranhas out into the parking area, where the band took their break.
“I’m pretty sure, but I’m just never going to be dead sure,” Ty said finally.
Through the third set the mob gave no sign of thinning, not even after Tiburon finished the last song with an extra flourish. He ended up in a complete split out on the dance floor, the sweat glistening on his flushed face. The Investigators had seen nothing that connected to stolen cars.
“They sure don’t act like car thieves,” Ty said.
“You can’t swipe cars from a bandstand,” Bob added, discouraged.
“We’ll follow them,” Jupiter said. “Maybe they steal the cars after their gigs.”
Outside, the moon had risen. The two Investigators and Ty waited under the tall trees and listened to the whisper of the wind. Almost no one left the club, even though the music had ended. Music wasn’t the main attraction at the Lemon Tree, which probably explained why Tiburon and the Piranhas had gotten the gig — The moonlight cast long shadows on the mountains all around. A few cars passed on the road through the twisting canyon. They heard a dog bark in the distance. But mostly the only sound was the steady rumble of voices from the open tavern doors.