“But they don’t know you’re here,” Jupiter whispered. “That gives us an edge. I’ll try to lead them past where you’re hiding. You use your karate on the one with the gun. Then we’ll both get the other one before he knows what hit him.”

Jupiter stood up calmly and stepped out into the weak light.

It was a moment before they saw him. Then Torres yelled: “There he is! Hold it right there, kid, if you know what’s good for you.”

Jupiter walked rapidly away from the front door among the parked cars as if trying to escape toward the ramp. The two men fell into the trap.

“Cut him off, Joe,” the gunman, Max, shouted.

“I’ll cover this side.” He headed down the aisle to Jupiter’s left.

Torres, on the right, began running to get in front of Jupiter. The squat gunman moved to box Jupiter in from the other side. Jupiter quickly reversed direction toward the side offices. Torres had to circle in an arc through the cars to catch up with Jupiter, as the gunman angled toward them.

Jupiter had both men moving toward the spot where Pete crouched, ready and waiting to attack.

Jupiter zigged and zagged, drawing the two pursuers closer and closer to Pete. He acted as if he were hemmed in and trapped by the cleverness of Max and Torres.

He passed Pete. The two pursuers closed in, all their attention on the “trapped” Jupiter. Jupiter zigged one last time to draw Max the gunman to Pete first, then acted shocked to find Max almost on top of him.

“That’s it, fat boy,” Max said, the ugly gun pointed directly at Jupiter. “Hold it right there.”

Pete leaped up, his right foot lashing out in a yoko-geri-kekomi thrust kick that sent the gunman’s pistol flying into the dimness of the garage. He instantly smashed a backhand shuto-uchi against the side of Max’s neck. The gunman dropped like a stone from the blow to his carotid artery.

Torres lunged around a car to attack Pete. Then he saw Jupiter coming at him and whirled to face the enemy who had thrown him earlier.

This gave Pete an opening, and he knocked Torres out cold with a massive mawashi-geri roundhouse kick from behind.

“Let’s get out of here!” Pete cried.

The guys raced for the door.

Moments later, they were in Pete's car. Jupiter looked back as Pete drove away. Torres and the gunman stood in front of the garage, staring after the Fiero. They ran back inside.

“Your karate sensei won’t like it,” Jupiter said. “They got up too soon. They’ll be after us in the Buick.”

“I’ve barely got a black belt,” Pete protested as he gunned the Fiero toward the freeway. “What was that about you having a big idea back in there?”

“It’s more than an idea now,” Jupiter replied. “Did you see that Torres was being driven by that guy Max?”

“Sure I did. So what?”

Pete pulled onto the freeway and they relaxed. No one could catch up with them in time to see where they exited.

“My idea was that the orange Cadillac was a stolen car!” Jupiter said. “It was delivered to Torres, who drove it to the garage. That would mean he had to have someone drive him back to the bodega. And that’s just what Max was doing!”

“Then where’s the Caddy now?”

“The answer is that it’s still in there somewhere,” Jupiter said.

“That’s crazy. We saw all three floors. There weren’t any big doors going out anywhere.”

“Torres was in there, and we didn’t see him.”

“He can hide in an office. A Caddy can’t.”

“Maybe, but I’m convinced the Caddy was stolen, and that it’s still in the garage somewhere. The question is where?”

Both guys thought about the vanishing Cadillac as Pete got off at the exit nearest the salvage yard.

As soon as they drove into the yard, Aunt Mathilda came out of the office.

“The judge has finally set Ty’s bail. You can take me to the courthouse.”

Jupiter scrambled into the small backseat of the Fiero to give Aunt Mathilda the front. Pete drove more slowly, and it was past four p.m. by the time they reached the courthouse. Inside the courthouse lobby, Aunt Mathilda introduced the guys to a tall, serious-faced man who was waiting there.

“This is my lawyer, Steve Gilbar. Jupiter’s my nephew, Steve. This is his friend, Pete Crenshaw. They’re trying to clear Ty.”

Steve Gilbar shook hands with Jupe and Pete. “We’ll need all the help we can get on this. The police are convinced Ty is part of a ring of car thieves that have been operating up and down the coast, between Santa Monica and Ventura. They’ve persuaded the judge to set an unusually high bail.” He turned to Aunt Mathilda. “You brought the papers?” She nodded. “What is the bail, Steve?”

“Seventy-five thousand dollars. Outrageous, I call it, but the prosecutor made a strong case for Ty’s importance. They think there’s a clever chop-shop ring operating, and Ty is their first arrest.”

“A chop-shop!” exclaimed Jupe.

“What’s in heaven’s name is a chop-shop?” asked Aunt Mathilda.

“Instead of selling the stolen cars, the thieves take them apart and sell all the parts that aren’t marked with serial numbers,” explained Jupiter.

“They clean the parts up, wrap them, and put them in boxes to look like new,” added Pete. “Then they sell them to dealers who operate parts stores.”

“Don’t the stores know they must be stolen?” Aunt Mathilda asked.

“A lot of them do,” Steve Gilbar said, “but the prices are so good, they don’t ask questions.”

“The few parts that have serial numbers,” Pete said, “like the engine blocks, the crooks ship out of the States to sell in foreign countries.”

“They make more money by selling the parts than by selling whole cars,” added Jupe.

Aunt Mathilda shook her head. “It sounds like a hard thing to stop. I mean, once you take a car apart, it can’t be traced.”

“You’re right,” Steve Gilbar said. “That’s why the police think Ty is so important. The best way to stop the operation is to catch the thieves when they steal the cars.” He looked at his watch. “It’s time, Mathilda. Do you have the bankbooks and deeds?”

She nodded.

“You understand that if Ty runs away, you lose your bail money?”

“I understand, Steve.”

“Then let’s go. Jupiter and Pete, wait here.”

Alone in the courthouse lobby, Jupiter turned to Pete. The leader of the trio beamed.

“A chop-shop ring!” he said excitedly. “Stolen cars all up and down the coast. It has to be El Tiburon and the Piranhas using the band gigs as a cover.”

“We don’t have any proof, Jupe,” Pete said. “I mean, all we have is the name Tiburon, and Joe Torres lying and going to that garage. It’s mostly guessing.”

“We’ve also got a stolen car someone gave Ty to drive, Torres’s connection to Tiburon at the car wash, and a disappearing Cadillac.”

“I don’t know, Jupe.”

“And,” Jupiter said, “Now we have Ty!”

Aunt Mathilda, Steve Gilbar and Ty were coming down the wide courthouse corridor to the lobby. Ty looked tired and pale, but he was smiling and striding along with a bounce in his western boots and ragged jeans.

“Are you okay, Ty?” Pete said.

“Glad to be untied, right, guys?” Ty replied, and laughed at his own joke. “How’s the Corvair?”

“I haven’t had much time to work on it.”

“We’ve been too busy investigating the stolen-car ring,” Jupiter explained.

“Ring?” Ty said. “You mean there’s a gang of car thieves operating around here?”

Steve Gilbar nodded. “The police think so.”

“So that’s why they didn’t want to set bail,” Ty said. “That’s big-time stuff to play with, guys. What have you found out so far?”

“You can talk about that in a minute,” Gilbar said. “Now, you’ll be arraigned next week, Ty. At that time you’ll either be charged or the charges will be dropped. Meanwhile, don’t leave the state or even the county. Understood?”