“Look!” Jupiter said.

The black Oldsmobile cruised past, hesitating as if its occupants were staring in disbelief.

“What are we doing here anyway?” Ty wanted to know as they walked into police headquarters.

“If Tiburon and the Piranhas are stealing cars when they go out of town on their gigs, there should be a lot of reports of stolen cars where they play.”

“That’d figure,” Ty said, nodding. “How do we get the reports?”

Jupiter grinned. “Watch me.”

He asked for Sergeant Cota and was directed along a busy corridor to the police computer room. A short, dark-haired officer sat at the computer console.

“Jupiter! Come on in.”

Sergeant Cota and Jupiter were fellow computer buffs. Jupe often dropped in at the station to talk computers with him.

After admiring the sergeant’s new laser printer, Jupe said, “This is my cousin Ty. He’s out from the East helping us on a case.”

Sergeant Cota looked at Ty for a moment, then smiled. “Nice to meet you. So, what can I do for you, Jupe?”

“I’m doing a car-theft report,” Jupiter told him. “I need a readout on all stolen cars reported from Santa Monica up to Ventura in the last month.”

“Sure, no problem.”

The sergeant punched various keys on the computer to relay his commands, and after a short wait, his printer began spewing out pages. It printed for nearly three minutes!

“Is that a lot of stolen cars?” Ty asked.

Sergeant Cota nodded. “We think there’s a new ring operating, but there’s always a lot of car thefts. We’re an automobile country.” He gave Jupiter the printout.

“Thanks, Sergeant.”

“No sweat, Jupiter.”

Outside, they hurried to the pickup. There was no sign of the black Olds, but as they drove off it appeared far behind them.

“They don’t know we spotted them,” Ty said.

“We’ll keep it that way. Let them tail us until we have to lose them.”

He headed for the salvage yard.

*

The black Buick did not take Joe Torres back to the bodega, but to a seedy, dilapidated building on the edge of the main downtown shopping area. It left Torres in front of the building and drove on.

Pete parked on the street and followed Torres into the run-down building. There was no elevator inside. Only a feeble light filtered in through the dusty sky-light over the stairwell. Torres went up to the third floor. Rows of scarred half-glass doors lined the uncarpeted hallways. Torres opened the last door on the right and went in.

The lettering on the door read:

Jake Hatch,

Talent & Bookings.

Pete hurried back down the stairs to his Fiero and drove off toward the salvage yard. He watched for the black Olds but saw no sign of it.

“Jupe!” he shouted as he leaped out of the Fiero and ran to the workshop. Inside, Jupiter and Ty were studying a long computer printout. “Torres came to the garage with another car! I tailed him — ”

Jupiter whirled around. “Pete! I’ve got a car! A real little beaut, right, Ty? It’s got a new engine, and — ”

“Great, Jupe, but listen — ”

“ — it’s only a Honda Civic. I’d hoped to get a bigger car, but it gives us three cars, so — ”

“Torres went to Jake Hatch’s office!”

“ — white with a big blue stripe, and I get it tomorrow… ” Jupiter stopped. “What? Torres went where?”

“Jake Hatch’s office!”

Ty said, “Hatch — is that the agent guy?”

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…!”