Tiburon said something and laughed. Everyone laughed. Except the girl who had defied Tiburon. She bent down over her fallen champion. Tiburon strode back to his easy chair and started to talk again as if nothing had happened.

Jupiter and Bob watched from their table at the Taco Bell.

“He acts more like a gang leader than a band-leader,” Bob said.

“Yes,” Jupiter agreed. “He seems to be both. As if the band is part of a larger gang. I think — ” The leader of the Investigators stopped in mid-sentence.

A car had pulled into the car wash. A man got out and motioned toward the lounge.

“It’s Joe Torres!” Jupiter exclaimed.

Inside the lounge Tiburon stood up, said something to a Piranha, and hurried outside to meet Torres. They stood talking in the shadows for some time as the rest of the gang waited inside.

“Torres was lying!” Bob cried. “He definitely does know Tiburon. I’ll bet he was the one the stolen car was really supposed to be delivered to. Tiburon just made up the story about his brother.”

“Maybe and maybe not,” Jupiter said. “Torres was lying about not knowing Tiburon, but that doesn’t make the rest true, Bob. I mean, maybe Torres was protecting Tiburon, but doesn’t know anything about the stolen cars. Or Tiburon did what Ty says up in Oxnard, but was only being used. Maybe Tiburon had no idea the car was stolen.”

“So how do we find out?”

“We have to know more,” Jupiter said. “We’ll watch awhile longer.”

“It’s getting late,” Bob said. “If Sax gets back from L.A. tonight, I might have to work tomorrow.”

“We’ve got to find out if Tiburon knew the car was stolen, or if he didn’t, who told him to get Ty to drive it down to Torres’s bodega.”

“Jupe!” Bob said suddenly.

Tiburon had gone back inside the lounge, and Joe Torres was heading straight for the Taco Bell!

“He’ll recognize me!” Jupiter said, panic-stricken.

He looked for a place to hide. There was nowhere!

The Taco Bell was all but deserted now, the few remaining patrons widely scattered among the bare tables. The parking lot was well lighted and almost empty. The long counter inside the hacienda-like building had no customers.

“Quick!” Bob said. “Kneel down!”

Jupiter knelt down on the floor beside their bench-less table. Bob took off his denim jacket and sat on Jupiter’s back, using it like a bench! He draped his jacket over his knees as if his legs were cold. Then he leaned casually back against the table in the dim light, munching the last of his second taco.

Bob looked innocently at Torres as the scrawny Latino went by. He hoped the bodega owner wouldn’t notice that there was no bench on either side of the hidden Jupiter. But Torres barely glanced at Bob as he walked past him to the counter.

Jupiter’s voice was muffled. “For a skinny runt you weigh a ton. Can I get up?”

“He’s still at the counter. He could look this way again any second. Better stay down.”

Jupiter groaned.

Bob laughed silently. “You make a pretty good bench. Nice and soft.”

“You wait!” Jupiter’s muffled voice fumed. Bob gave Jupiter a gentle poke in the ribs. There was a strangled explosion as Jupiter fought to stay silent. Bob stopped teasing him as Torres got his burrito and came back past them on his way to the car wash and his car. This time the thin, dark Latino didn’t even glance at Bob.

“Okay, he’s gone,” Bob said, standing up.

Jupiter got to his feet, holding his back and hanging on to the table until he could straighten up. He glared at Bob, and then smiled.

“That was fast thinking,” he admitted. “But we’d better get out of here. Some of the others could decide to have a taco.”

They hurried to Bob’s red VW in the parking lot and drove to the salvage yard and Jupiter’s house. The yard was locked and dark. So was the house.

“Everyone’s asleep,” Jupiter said. “But let’s find out if Ty’s here.”

Inside the house they tiptoed to the downstairs den. The door was open and the room was empty. Upstairs they looked into the guest bedroom. It was empty, too. Bob was worried.

“Maybe the police have more evidence than you thought.”

“Perhaps,” Jupiter said. “I’ll ask Aunt Mathilda in the morning. But I still think Ty is telling the truth.”

“I sure hope you’re right, Jupe.”

“Anyway, we’ll all meet at HQ after breakfast.”

“Unless Kelly’s got something for Pete to do.”

Jupiter didn’t seem to hear this last thrust at their absent friend. “You know,” he said slowly, “a band that moved up and down the coast almost every night would be a perfect cover for a gang of car thieves.”

Early the next morning, Pete threw on his Bop Til You Drop T-shirt and drove to the salvage yard. He wanted to make amends for missing the action the night before — and to find out what had happened. He found the big iron gates locked, and headed across the street to the house.

Jupiter was still at breakfast with his aunt and uncle. He was eating grapefruit and cottage cheese. He didn’t look too happy, and it wasn’t only the diet.

“We still can’t get Ty out of jail!” Jupe said.

Aunt Mathilda fumed. “The judge still hasn’t set bail! My lawyer is throwing a fit, but there’s almost nothing you can do to hurry a judge. The prosecutor is insisting that Ty is a suspect in this case. He’s afraid Ty will run away. My lawyer is almost sure we’ll get a ruling today, but he isn’t at all sure it’ll be in our favor.”

Uncle Titus, a short, slim man with a huge mustache, looked at his wife. “You sure this cousin is on the level?” he asked. “That’s a pretty shaky story.”

“We’re sure, Uncle Titus,” Jupiter said. “We’ve uncovered enough facts already to make us almost certain his story is true.”

“Now all we have to do is prove it,” Pete said.

Uncle Titus frowned. “You be careful, you hear? Car thieves are nothing to fool with.”

“We’ll be careful, Uncle Titus.” Jupiter finished his cottage cheese. “I’ll go and open up the yard. We’ll be over in Headquarters, then we’re going out. Aunt M, if Ty gets his bail set, would you leave a message on our answering machine? We’ll call in every hour or so and get our messages.”

“All right, Jupiter. I’ll just call the lawyer again, then be right over to open the office.”

Pete and Jupiter crossed to the gates and opened the electronic lock with Jupiter’s belt control. In HQ, Jupe told Pete what had happened last night. Pete laughed at the description of El Tiburon and the Piranhas in the tiny and almost empty cafe. He was excited when Jupiter got to the appearance of Joe Torres at the car wash.

“So Torres did know someone named Tiburon!”

“Clearly.” Jupiter nodded. “Now all we have to do is prove it’s the same Tiburon who asked Ty to drive the Mercedes down from Oxnard, and that he knew the car was stolen.”

“That’s all?” Pete said. “So where do we start?”

“We take what we’ve found, make a hypothesis, and work from there as if it were true.”

“Make a what? Give it to me in English, Jupe.”

“A hypothesis, an assumption, a theory, Pete. In this case we’ll assume that Joe Torres is a member of a gang of car thieves. Then the best way to prove Tiburon’s involvement is to watch Torres and see where he leads us.”

“Sounds good,” Pete agreed. “When do we go back to that bodega?”

“As soon as Bob gets here.”

“I’ll do some work on the Corvair for a while.”

“Which reminds me, when do we find me a car?”

“I told you. As soon as I get the Corvair in shape. That won’t be long. Anyway, now we’ve got to wait here for Bob, right?”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Okay, okay! We’ll go now. I know a lot where people sell their own cars. We’ll start there.”

“We can’t go yet.” Jupiter sighed. “Bob should be here any moment.”