The Mountain Bike Mystery

By Gerald Holt

When eleven year old Tony falls sick with chicken pox he spends much of his time in the bedroom that he shares with his older brother, Jack, looking out of the bedroom window through his fathers binoculars. When Jack was sick he had observed the movements of two shady looking men who appeared to be exchanging bikes, one leaving a bike hidden in the ditch at the front of the house and the other collecting it later. When the second man, Number Two, fails to collect a bike left in the ditch the boys decide to hide it in their meeting house, a shed at the bottom of the garden, and examine it the next day.
But there never seems to be an opportunity to look at the bike and tell Mum and Dad what is going on. Eventually they tell their story and their suspicions to Dad who contacts the local RCMP. The boys are drawn into a mysterious web and finally help the RCMP capture a gang of drug smugglers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479731992

Gerald Holt

Gerald grew up in war-torn Britain during WWII. He watched the RAF spitfires fight the Battle of Britain in the skies overhead and was directly affected by the fighting when the family home was bombed and they had to move, only to find the move ultimately brought them in the direct path of the V-bombs aimed at London. When the war was over he attended the two oldest schools in England. Gerald was in the British army before moving to Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia) where he was a Detective Inspector in the police. He moved his family to Canada in 1967 and in 1970 they moved from Montreal to White Rock a small community south of Vancouver where he still lives today.

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Copyright © 2012 by Gerald Holt.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

Two Men and a Bike

T ONY CRAWLED SLOWLY forward through the grass. He was frightened. The grass wasn’t as long as he’d thought. It didn’t give him much cover. He kept low, pressing his body close to the ground. If the man followed the usual pattern he’d be here soon. What if he caught Tony interfering with the bike? Tony shuddered. He must hurry.

Jack had said there was something frightening about the man. Jack hadn’t seen his face, but he said it was the way the man acted, the way he moved, the way he’d treated Billy. And his hands. Tony felt a chill that started at the base of his spine and crawled up his back to his neck. He felt cold, even though he wore track pants and a fleece top over his pajamas. He wished Jack was here. This was Jack’s idea.

Tony edged forward to the gap in the hedge. He peered through, listening. All was quiet. There was the mountain bike, in the ditch where the first man had left it. He knew what the first man looked like; he’d seen him on the bike ten minutes ago, just as Jack had said, fifteen minutes after the mail was delivered. Tony had used Dad’s binoculars for a closer look. ‘Number One’, as Jack called him, was quite young. Tony thought he’d be about twenty-five, like the man who filled the wagon at the service station. ‘Number One’ had a straggly, gingery-brown moustache. His long brown hair looked greasy and dirty. The other thing Tony had noticed was that he had a tattoo on his right wrist, a faded red star in a blue circle. Jack hadn’t mentioned that.

Tony was startled out of his thoughts. He’d been so intent, thinking about ‘Number One’, that he’d forgotten where he was, forgotten about the second man. Behind him he heard slow, halting steps. His heart pounded and his throat tightened. Jack had told him that ‘Number Two’ always came through the side field. Why was he coming this way?

Tony scrambled through the gap in the hedge, turning quickly as he slid into the ditch. He closed his eyes briefly. He was shaking and his legs felt as if they’d give way any moment. He must hide, but . . . Where? He looked round. The ditch was dry. There’d been no rain for a while. The bottom was littered with old bits of wood, twigs, dead grass and paper. He’d make a terrible noise walking through that. And there was nowhere to hide. The footsteps had stopped. Fearfully, Tony looked up at the hedge. He shook his head. Through the gap he saw Billy the goat nibbling at the fresh spring shoots in the hedge. Tony was angry. What was the matter with Jack? Why wasn’t Billy tied up? Tony had asked Jack to tether Billy before he left for school. This could wreck everything! But, maybe it was Mum’s fault. She might have let Billy off the chain before she went shopping?

Tony didn’t know what to do. Should he sabotage the bike or grab Billy? If ‘Number Two’ came now Billy might charge and butt him. Then the man would throw rocks as he’d done last week; that was when Jack noticed his hands. Jack had told Tony that even from a distance the man’s hands were huge. Tony started to shiver again. Then he made up his mind. He’d fix the bike. That was why he was here.

Tony reached into his pocket and took out a small kitchen knife. He turned and grasped the bike by the crossbar; there was a sticky feeling. That was odd! He let go and looked at his hand. The palm and fingers were covered in dark green paint. He was about to examine the crossbar when he heard hurried footsteps in the next field. ‘Number Two’ was coming!

Frantically, Tony stabbed at the rear tire. The small blade stuck in the thick black tread but didn’t puncture the rubber. He pushed hard. It was no use. The tire was too thick. He didn’t have time. Tony began to panic. He wrenched the knife out of the tire. He had to get out of the ditch! He scrambled up the side, grasping at the thick clumps of marsh grass, heaving himself up onto the bank. He had only just wriggled through the gap in the hedge and rolled into a patch of nettles when the man came into view. He climbed over the old farm gate from the field, large hands gripping the wooden rail. His hands were huge, the backs covered in matted black hair that disappeared beneath the sleeves of a dirty gray windbreaker. He peered round, as if sensing something, and came over to the hedge.

Tony’s heart sank. ‘Number Two’ was peering through the hedge; his lips were quivering and he was sniffing, tufts of black hair in his nostrils moving with each breath. Tony shrank back into the nettles, oblivious of the stinging leaves. The man’s nose was small, red and veined. His eyes, dark slits beneath a blue wool toque, shone dully behind thick lids. Beneath the right eye was a dark red mark, a small, livid triangle. He moved his head slowly from side to side, but his eyes seemed not to move, always staring through the hedge. Tony started to shiver.

Then Billy strutted slowly forward. He stopped at the hedge.

Ah! ‘Number Two’ crouched, his rough hands forming huge fists. You again! The voice grated, hard and menacing. He bared his teeth and spat. Come near me and I’ll kill you! The small red triangle beneath his eye darkened. He kicked out, sending a clump of grass scudding through the gap in the hedge. Billy didn’t move. The man muttered something, then turned and jumped into the ditch. Billy stood quite still, staring unblinking. With a grunt, ‘Number Two’ lifted the mountain bike out onto the far side of the ditch. He wiped his hands on his pants. Then, with a backward glare at Billy, he heaved himself up after the bike. He looked round hurriedly again as he pushed the bike onto the road, Then he mounted it and, standing on the pedals rode away up the hill.

Tony waited for a while until the shivering stopped. Then he crawled out from the nettles. His hands were burning and his face stung in a couple of places. Maybe Mum wouldn’t notice with all the spots and scabs from the chicken pox. Thinking about that made him itchy. Perhaps Mum would let him have one of those baking powder and cornstarch baths; that stopped the itching, for a while at least. Slowly he stood up and peered over the hedge. ‘Number Two’ was almost at the corner at the top of the hill. Tony ducked down and waited. Then he looked again. The man was out of sight. Tony nodded. Well, at least he could tell Jack he’d seen him, even though he hadn’t been able to fix the bike as planned.

Billy nudged Tony. As he reached out to scratch the goat’s head he noticed his fingers; he sniffed the paint. You know, Billy, there’s something strange about those two men. Jack’s right.

Billy’s upper lip curled back. He seemed to smile.

Tony grinned. Come on, he said. "I’ll race you to the house. I must get back into bed