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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.”
     

7
The Orange Cadillac
    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.”
    Pete left HQ muttering to himself. Something about people making up their dumb minds.
    Alone, Jupiter opened the bottom drawer of his desk, reached all the way into the back, and took out a candy bar. He munched it eagerly, with one eye watching the door for Bob to appear any second.
    Bob did not appear.
    Not that