While gathering speed at the skatepark for another grind, Alex heard Bartholomew’s whoop whoop ringtone on his phone. This was the call he’d been waiting for. He put his heel on the back of his board and tail dragged to a halt before reaching into his pocket.
whoop whoopHe pressed the answer key. “Yeah?”
A low voice rasped from the other end. “Warehouse. State and La Posada. 2:00.”
“Got it. See you then.”
B-3 had finally done it. After weeks of eavesdropping, and searching, Bartholomew discovered that his mother had a secret storage facility downtown. One that was receiving deliveries. And not of bleach, cleansers, or hand sanitizers. This place was getting huge crates of what the boys suspected were paintings.
Ever since October, Alex and Bartholomew had been on a quest to discover w
