Boardwalk Bust by Franklin W. Dixon

you’re going to keep on nagging me about it…”
    â€œWe’re supposed to share,” I reminded him. “They only gave us one of these.”
    That got him. He sat down and lapsed into silence. The only sound now was that of the waves crashing in.
    The spot we’d chosen for our stakeout looked out on the stretch of beach where the first ring had been found. Most of the jewelry had been dug up within view of our position. The town pier was on our left, maybe fifty yards away.
    I was looking that way, peering through the scope, when I thought I saw something move.
    Maybe it was just a homeless guy, prowling for crabs to eat or a place to sleep.
    Or maybe not
.
    I nudged Frank. “Under the pier,” I whispered. “Something moving.”
    â€œLet’s go check it out,” he said.
    Still staring through the scope, I emerged from our hiding place and headed toward the pier with Frank on my right, holding on to my arm because he couldn’t see where he was going.
    Suddenly he let out a grunt, and I felt him let go of my arm.
    â€œWhat the—?”
    Then I felt something hard come down on the back of my head. As I crumpled to the sand, all I could see were stars.

14. Neck-Deep in Trouble
    Joe was down—I could see that much.
    I was down too, but not out. I struggled to my feet and swung.
    Within seconds, my right fist plowed into something soft.
    â€œOoof!”
    A massive shape in front of me doubled over, and I kicked hard at it.
    Then I was jumped from behind—by not one, but two guys. The second got his hands around my throat.
    I tried to wrestle the second guy off me, but he wouldn’t budge.
    Meanwhile, the guy I’d brought down before was slowly recovering. He got to me before I could getfree of his friend, and socked me so hard in the stomach that I thought I was going to lose my dinner.
    I sank to the ground and felt a series of hard kicks delivered to my kidneys. I tried to protect my face and to make the rest of me as small a target as possible. It hurt—but I could sense my attackers getting tired. And it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.
    â€œTie them up!” the other man said.
    Rope was wound around my hands, and the guy was busy tying them behind my back when I heard a loud “Oof!” and he let go.
    â€œGet away from my brother, screwball!”
    Joe was back in the fight!
    My hands were now tied too tightly for me to help. The two other assailants quickly ganged up on Joe. I heard a loud
crack
, and then Joe yelling, “Ow! My eye!”
    He has the worst luck sometimes.
    Another minute or two and Joe was lying beside me on the ground, getting his hands tied in the same style as mine.
    â€œShould I bash their heads in?” one of them asked the other.
    â€œNah,” one of his companions answered. “No marks, remember? Now go over behind that piling and get the shovel.”
    I tried to place their voices, but they weren’t familiar. As for their faces, there was no way to make them out in the pitch darkness. Not without our night scope, and who knew where that had fallen?
    â€œShovel?” the first guy repeated. He didn’t sound too bright. “We gonna bury something?”
    â€œYeah, lamebrain. We’re gonna bury these two—alive.”
    I could see now where things were heading, and it wasn’t anyplace good. From the sound of the waves hitting, we were right near the waterline. And it was low tide. If they buried us here—and they were already digging the hole—all traces of digging would be wiped out by the rising tide before the sun came up. No one would ever find us until the day—years from now, maybe—when a hurricane or nor’ easter rearranged the beach and made the dead rise.
    Once the hole was deep enough, we were both thrown in alive, and they started to shovel the sand back in. When they were done, only our heads were above the sand.
    Whoever was