Chapter Two

"Detective work isn't boring," Joe Hardy complained to his brother. "But this is boring."

"We need this stuff to do detective work. Besides, no one twisted your arm to come, Joe," Frank Hardy said patiently, his brown eyes taking in his younger sibling's edgy posture as he leaned against the glass counter of the sixth computer store they had visited that day.

"Well, I didn't think you would take so long," Joe replied. "I mean, dual processors and IDE cables and SATA drives are all the same, right?" He shook his head ruefully. "After a while, it's all just an alphabet soup to me."

Frank laughed as they waited for the salesperson to return with the hardware he had requested. "You know the computer system in the van needs a bit of an upgrade."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Joe grumbled. "You've been reminding me for over a week now. By the way, are you going to get a new video card? Because there's this new first-person shooter game that I—"

"I am not rebuilding the computer for your entertainment and gaming purposes," Frank told him firmly.

"But there have been studies, Frank! Studies that show such games help with hand-eye coordination—"

"I'm sure," Frank returned in a dry voice. He was solemn for a moment, and then he broke out in a grin. "Actually, there's a game that I've been eyeing myself—"

"I knew it!" Joe said triumphantly.

"But necessary upgrades are needed first," Frank said. "So you'll just have to bear with me." He surreptitiously glanced at the store's wall clock and noticed with a start that it was well past one o'clock. The brothers had driven to New York City from the suburb of Bayport, which was where they lived, early that morning in Frank's pursuit of new equipment for their beloved van. Being amateur detectives, they had often relied on technology to help crack a case wide open, and Frank had, in the past few months, outfitted the brothers' van into something of a portable computer lab. His current mission was to upgrade the hardware so that he could run a powerful photo-enhancing program, making identifications of such things like license plates easier. However, Frank was shopping around for the best equipment within the brothers' price range, and so it was taking longer than he had expected.

"Joe," Frank said now, "you must be starving."

"Gee, Frank, it doesn't take a detective to figure that out. It's way past my lunchtime!"

Frank only shook his head, smiling inwardly at Joe's legendary hunger. "Why don't you run out and get something?" he suggested. "I'll meet you back at the van in, say, half-an-hour?"

Joe's blue eyes lit up with the mention of obtaining food. "That sounds like a plan to me. Do you want anything specific?"

Frank waved his hand dismissively as he turned toward the approaching salesperson. "Surprise me."

o...o...o...O...o...o...o

Joe walked out of the store into a typically sunny afternoon in New York. That meant, of course, that the sun was not hanging brightly in the sky, but was rather hidden behind a haze of the resident smog that lingered throughout the month of July. Despite the downside of air pollution, Joe never tired of the city—well, visiting it. He supposed it would be another thing altogether to actually live in New York City. Frank would be doing that come the fall. Joe felt a twinge of sadness as he thought of his brother starting on this new chapter in his life while he himself finished his last year of high school at Bayport High.

Joe crossed the street with a group of pedestrians, walking in the direction of Morningside Park. Beyond that, he knew, was Columbia University—and it was the place Frank had finally chosen to further his education, despite the multitude of offers he had received. In fact, it was no coincidence the brothers found themselves near the grounds on that particular day. Frank had been given a limited campus parking pass in his acceptance package, and so they had jumped at the opportunity to park for free. While Joe had remained completely neutral when Frank had asked for advice when deciding on an institution, he was secretly grateful Frank had not accepted a college further west. The fact that he would only be a little under two hours from home was comforting.

His stomach gave an insistent growl, and Joe turned his thoughts from his brother's future to his own immediate future. Where was he going to eat? There was a collection of fast food joints closer to the university, Joe knew, but he was craving something else. A real New York hoagie, sold by a roadside vendor, already had his name on it. His friend, Chet Morton, endearingly called such food "street meat"; he, too, had a penchant for the filling sandwiches. There would be such vendors near the park, and Joe continued in the same direction he was heading.

Coming up on Morningside Ave, Joe chose the stand with the longest line-up. Though notoriously impatient, Joe suffered this wait in good spirits. If this vendor had such a lengthy line, it must be good. A few long minutes later, Joe was convinced he made the right decision. The two hoagies he bought smelled out of this world. Although tempted to eat one immediately, Joe managed to curb his desire and hold off until he met up with Frank.

As he still had more than a few minutes before he had to join his brother, Joe decided to swing through the park. He was about to cross Morningside Ave, but slowed down when he noticed the 'Don't Walk' sign flashing insistently. A few cars tried to speed through the intersection, and were rewarded with the sounds of irate horns, mostly coming from the yellow taxis that were about to turn left on their green. Several cars had their windows down, and choice swear words were bandied about, as were a few expressive hand gestures. Joe shook his head slightly, but noticed that everyone else seemed nonplussed at the display.

Joe's eyes fell on the young woman standing next to him, and he gave her an appreciative once over. She caught his look and smiled saucily at him. She was probably a little older than himself, with dark curly hair and hazel eyes. She was cute, in that girl-next-door type of way. As they waited for the light, Joe noticed she snuck several glances in his direction before glancing away. It's the Hardy charm, he thought. They just can't help themselves.

"Hi," he said casually.

"Hi," she returned. She looked at him once more, almost shyly.

"If you're working up the courage to ask for my number, you needn't worry," he told her. "I'll give it to you without too much persuasion."

"I'll bet," she said with a laugh. "Actually, I had my eye on your hoagie. Where did you buy it?"

"Ah, a woman after my own heart. Cute, and with good culinary taste. A perfect combo." He grinned at her blush, and pointed back the way he had come. "That stall over there."

"Oh, thanks. I've haven't had lunch yet, and I'm already late meeting someone. I'll have to do like you—grab and go."

"Meeting someone…like your boyfriend?" Joe asked.

"My, you are very forward! No, my great-aunt. I promised to meet her in the park."

"Whew!" Joe made a great show of wiping his brow. "That's a relief. So I can give you my number in good conscience."

"You're not going to give up, are you? Fine, hand it over." Joe found his receipt from the hoagie seller and wrote his cell phone number down carefully. As he did so, the girl watched him with amusement. "I'm impressed—you carry a pen."

"It comes in handy," he admitted, "especially in times like these. I'm Joe Hardy," he said, handing her the paper.

Joe noted that she gave a little start at his name, but she covered it up so quickly with a smile that he wondered if he had imagined it. "Shelley Pelligrini."

"Nice to meet you, Shelley," he said as the light changed. "Feel free to give me a call anytime."

"I may just take you up on that offer," she teased. "Bye, Joe Hardy." She gave him a small wave and headed in the opposite direction.

Joe watched her shapely figure for a moment, and then strolled into Morningside Park. He chose a trail at random, and started to follow it as it zigzagged its way past a series of stately trees and well-kept flowerbeds. When he came upon a basketball court, he decided to turn back. As he did, he collided with a lanky guy with greasy hair who was on his cell phone."Are you sure?" the guy demanded into his phone. "She walks by here everyday? With that dog?" He glared at Joe. "Outta my way."

Joe gave him an indignant stare. "Look, bub, you walked into me."

"You wanna go?" the guy asked. "Right here, right now."

Joe sized him up, and knew in an instant the guy was no match for him. However, he wasn't so hotheaded to get into a fistfight over something so small, and the guy definitely wasn't worth squashing his hoagies. Fortunately he was spared such a fate by the person on the other end of the phone. "Oh, just some punk kid," the guy said, snarling at Joe. "I'm gonna punch out his lights. I—but I—It'll just take a minute! OK, fine, I'm going!" He threw Joe a poisonous look and took off.

Joe shrugged inwardly and continued on his way. He approached Morningside Ave once again, marveling how the park was really an oasis in the city. As the peaceful sounds melted away into a dull roar of the surrounding traffic, Joe was suddenly aware of a commotion at a nearby bench. A man, wearing the hood of a sweatshirt over his head, appeared to be arguing with an older woman, but Joe was too far away to hear the conversation. The guy looked liked trouble, though. It was well over eighty degrees in the sun—there was no reason for him to be so covered up. Joe squinted at the man, his curiosity piqued, and started to move toward the pair. As he did, the man reached out toward the woman without warning and picked up something from her lap. Then, without a pause, he started running full tilt toward Joe.

Joe had every intention of stopping the man, and he held his position, his quadriceps tensing so that the muscles would be ready to propel Joe in whatever direction the guy took. Behind the speeding man, still at the bench, the woman jumped up and screamed something at the top of her lungs. Joe supposed that she was yelling for someone to stop the guy because he had just stolen her purse; he was so focused on the runner that it took a moment before her cry finally registered:

"Stop that man! He's got my baby!"