Frank peered into his wallet. Empty, Frank thought. Great, this is just what I need. He coughed again but in a more controlled manner than the day before, though, the blood still came. He wiped his mouth unconsciously with the back of his hand and resumed walking to the phone booth. It had been minutes ago that he was walking down the very street with his brother and he struggled to keep Joe out of his mind as he concentrated on where he might find David Gray. The name sounds so familiar, Frank thought. Where have I heard it before? He bit his lip as if hoping a little more pain would help him remember.

As he walked down one of Bayport's downtown streets, he spotted a half-empty bar and ducked into it. Most of the tables were occupied; waiters, waitresses, and cooks all sitting about relaxing. Frank figured they weren't expecting anyone this early in the afternoon and he strode over to the phone booth. It was empty and he stepped in, asking an apron-lady nearby for the phone book. She returned a few minutes later with the book he requested and he thanked her.

Let's see… Gray… Gray… Frank thought as his fingers swiftly flipped through the pages and traced down column after column of names. There was Gray, Daniel; Gray, Donald; Gray, Doug. Frank bit his fist in defeat and stared at the yellow pages in deep thought.

Who is this guy? Maybe David Gray is just an alias… He sighed and leaning on the phone box, put his head in his arms. Where… Maybe I should ask around… But that could be suicide. If this man is really in league with those gangsters then he's probably got enemies and spies all over the place who'll do me in for just saying his name.

Finally, Frank straightened up and exited the booth. He handed the lady the book back and thanked her.

"Find who you were looking for?" she asked him with an inquisitive smile. Frank hesitated and then shook his head.

"Actually, no," Frank said, returning the smile and scratching his head shyly.

"Well, who is it then? Maybe I know him—or her— 'coz I've been around these parts all my life and I've met all sorts of people going in and outta here," She nodded as-a-matter-a-factly and grinned at him. She waited.

"Well, uh, I'm not even sure if he's from around Bayport. I've never actually met him," Frank explained slowly, not really sure if he should be consulting the woman about his search.

"Shoot," she said.

"Okay, so, have you heard of anyone named David Gray?" Frank asked pausing before the name. He saw the woman eye him strangely and then she looked around. Frank followed her gaze and hid his uneasiness; all eyes in the room were on him and none of them looked too friendly. He shifted his eyes to the woman again, pleading for help. She was looking at him, nodding, and then jerked her head for him to follow her.

The front door swung open and Fenton Hardy walked in, briefcase in one hand and coat hanging over the opposite arm.

"Hey, dear," Mrs. Hardy greeted, pecking him on the cheek. Leaning closer to his ear, she whispered, "Joe's in his room. He hasn't left it since he got home from school. Maybe you should talk to him. I'm pretty sure it's about his brother and he's not telling us something."

Fenton squeezed her affectionately and reassuringly. "I'll talk to him but I can't promise anything. Joe will do whatever it is he wants and we won't be able to stop him."

"Like what Frank did?" Mrs. Hardy pointed out, raising an eyebrow as she shook her head. "Just talk to him, okay?"

"I said I would," Fenton nodded and then let her go. She walked back into the kitchen to talk to Aunt Gertrude while Fenton hung his coat, set down his briefcase, and made his way to the boys' room.

There was a knock on the door but Joe had a pretty good idea it was his dad that Mrs. Hardy sent up as reinforcements. His mother and aunt had interrogated him the moment he stepped into the house with a frown on his face. He couldn't just tell him that he met his brother on the way home and couldn't convince him to come home and leave that cursed David Gray alone! Joe clenched his fists and gritted his teeth at the name.

"Joe?" his father opened the door a fraction and stepped in. "Your mother wanted me to talk to you about your brother."

"Laura wanted me to talk to you about Frank," Joe rephrased. "Why can't you use names? You're so formal sometimes, dad." Fenton raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Okay," Fenton said and walked to where Joe sat on his bed. He noticed the boy's fists were closed and the knuckles were white. There was a long pause and then Fenton said, "You saw Frank didn't you?"

Joe's head jerking up so suddenly was all Fenton needed to see. Joe realized this and then nodded, looking into his lap guiltily.

"Yeah, I saw him on my way back from school," Joe admitted, biting his lip and then looking at his father. "How'd you know?"

"I'm not a detective and your father for nothing, you know," Fenton said and sat down next to his son. "So, what happened between you and your brother?"

"Well, he sounded worse than before… his voice was… weird… different…" Joe trailed off. "He seemed sicker than when he first left the house. He was asking me if I would help him find David Gray."

"David Gray? Who's he?" Fenton asked, his brows furrowed and his eyes boring into Joe's intensely.

"I'm not sure. Frank didn't explain much, all he said was that Council mentioned the name when they were van. Council couldn't have gotten his hands on the drugs and chemicals by himself so Frank figured David Gray must be their supplier," Joe told his father, who listening expressionlessly.

"And Frank wanted to find him?"

"To find Gray, yes."

"Why didn't he tell us—me, about this?"

"He didn't say, dad."

"Why did he lie to us in the first place?"

"Dad…"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry—it's just that it's not like Frank to withhold valuable information like that," Fenton said.

"He's sick, dad. I've never seen him like this so I guess he's probably just as scared as we are. But he's still Frank, through and through no matter how bad it looks on the surface," Joe said. Fenton stared at his son, the blonde head bent and he reached around Joe's shoulders, hugging him.

"Now that we've got a lead," Fenton whispered. "We'll find your—" Joe looked at him and he paused. "We'll find our Frank. You can bet your life on it. We'll find Frank, Joe."

The woman led him to the back of the café and then out into an empty alleyway. It was narrow and made even narrower by the two large dumpsters on either wall as well as black, bulky trash bags that formed a smelly wall around the dumpsters

"Where are we going—?" Frank began as he followed her out the door. He stopped himself as the woman stood to one side and two young Chinese in black leather jackets stepped from a doorway along the alley, blocking Frank's way. Before he could back away, two more young men appeared behind him. They were all older than Frank, perhaps 20 years old. There was a daring viciousness in their faces as he looked around for a way out, but in the alley all the doors were closed and the windows barred.

The woman was in league with Gray, he realized. Coolly, professionally, she had set up this trap for him. And he, fooled into believing he had the situation under control, blundered right into it on cue. I knew I shouldn't have, Frank thought as he scolded himself. You were playing with fire, Frank, and now you're about to get burned.

"A little bird told us someone was nosing around where he shouldn't have," said one of the leather-jacketed men. There was a click and a flashing arc of silver, and a switchblade appeared, open and ready, in the man's hand.

Frank threw himself into the figure, grabbing his knee. The man's hand flew open, and the knife was thrown across the alley, skittering harmlessly onto the pavement. Frank spun, twisting the man's arm behind his back. He kicked the guy behind his knee. Off-balance the stranger sprawled to the ground. To the other three, Frank said, "Anyone else want to try?"

The man he had knock down was still squeezing his wrist and writhing on the ground. The others looked from him to Frank and back to their friend again. They didn't move, until the woman shouted something in Chinese. The men then charged at Frank. He easily knocked their burly fists aside. But there were three of them. Sooner or later one of their punches would connect. As it was, he felt lucky the men were street hoods and not martial arts masters or boxers. He had met those masters before and can win fairly well, yet these guys were determined. Joe, trained in straightforward fighting style could hold his own against these guys.

As he fended off the men he glanced around. The way to the other end of the alley was clear. All he needed to do was slow them down long enough to make the run. If he reached the street, he'd be safe.

Suddenly, Frank lashed out, catching the nearest man with a hard jab to his jaw. The man fell back; Frank swung his arm, catching a second guy on the ear. The third took a hard clip in the chest from Frank's elbow, and the man howled in pain. Frank spun and ran but then tumbled to the ground. One of the men had recovered and tackled his legs. The two of them lay sprawled on the ground but, unlike Frank, the Chinese was un-dazed. Frank felt himself hauled onto his feet painfully and he shook his head to clear it. Two of the men held his arms while the other pair stood on either side of the woman, who now stepped forward in front of him.

"Who are you?" the woman asked. Frank gritted his teeth and stayed quiet. Then one of the men suddenly lifted his foot and kicked Frank in the ribs. Again and again. Frank groaned and sank to his knees. The two men holding him by the arms pulled him up again. Frank could feel the weight on his chest throbbing and he could sense warm blood streaming down his nose and lip. His vision blurred and he tried to twist away but the men were strong and held him like a vice.

"Who are you?" the woman asked again. Breathing hard, Frank hesitated, and then lifted his head to look at the woman. She was staring at him the same way she had been when they were inside.

"Francis Villeroy," Frank lied. One of the Chinese men holding him quickly delivering a small clout to the side of Frank's head and the boy grunted in pain.

"You're lying," the woman said stonily. Frank wondered how the woman could've known but decided to tell her the truth. It wouldn't do him any good to lie anymore than it did him any worse to tell the truth.

"Frank," he said slowly. He then realized that the Chinese men had grabbed his wrists. He then realized how hard his heart was beating. He then realized that calming himself down should do the trick. He took deep breaths and exhaled a few times. "Frank… Frank Westin." He lied—again. He stole a glance at the two men holding him and saw them nod.

"Well, Mr. Westin… why are you looking for Mr. Gray?" She asked after looking at the two men. Frank coughed a little and looked at her.

"I can't say," Frank finally managed to say. One of the men beside her stepped forward and grabbed Frank by the hair, pulling his head back painfully. Panting, he stifled a scream as the cold edge of a steel blade pressed against his neck. This is happening to me a little too often, Frank thought dryly.

"Try saying… for us," the woman said shrilly. "Could you please, Mr. Westin?" The man with the knife pressed it a little harder into Frank's neck and the boy struggled not to swallow.

"I need his help," Frank finally blurted out. There was a pause and then the pressure on his neck disappeared as the Chinese man stepped back beside the woman.

"You need his help?" the woman queried, an eyebrow raised.

"Well," Frank paused. "A friend of mine needs help. He's sick…really sick… and I think maybe David Gray would know how to help him. The doctors aren't doing much and I'm afraid that he'll…"

"A likely story, Mr. Westin," the woman looked at him intently. "Why should we believe you? Why should David Gray bother with the likes of you? He's gotten rid of more important people for less than asking."

"I don't know. But I'll tell you that I'm desperate enough to nearly get killed for asking," Frank said, biting his lip and hoping. There was a long pause and Frank saw the Chinese men were glancing at the woman uneasily. You guys aren't the only ones, Frank thought, feeling the tension pressing down on all of them.

"Very well," the woman suddenly announced; Frank felt the two men holding him jump a little and then regain their composure.

"Very well?" Frank asked hopefully.

"We'll take you to him. I don't know if he'll buy your story but I, myself, don't really know what to make of it," she shrugged. "I suppose he'll help; he's a pretty reasonable person. But if I'm wrong… then I suppose this is the last time anyone will ever see you again." Frank felt a chill run down his spine but he didn't show it.

tbc (I promise :)