Chapter 25

Con found Fenton unsuccessfully trying to flag down a cab just outside of the Hospital lot. He was probably not having much luck because he had forgotten about his sunglasses and was cursing like a madman at every car that failed to stop. "Fen, calm down man!"

Not acknowledging his presence, Fenton just carried on waving his fist at yellow cars. Eventually Con took the decision to get physical. He took his friend by the shoulder and yanked him around. "Fen!"

"Don't try and stop me, Con!"

"Unlikely. I'm coming with you, but you gotta get a grip first. If you walk into Compute-Soft like this, all that's likely to happen is that Bale will clam up –that's if you find anyone there at all given that it's nearly six now."

Fenton jerked a thumb back towards the hospital. "I just left my boy broken in there!"

"Yeah I know, I saw his shoulder."

"I wasn't talking about his injuries. He's just had to watch Frank and Vanessa disappear in a car explosion, the exact same thing that happened to Iola Morton, but ten times worse. He just hit the wall, and I didn't see it comin', and I should have!"

"Hey," Con coaxed gently and rested a hand against his shoulder.

Fenton shrugged him off. "Don't, Con, I don't deserve sympathy. I've been so wrapped around Frank that I didn't consider how Joe was coping these last few months...if he was coping."

"Is that why the nurse came to get you?"

"They were going to sedate him, but I got him to calm down. They're keeping him in overnight under observation."

"We thought you'd gone to support him with having his shoulder put back in."

Fenton choked out a hard laugh. "What? You think Joe Hardy would need to hold his daddy's hand for that? Come now, the boy's made of steel, he's a human tank."

"Maybe not...as it turns out."

That remark made Fenton stop and think although the fire didn't leave his eyes. His head almost imperceptibly nodded. "I need to go back, make sure Frank and Vanessa get home safely."

"Just stop a while Fenton, get off that roller coaster ride you're on. Laura is on her way and she'll take care of things. Besides which, they're not children anymore, they can look after themselves. Today proved that."

Fenton stared down at his feet and breathed deeply. Then he remembered about his sunglasses and unhooked them from his top pocket to put them on. He turned to look into the road.

You okay?" Con asked.

Fenton offer no answer. Instead he turned and looked up Main Street. "You coming?"

"Where?"

Not answering again, Fenton waited for a break in the traffic and quickly jaywalked to the other side of the road. Clearly neither of them was going home any time soon, and from the direction Fenton was heading, Con was not going to be led to Compute-Soft either.

Con caught up and kept pace as he was drawn further into town. "Flash, are you going to let me in on wherever it is we're going?…Ah." Realisation had dawned.

Fenton had been walking him to the nearest bar. He pushed through the heavy wooden door and entered, making quick time across the polished floorboards, an obvious path to the liquor having been hewn by craftily positioned tables.

Con was barely through before the door swung shut again, the taste and smell of warm alcohol immediately hitting the back of his throat and raucous laughter attacked his eardrums. Approaching the counter he witnessed Fenton raise a finger to one of the young bar staff. "Whisky," he snapped and rummaged in his pocket for his wallet. He extracted a fifty-dollar bill and threw it down, only then did he slide onto a barstool.

"Ice?"

"Nope, as God intended," Fenton said. "And the same for my friend."

"I'll have a water – I'm driving," Con corrected, perching on a stool himself. "I need to pick up my car at some point," he offered by way of explanation for his abstinence.

The bartender went to start throwing the glass and bottle about, starting by flicking the tumbler behind his back and catching it as it sailed over his shoulder.

Fenton was less than impressed. "Knock it off, Tom Cruise. If I want to see a show, I'll spend my fifty bucks at the movies." He tapped the wooden bar surface. "Just the drink please."

So the shot glass was dropped down and golden liquid dispensed.

Con watched disquietly as Fenton took it back in one slug. "Fen—"

Fenton turned on him with his teeth bared and slammed the glass back down. "Con, after what's happened these last few months...let's just say I need this. If you want me to get off that roller coaster ride, this is how I'm going to do it." He addressed the bartender again, flicking the glass at him. "Fill 'er up!"

The barman looked to Con who raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the bottle. "Pour him another. I'll keep an eye on him. Try and drink this one slower, Flash."

Fenton ignored his missive and threw it down his throat just as quickly. This time, it made him cough and swipe at his mouth. When the choking stopped, all the fight and anger had gone, leaving an enveloping bleakness.

The barman took the bottle away, but hovered for further instructions.

"I'll have a pitcher of beer," Fenton muttered and then addressed Con again. "I've never had a taste for it, but it's the boys' poison of choice. Do you know I've never taken my boys to a bar? It's supposed to be one of those 'coming of age' things that I never got around to. Their coming of age is long gone." His forearm dropped down despondently onto the counter top.

"You can still do that stuff. You did a fine job with the boys."

"Laura did a fine job. I undermined her efforts by allowing the boys to run wild."

"Hardly."

Fenton snorted.

"Joe'll be okay. He's just letting off steam. Mark my words, the kid'll be bouncing around tomorrow. He's had a shock today, a good night's sleep'll set him straight."

Fenton snorted again. "Con, I appreciate what you're doing, but that's condescending wishful thinking."

Con took a sip of his water and tried not to show that Fenton's words had stung. He knew it was the whisky talking and the last thing Fenton needed right at that moment was a telling off.

Fenton must have sensed something though because he grimaced. "I'm sorry. You don't merit being spoken to like that."

"Buddy, it's okay."

"No it's not, it's crap. You've been more than supportive." he gazed despondently at the jug of beer as it was dropped down in front of them along with a tall glass.

Con caught the eye of a girl who was sitting on the other side of the bar from them. She had been watching Fenton, but when she realised Con had noticed, turned away quickly and rejoined her friends' conversation instead. As usual, Fenton had failed to notice the interest he'd drawn from the fairer sex.

Con forgot about the woman and shuffled his stool closer to his friend, mirrored his pose and positioned his head closer. In a lowered voice he said, "Well, if it's a 'feeling-sorry-for-yourself-session' you're after, and a competition in failed parenting…what about the pseudo-parent who abandoned a youngster to a miserable existence for nearly 20 years?"

"Are you talking about you and James?"

"Of course I'm talking about James. I left it up to my boy to find me and then when he did he went undercover and changed his name. What does that say about me?

"It says more about your family than it does you. Ask yourself why he's not changed it back…it's not you he's hiding from. And I bet you had no choice but to leave."

"Not the proudest moment of my life. You see? Your parenting wasn't half bad, so let up on yourself."

"Huh."

They were both now gazing into the amber liquid.

"I changed my mind." Con suddenly decided. Straightening in his seat, he shouted across to the bartender, "hey kid, another glass." As soon as it was set down, he lifted the pitcher, poured a tumbler for each of them and then slid Fenton's along the bar 'Wild West' style.

Fenton caught it and raised it high. "Here's to crummy parenting and pseudo-parenting…"

Con tapped his glass against his friend's. "…or 'how to stuff up your kids' lives in two easy steps'. The only way is up, my friend."

Con climbed the stairs to the office, and started hunting his pockets for his key. Catching sight of his watch, it occurred to him that as it was late into the morning, there was a slim chance the door would be open. Upon testing his theory, he did find the room unlocked. He opened up and entered, curious as to who was inside...it was the last team member he was expecting to see. "Kiddo! When did you get out?"

"This morning." It was Joe leaning up against his desk with one arm in a sling, the other holding his cell phone. He was wearing yesterday's scraped-up clothes.

"Should you even be here?"

"Probably not."

"How's the arm?"

"Aching. Came to see Frank, thought he'd be here. I guess the dude's at home. I was just about to text him."

Con had been watching Joe's pale face carefully, looking for signs of the distress that Fenton had described but seeing no evidence of it. Perhaps Con's theory had been correct and it had just been the shock of it. "Frank called me earlier. He's picking up his car from Compute-Soft, and—"

"—On his own?!" Joe blurted out. "He shouldn't be out there alone!"

Ah, there is was, automatic anxiety for his brother's welfare. "He's meeting Fenton. They're going to interview Lawrence Bale together, hit him with the evidence, see if they can get him to open up, confess even. The sooner we can get him to do that, the better."

"But what about Frank's theory that the bug on Van's bag wasn't planted by Bale?"

Con frowned, "What are you talking about?"

Joe sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know what I'm talking about, Frank never had the chance to explain, just told me to sweep everywhere for wires." His mouth kinked up, "He was going to talk me through his theory yesterday over lunch, but events got in the way. Hard to hold a conversation when you're either sliding on your head or flying gracefully through the air."

That was one thing Con had lately learned about Joe Hardy. He hid behind humour and used it as a buffer zone when he was feeling stressed. Con had the almost uncontrollable urge to put his arm around the younger man. "Sweeping for wires...? Okay, now I'm confused. Has Frank turned into James Bond?"

Joe sighed again. "There are some similarities, I'll admit. Never mind, I'm sure the dude knows what he's doing."

Con shrugged off his jacket. "You want a drink? Cause I need one now to clear the cobwebs. You Hardys are the most confusing group of men I ever worked with…and I'm including James in that."

"A coffee would be great. That hospital stuff is pure mud in a cup."

Con went to flick the switch on the kettle and went about selecting two mugs that were not too chipped and were not Frank's. "Where's Vanessa?"

"She's with her mom, I wouldn't let her come with me today, not after what happened yesterday. Safer at home. I was hoping to catch up with Frank, get up to speed on everything he found out."

"You okay buddy? You look like you could do with a vacation."

"Like that's gonna happen any time soon."

Con's cell phone started to ring so he fished it from his top pocket and keyed the answer button. "Hello."

"Con, it's Fenton."

Con glanced at Joe. "How goes it, Fen? Your youngest is here."

"Joe?"

"How many children have you got?"

Fenton didn't answer, his slow breathing the only indication that he was still there. But eventually: "Where are you?"

"In the office."

"Why's Joe there?"

Joe came forward, moving stiffly with a small grimace, clearly feeling the effects of having been flung onto asphalt from a great height. "Tell Dad to put Frank on."

"Fenton, Joe wants to talk to Frank."

"Crap—" There was another long and ominous pause from the other end – as if receiving the word 'Crap' to a mundane request was bad enough. But eventually again: "Frank isn't here. He hasn't shown up yet. I've been waiting for over thirty minutes now. I'm going to ask you to lie to Joe for me and move this conversation to somewhere private. I'll make it up to you."

Con turned away from Joe and opened up the overhead cupboard to pull down the coffee. "How?" He wasn't sure if he meant how he should lie, or how Fenton could 'make it up' to him because that would be a challenge in itself. This was not an assignment he wanted without some sort of personal gain.

"I don't know. Just do it."

"Thanks Fen." Con closed his eyes not quite with a groan. When he opened them again, he turned to Joe and said light-heartedly, "Frank went to his car to get those photographs. Fenton said he'll get him to phone you."

"Well done, Con."

If it had been Fenton or Frank lying, Joe would have picked up on it almost immediately, but this was Con Riley whom Joe had only worked closely with for a matter of a few short months. So he seemed to accept the explanation without question and joined him at the counter to start a ungainly one-arm dance with the jar of coffee.

Con continued with his charade into the phone, "Hang fire a moment, Flash, I can't understand you." With his chin holding the handset in place, he took the jar back from Joe and unscrewed the lid. "I gotta go outside, my phone's reception is terrible. I can't make out what your dad is saying. Will you be okay to finish the drinks?"

"Dude, if you hear a scream, you'll know I wasn't and I spilled boiling water down myself."

Con laughed and strolled from the office, only picking up speed when the door had swung shut. He tripped to the bottom of the stairs where he was out of earshot and hunkered down onto the bottom treads. "Talk to me Fenton," he hissed, "what do you mean Frank isn't there? I spoke to him earlier and he was as keen as you to see an end to this, was leaving to meet you. Did you try his cell?"

"That was the first thing I did before I phoned his apartment. Can't get an answer from either. His voice mail kicked in at home and he's not answering his cell phone. He seems to have disappeared without a trace!"