The Criminal's Revenge

by trianglelionface

A Hardy Boys mystery inspired by the classics. When a high school acquaintance is attacked, Frank and Joe have to use all their wits to determine the cause. As the list of victims grows, so does the proximity to danger, threatening the lives of all whom Frank and Joe hold dear. Will they uncover the criminal before it's too late? Find out in The Criminal's Revenge! My first fic.

24. Chapter 24

Frank was mad at Joe. He hadn't been able to reach him at the hospital, the house, or the garage. No one had even answered at the last two places, and Frank was out of change for any more payphone calls. He was mad at Joe because he was worried about him.

He slammed the phone onto the receiver and mounted his motorcycle, strapping his helmet on. When he arrived home it didn't take him long to realize the place was completely empty. A note in his mother's handwriting read, "At Aunt Gertrude's, be back before dinner!" There was no sign of anyone else. He remounted his motorcycle and made for the garage.

Frank wasn't a swearing man, but he let out a hearty "dag-nabbit" when he saw the garage doors closed and the lights off. There wasn't a car parked outside. He went to try the doorknob just in case. The door opened easily.

The garage tools were put away nicely, and the new windows let in sunlight that illuminated the dusty air. Frank started to make his way inside to see if any of the guys were there. He had just reached the door to the office when he heard the unmistakable click of a cocked pistol. He whipped around and saw the briefest glimpse of an old man's face tilted to the side. He was standing a few feet behind him. Before Frank could speak, or move any further, a deafening noise burst through the silent place. Frank felt pressure like getting hit with a baseball, but worse. He staggered back, and looked down at his shoulder. He had been shot.

"That wasn't very nice!" He said indignantly, completely shocked. The pain then shot through Frank's shoulder in sharp angry waves. Warm blood was seeping its way through his shirt and jacket. He made to try and stop the bleeding, but the effort sent him crashing down on his knees.

The old man was watching as if fascinated by the blood. A sick smile played at the edges of his mouth. He approached Frank slowly, and then crouched in front of him.

"Adler Haas?" Frank whispered to the man, his weak good arm struggling to staunch the flow of blood.

The man smiled even wider. He reached out and pushed Frank's hand off the wound. Catching some of the blood on his hand, he moved it to the floor and began to write a message on the concrete, using the blood as ink.

Before Frank could read it, the floor rushed up to meet him, and he slipped into unconsciousness.