Disclaimer: This is the first time I have written Hardy Boy fanfiction,
and the first time in nearly a year that I have written any type of
fanfiction, so please go easy on me!! Please give me feedback-do you like
the story, hate it? Since I'm not sure whether I'll continue this story
any suggestions or thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!
Joe Hardy rocked back on his heels and yawned. The day had been long for him-far too long- and though nothing exciting had happened he was still tired. With a sigh he reluctantly picked himself up and stood. He was wanted at home-why it was so essential he didn't know, for there was nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary in the back-to-school routine. Yet. There was some sense of danger, a forbidding feel to the air. he glanced about the swaying trees and frowned. Something big was about to happen, something that would involve him, but was not at all good. He shook his head. Foolishness. Pure and idle foolishness. He was letting his boredom control his imagination and create tension where there was none. Sighing, he mounted his powerful motorcycle, kicked it into gear, and a few seconds later was well past the beach. As he rode, his mind wandered to his abrupt summons. His father had called him on the motorcycle's radio, informing him that something had come up and Joe was needed immediately at home. He would say nothing more of the matter-indeed he had said nothing else- but insisted that Joe come straight home. Try as he might, Joe could not understand why his solitary evening on the beach had been interrupted. He supposed it could have something to do with a case, but his father was currently on no assignments, and he would have mentioned if his status had changed. Regardless of what the reason was, Joe could not help but hope it was a case. The entire summer had been far too relaxing, and he looked forward to a challenge. And although the idea of sleepless nights, boring stake- outs and hurried rushes did bother him slightly, he was eager for excitement. Wasn't he? He tried to tell himself that whispered feeling of doubt was just his nerves, that the summer's laziness was finally getting the better of him. Truth be told, he enjoyed loafing around and not having anything to do. Realizing he just contradicted himself, he sighed. Maybe he should get to sleep early; as soon as the strange business he had been summoned for was taken care of , he would go to bed. He reached his house and turned into the driveway, shutting off the engine the instant he was in the garage. He placed his helmet on the back of his cycle, stood. and nearly collapsed as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He grabbed the back of his cycle, desperately trying to clear the fog in his mind and control his churning stomach before his father, brother-or worse, his mother- came out to check on him. They would have heard the garage door open and close, would have heard the noise of the engine before he shut it off. Then, as quickly as it had come, the dizziness vanished. He shook his head, frightened and more than a little disturbed. The experience had left him shaky and more tired then ever, but it was not worth mentioning to his family. They were already worried about him, and the incident would merely add to their concern. Joe knew he had become withdrawn and quiet since the death of his girlfriend, Iola Morton, but it couldn't be helped. He was distancing himself from everyone around him and he knew it. He wanted to be alone-needed to be alone. He just hoped they understood. With a sigh he pocketed his keys and trudged through the door; his father could be kept waiting.
* * *
Frank Hardy heard the garage door open from where he sat in the kitchen. His eyes met those of his father's and what he saw was mirrored in his own: no more. The days of relaxation and playing are over. I just hope that's a good thing. He glanced at his plate of food and blinked wearily. He did know how Joe would react to the news of a case, though at one time the prediction would have been far from difficult. His brother loved cases, loved the excitement and danger they brought to an otherwise ordinary day. But Joe was different now, subdued and quiet, and Frank had no way of understanding how he felt. Maybe Joe would refuse the case. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would accept only to put himself in the line of danger continually, with no regard for his well- being. Maybe- Hearing a noise in the doorway, he looked up to see his brother. To say Frank was surprised would be more than an understatement; it would be a downright lie. His six foot, blond hair, muscular brother used to be a cheerful, outgoing teenager with sparkling blue eyes and a face that hinted at mischief and pranks yet to come. But that person was gone, replaced with a quiet, pale seventeen year old boy who glanced uncertainly around the table. There was no air of mischief about him, no joking manner in the way he slowly edged toward the table. He was an entirely different person. Frank opened his mouth to comment, then snapped it shut. What could he say? That his brother looked terrible and needed to quit thinking about Iola, that by reliving the nightmare he was only torturing himself? That by doing so he was letting the Assassins win? For he knew that they were the indirect cause of Joe's transformation. They had killed Iola in a bomb meant for Joe and him; her death had been a harsh blow to both brothers and to their friends. But it effected Joe the most. He hadn't even spoken to Chet since the incident at the mall, where they had nearly been killed by The Bullet, and Frank suspected his brother was purposefully avoiding him. As he is us all. "Joe, thank you for coming so quickly." Fenton Hardy, world famous detective, smiled warmly at his youngest son, and Frank turned his attention to the conversation at hand. "Please, sit down." Mr. Hardy watched his son select a chair furthest from the rest of the family, drag it farther away from the table, and sit. Suppressing a sigh, he continued. "I must apologize for calling you home early from your. day off, but it couldn't be helped." "Naturally." It was the first time since coming home that Joe had spoken, and Fenton started. While he was glad that Joe was listening, he couldn't help but wish his son's comment hadn't sounded so. sarcastic. But he continued speaking smoothly, as if Joe had remained silent. "As I am certain you already know, Bayport had been overly quiet these past few months. It's been very peaceful. Not that it usually is not, but this is different. strange, even. No criminal activity has been reported in nearly three months; there have been no attempted bank robberies, no hold-ups-nothing. But all that has changed." He paused, glancing at Joe expectantly. His emotions, once so easily read, were now hidden. His son's face was a mask of stone, and not even his eyes betrayed his thoughts. Mr. Hardy suppressed a shiver; now was not the time to discuss Joe's emotional state, no matter how necessary it seemed. There would be a time for that later, when he and his wife, Laura, were away. Frank had requested it to be that way, and both Fenton and Laura agreed it would be best. Joe wasn't one for discussing his emotions and would close up unless alone with Frank. "I received a call today about an hour before I radioed you. Your cousin Jay has been having some problems and needs our help. Your mother and I are leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Jack Wayne won't be taking us, so he will be here in case you need him." "What does this have to do with me?" Joe asked quietly. He wasn't sure why, but that strange sense of forbidding was beginning to wash over him. But it was crazy! There was nothing wrong save for Jay's problems, and that seemed rather trivial compared to Iola. "I was getting to that. Shortly after Jay called I received yet another call, this time from Mr. Ely Dobbsins. I assume you know who he is?" "Owns all the water parks in town. Small man, brown hair with receding hair line and glasses." Frank answered. Fenton nodded. "It seems there have been several robberies at various amusement parks throughout Bayport- WaterWorld and Wet 'N' Wild have both been robbed twice. Twice! Mr. Dobbsins is afraid the others will soon be hit as well, but hopes to prevent the opportunity from presenting itself. He wants you two boys," he glanced first at Frank, then at Joe, "to investigate. He'll be calling in half an hour for your answer." Joe frowned. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or whether he even approved of the case or not, but Fenton was fairly certain he did. "Clues?" "Very few. Whoever's responsible is a professional. They knew exactly what to do and exactly when and where to do it." "Inside man?" "Possibly," Fenton agreed. "And to be honest that was my first impression. But now?" He shook his head and sighed. "Now I think it is a set-up. Someone wants us to believe it was an inside job; it takes the pressure off them enough to pull another run. "It sounds like a very dangerous case, boys. I want you to promise me you'll be careful; no rushing into things or taking unnecessary risks-" here he looked at Joe, who smiled faintly. "Do I have your word?" "Yes, Dad." Fenton acknowledged Frank's promise with a nod and waited for Joe's response. When still the blond boy said nothing, Fenton sighed. "Joe?" The younger Hardy gazed at his plate for a moment, lost deep in thought; Fenton frowned. This was not at all like his son, who spoke before thinking, who somehow managed to say the right thing without hesitation and with extreme ease. He looked over at Frank and was not surprised to see the older boy watching him. He gave a slight nod, which Frank returned. Frank would talk to his brother tomorrow. But for now. "It's late. Your mother and I are going to be bed; I advice you to do the same after Mr. Dobbsin calls. And remember, you don't have to accept the case." He waited a moment for Joe to contradict that statement- neither Frank nor Joe had ever refused a case, and both protested vehemently at any mention of not accepting or finishing one- surely this would be no different! But his youngest son remained silent, and Fenton was wise enough to let that silence slide. With a sigh he turned away. It was late, and he was tired. He just hoped he could sleep despite the worries and fears that continued to plague him. He thought again of Joe and his deepening isolation. He thought of Iola Morton and her tragic death-a casualty that should have been his sons. He remembered his shock, the relief and sorrow upon hearing she was dead- but his sons were safe! He remembered all too clearly the conflicting emotions, the sleepless nights as he worried for his family and hunted for the ones responsible. He did not sleep that night.
* * *
"Could you please tell me where we are going?" It was morning-early morning- so early, in fact, that the sun was not yet even up. Joe sat huddled under a blanket in the passenger seat of the van, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. When he had agreed to take the case he had done so believing his brother would be working with him as they normally did, but so far Frank had told him nothing except they had an appointment with Ely Dobbsin and were going to be late. Why it had been scheduled for five o'clock in the morning, Joe did not understand. Perhaps Mr. Dobbsin was afraid of being seen by the thieves. That was all very well and good, and it was good to be careful, but there was such a thing as being overly cautious and this. this bordered on the line of paranoia. "We're going to visit Ely Dobbsin. We need more facts then the ones he gave us last night." "You meant the ones he gave you." "I told you everything I know last night. Remember?" Joe frowned. Certainly he would have remembered any details regarding the case, yet he could recall nothing. Oh, he remembered Dobbsin's call easily enough, and he remembered Frank discussing the information on the phone, but that was all. "No, I don't remember. Not really." He scowled. He knew he shouldn't be angry at his brother, yet he couldn't help the feeling of frustration that washed over him. Joe was impulsive and reckless- a trait that had gotten him into trouble more than a few times- but despite his reputation he didn't always act without thinking. He was quite capable of thinking situations out when necessary or when he wanted to, and this was once of those times. Only he couldn't because he didn't have a clue as to where they were even headed. Frank must have sensed his mood. "We're going to Ely Dobbsin's place, or more specifically, one of his places. Wet 'N' Wild was the first and last place to be hit so there may be some clues. Anyway, it's worth checking out." "There may be some clues at Water World, too," Joe pointed out. "True. But Wet 'N' Wild is more likely to have fresh ones. Besides, it's closer." "Not by much." "But still closer." They rode in silence then, each lost in their own private thoughts and not willing to share them with the other. Frank particularly was worried about his younger brother. Hopefully this case will pull him out of his depression. Maybe it'll distract him enough to forget about Iola-not permanently, of course, that would be disastrous- but just enough to move on. But wishing and contemplating the matter would not help. Joe needed a distraction, and if this case didn't provide one Frank would simply have to think of something else. starting with Chet Morton and Joe talking again. Frank himself had seen Chet several times after Iola's funeral and the fight in the mall, enough to realize the Mortons did not blame Joe for Iola's death. Convincing Joe of his innocence, however, was another matter entirely. It was a matter that needed to be confronted with much haste and caution. And then there was the case itself. Ely Dobbsins had revealed little over the phone, claiming it was a security risk to discuss details of the case over a possibly tapped wire, and while Frank understood his point he couldn't help but feel a little frustrated at the lack of details. And if he felt that way, Joe must be feeling ten times worse. But it was of little matter now; they had reached Wet 'N'Wild and would be meeting with Dobbsins soon enough. They parked the van near the entrance, jogged to the door, and punched in the security code. The door swung open quietly. They entered, making certain the door closed behind them, and found themselves in a corridor with several doors. "That one." Frank pointed to the only opened door. "That should be Mr. Dobbsins' office." They walked down the hall in silence. Frank lead the way, eager to hear more about the case but realizing caution was always necessary. His brother followed silently behind him. Then they were at the door, and Frank stepped inside. He was just about to turn to his brother when a figure caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned and gasped; there in the middle of the office was the figure of a man. blood pooled from his head and lay congealing on the floor. Without an instant's doubt Frank knew who it was. It was Ely Dobbsins. And he was dead.
Joe Hardy rocked back on his heels and yawned. The day had been long for him-far too long- and though nothing exciting had happened he was still tired. With a sigh he reluctantly picked himself up and stood. He was wanted at home-why it was so essential he didn't know, for there was nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary in the back-to-school routine. Yet. There was some sense of danger, a forbidding feel to the air. he glanced about the swaying trees and frowned. Something big was about to happen, something that would involve him, but was not at all good. He shook his head. Foolishness. Pure and idle foolishness. He was letting his boredom control his imagination and create tension where there was none. Sighing, he mounted his powerful motorcycle, kicked it into gear, and a few seconds later was well past the beach. As he rode, his mind wandered to his abrupt summons. His father had called him on the motorcycle's radio, informing him that something had come up and Joe was needed immediately at home. He would say nothing more of the matter-indeed he had said nothing else- but insisted that Joe come straight home. Try as he might, Joe could not understand why his solitary evening on the beach had been interrupted. He supposed it could have something to do with a case, but his father was currently on no assignments, and he would have mentioned if his status had changed. Regardless of what the reason was, Joe could not help but hope it was a case. The entire summer had been far too relaxing, and he looked forward to a challenge. And although the idea of sleepless nights, boring stake- outs and hurried rushes did bother him slightly, he was eager for excitement. Wasn't he? He tried to tell himself that whispered feeling of doubt was just his nerves, that the summer's laziness was finally getting the better of him. Truth be told, he enjoyed loafing around and not having anything to do. Realizing he just contradicted himself, he sighed. Maybe he should get to sleep early; as soon as the strange business he had been summoned for was taken care of , he would go to bed. He reached his house and turned into the driveway, shutting off the engine the instant he was in the garage. He placed his helmet on the back of his cycle, stood. and nearly collapsed as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He grabbed the back of his cycle, desperately trying to clear the fog in his mind and control his churning stomach before his father, brother-or worse, his mother- came out to check on him. They would have heard the garage door open and close, would have heard the noise of the engine before he shut it off. Then, as quickly as it had come, the dizziness vanished. He shook his head, frightened and more than a little disturbed. The experience had left him shaky and more tired then ever, but it was not worth mentioning to his family. They were already worried about him, and the incident would merely add to their concern. Joe knew he had become withdrawn and quiet since the death of his girlfriend, Iola Morton, but it couldn't be helped. He was distancing himself from everyone around him and he knew it. He wanted to be alone-needed to be alone. He just hoped they understood. With a sigh he pocketed his keys and trudged through the door; his father could be kept waiting.
* * *
Frank Hardy heard the garage door open from where he sat in the kitchen. His eyes met those of his father's and what he saw was mirrored in his own: no more. The days of relaxation and playing are over. I just hope that's a good thing. He glanced at his plate of food and blinked wearily. He did know how Joe would react to the news of a case, though at one time the prediction would have been far from difficult. His brother loved cases, loved the excitement and danger they brought to an otherwise ordinary day. But Joe was different now, subdued and quiet, and Frank had no way of understanding how he felt. Maybe Joe would refuse the case. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would accept only to put himself in the line of danger continually, with no regard for his well- being. Maybe- Hearing a noise in the doorway, he looked up to see his brother. To say Frank was surprised would be more than an understatement; it would be a downright lie. His six foot, blond hair, muscular brother used to be a cheerful, outgoing teenager with sparkling blue eyes and a face that hinted at mischief and pranks yet to come. But that person was gone, replaced with a quiet, pale seventeen year old boy who glanced uncertainly around the table. There was no air of mischief about him, no joking manner in the way he slowly edged toward the table. He was an entirely different person. Frank opened his mouth to comment, then snapped it shut. What could he say? That his brother looked terrible and needed to quit thinking about Iola, that by reliving the nightmare he was only torturing himself? That by doing so he was letting the Assassins win? For he knew that they were the indirect cause of Joe's transformation. They had killed Iola in a bomb meant for Joe and him; her death had been a harsh blow to both brothers and to their friends. But it effected Joe the most. He hadn't even spoken to Chet since the incident at the mall, where they had nearly been killed by The Bullet, and Frank suspected his brother was purposefully avoiding him. As he is us all. "Joe, thank you for coming so quickly." Fenton Hardy, world famous detective, smiled warmly at his youngest son, and Frank turned his attention to the conversation at hand. "Please, sit down." Mr. Hardy watched his son select a chair furthest from the rest of the family, drag it farther away from the table, and sit. Suppressing a sigh, he continued. "I must apologize for calling you home early from your. day off, but it couldn't be helped." "Naturally." It was the first time since coming home that Joe had spoken, and Fenton started. While he was glad that Joe was listening, he couldn't help but wish his son's comment hadn't sounded so. sarcastic. But he continued speaking smoothly, as if Joe had remained silent. "As I am certain you already know, Bayport had been overly quiet these past few months. It's been very peaceful. Not that it usually is not, but this is different. strange, even. No criminal activity has been reported in nearly three months; there have been no attempted bank robberies, no hold-ups-nothing. But all that has changed." He paused, glancing at Joe expectantly. His emotions, once so easily read, were now hidden. His son's face was a mask of stone, and not even his eyes betrayed his thoughts. Mr. Hardy suppressed a shiver; now was not the time to discuss Joe's emotional state, no matter how necessary it seemed. There would be a time for that later, when he and his wife, Laura, were away. Frank had requested it to be that way, and both Fenton and Laura agreed it would be best. Joe wasn't one for discussing his emotions and would close up unless alone with Frank. "I received a call today about an hour before I radioed you. Your cousin Jay has been having some problems and needs our help. Your mother and I are leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Jack Wayne won't be taking us, so he will be here in case you need him." "What does this have to do with me?" Joe asked quietly. He wasn't sure why, but that strange sense of forbidding was beginning to wash over him. But it was crazy! There was nothing wrong save for Jay's problems, and that seemed rather trivial compared to Iola. "I was getting to that. Shortly after Jay called I received yet another call, this time from Mr. Ely Dobbsins. I assume you know who he is?" "Owns all the water parks in town. Small man, brown hair with receding hair line and glasses." Frank answered. Fenton nodded. "It seems there have been several robberies at various amusement parks throughout Bayport- WaterWorld and Wet 'N' Wild have both been robbed twice. Twice! Mr. Dobbsins is afraid the others will soon be hit as well, but hopes to prevent the opportunity from presenting itself. He wants you two boys," he glanced first at Frank, then at Joe, "to investigate. He'll be calling in half an hour for your answer." Joe frowned. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or whether he even approved of the case or not, but Fenton was fairly certain he did. "Clues?" "Very few. Whoever's responsible is a professional. They knew exactly what to do and exactly when and where to do it." "Inside man?" "Possibly," Fenton agreed. "And to be honest that was my first impression. But now?" He shook his head and sighed. "Now I think it is a set-up. Someone wants us to believe it was an inside job; it takes the pressure off them enough to pull another run. "It sounds like a very dangerous case, boys. I want you to promise me you'll be careful; no rushing into things or taking unnecessary risks-" here he looked at Joe, who smiled faintly. "Do I have your word?" "Yes, Dad." Fenton acknowledged Frank's promise with a nod and waited for Joe's response. When still the blond boy said nothing, Fenton sighed. "Joe?" The younger Hardy gazed at his plate for a moment, lost deep in thought; Fenton frowned. This was not at all like his son, who spoke before thinking, who somehow managed to say the right thing without hesitation and with extreme ease. He looked over at Frank and was not surprised to see the older boy watching him. He gave a slight nod, which Frank returned. Frank would talk to his brother tomorrow. But for now. "It's late. Your mother and I are going to be bed; I advice you to do the same after Mr. Dobbsin calls. And remember, you don't have to accept the case." He waited a moment for Joe to contradict that statement- neither Frank nor Joe had ever refused a case, and both protested vehemently at any mention of not accepting or finishing one- surely this would be no different! But his youngest son remained silent, and Fenton was wise enough to let that silence slide. With a sigh he turned away. It was late, and he was tired. He just hoped he could sleep despite the worries and fears that continued to plague him. He thought again of Joe and his deepening isolation. He thought of Iola Morton and her tragic death-a casualty that should have been his sons. He remembered his shock, the relief and sorrow upon hearing she was dead- but his sons were safe! He remembered all too clearly the conflicting emotions, the sleepless nights as he worried for his family and hunted for the ones responsible. He did not sleep that night.
* * *
"Could you please tell me where we are going?" It was morning-early morning- so early, in fact, that the sun was not yet even up. Joe sat huddled under a blanket in the passenger seat of the van, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. When he had agreed to take the case he had done so believing his brother would be working with him as they normally did, but so far Frank had told him nothing except they had an appointment with Ely Dobbsin and were going to be late. Why it had been scheduled for five o'clock in the morning, Joe did not understand. Perhaps Mr. Dobbsin was afraid of being seen by the thieves. That was all very well and good, and it was good to be careful, but there was such a thing as being overly cautious and this. this bordered on the line of paranoia. "We're going to visit Ely Dobbsin. We need more facts then the ones he gave us last night." "You meant the ones he gave you." "I told you everything I know last night. Remember?" Joe frowned. Certainly he would have remembered any details regarding the case, yet he could recall nothing. Oh, he remembered Dobbsin's call easily enough, and he remembered Frank discussing the information on the phone, but that was all. "No, I don't remember. Not really." He scowled. He knew he shouldn't be angry at his brother, yet he couldn't help the feeling of frustration that washed over him. Joe was impulsive and reckless- a trait that had gotten him into trouble more than a few times- but despite his reputation he didn't always act without thinking. He was quite capable of thinking situations out when necessary or when he wanted to, and this was once of those times. Only he couldn't because he didn't have a clue as to where they were even headed. Frank must have sensed his mood. "We're going to Ely Dobbsin's place, or more specifically, one of his places. Wet 'N' Wild was the first and last place to be hit so there may be some clues. Anyway, it's worth checking out." "There may be some clues at Water World, too," Joe pointed out. "True. But Wet 'N' Wild is more likely to have fresh ones. Besides, it's closer." "Not by much." "But still closer." They rode in silence then, each lost in their own private thoughts and not willing to share them with the other. Frank particularly was worried about his younger brother. Hopefully this case will pull him out of his depression. Maybe it'll distract him enough to forget about Iola-not permanently, of course, that would be disastrous- but just enough to move on. But wishing and contemplating the matter would not help. Joe needed a distraction, and if this case didn't provide one Frank would simply have to think of something else. starting with Chet Morton and Joe talking again. Frank himself had seen Chet several times after Iola's funeral and the fight in the mall, enough to realize the Mortons did not blame Joe for Iola's death. Convincing Joe of his innocence, however, was another matter entirely. It was a matter that needed to be confronted with much haste and caution. And then there was the case itself. Ely Dobbsins had revealed little over the phone, claiming it was a security risk to discuss details of the case over a possibly tapped wire, and while Frank understood his point he couldn't help but feel a little frustrated at the lack of details. And if he felt that way, Joe must be feeling ten times worse. But it was of little matter now; they had reached Wet 'N'Wild and would be meeting with Dobbsins soon enough. They parked the van near the entrance, jogged to the door, and punched in the security code. The door swung open quietly. They entered, making certain the door closed behind them, and found themselves in a corridor with several doors. "That one." Frank pointed to the only opened door. "That should be Mr. Dobbsins' office." They walked down the hall in silence. Frank lead the way, eager to hear more about the case but realizing caution was always necessary. His brother followed silently behind him. Then they were at the door, and Frank stepped inside. He was just about to turn to his brother when a figure caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned and gasped; there in the middle of the office was the figure of a man. blood pooled from his head and lay congealing on the floor. Without an instant's doubt Frank knew who it was. It was Ely Dobbsins. And he was dead.