Psychedelic Hollow Chapter 11

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Warehouse No. 13 was a larger premise and, instead of being situated in rows like most other warehouses, it was only adjacent to warehouse no. 14. Kevin McCain, a pudgy businessman, had bought both the warehouses as some form of ill investment. Bayport was a bustling town with a port but that was it- the industrial park was a little too huge and with supply exceeding demand, it was under-utilized. However, he found that selling them would earn him a greater loss and since he had already paid in full, he kept them around but completely neglected their existence.

Joe and Con Riley had exchanged concurring glances when they noticed the scratches surrounding the keyholes of the roll-up metal doors. Work of amateurs though the locks were crude and simplistic enough that basic skills in lock-picking were sufficient to overcome the weak barrier they posed to unlawful entry.

"Look all you want… I swear I don't know a thing, really. They're like the worst purchases I ever made and I kinda hate even visiting them. I don't have to be reminded of the money I wasted." McCain's soprano voice was much displaced with his large form. His animated deportment had Joe, who was standing rather close to him, swiftly ducking right and left to avoid being hit by his gesticulating hands. Stepping into the staleness of the warehouse No. 13, Joe glanced around, scrunching his eyes to ameliorate his sight. Con Riley flicked on all the switches but only two fluorescent lights were working, and weakly so. The police officer arched a brow at McCain who protested wildly with his swinging hands immediately.

"I told you! I don't come here much! Changing the lights will only sink more money into this dump."

The large space was barren with only two long tables perpendicularly placed against one of the walls. Joe swiped the window panes, his lips growing thin at the dust gathered on his fingertip. Veiled with a heavy dusting of cobwebs and grime, Joe was rather unsure now if the windows were tinted or merely extremely dirty. Anyway, the last burst of dusk light wouldn't be able to find its way inside if the doors had been closed. Even then, the natural, waning light was of not much help.

Nonetheless, the concrete floor looked pretty clean. Maybe the party organizers had taken pains to clear it of evidence. Yet, Joe thought he might find something. Losing confidence in the meager lights, he took out his penlight, shining it at corners where light was completely devoured by dust and an aura of darkness. Con Riley's blowtorch was far more effective though. After searching the nooks and crannies as well as under the two tables, they couldn't find anything- not powdery substance, which could be crushed pills, foils, needles, straws and alike. Maybe the organizers were thorough. The metal door at the far end confirmed Justin's statements about there being two sides. No. 13 was big but still only adequate for a few tables, chairs, a standard dance floor and deejay's equipment. Fresh imprints of plugs on the fixed sockets proved that someone had indeed utilized the premise recently.

McCain unlocked the metal door and they stepped into the adjacent warehouse where two other officers were already scouring the place which was in a better condition with three lights working. From the flashlights of their cameras, Joe knew they had found proofs implicating the place as a spot used for vice.

One officer, a handsome African-American with neatly cropped bleached hair, sensed their presence and approached Con Riley with a few paper evidence bags in his right hand. He nodded at Joe before reporting his findings, his mien serious and his tone officious. Joe guessed, from his youthful features and distance with Con who was just about the friendliest officer around, that he was perhaps new to the force.

"We found syringes, aluminum foils and some straws, sir."

"Let's dispense with the formal note, shall we, Lenny?" Con draped an arm across Lenny's broad shoulders and ventured further into the warehouse. Joe followed behind, keenly surveying the place. "What else have we found?"

"A couple of pills, Con… not the whole thing… remnants. Maybe those club drugs…" The other officer, the same curly haired guy who had helped with the call tracer in the Hardy's home when Hallie's kidnapper had decided to make contact in the earlier case, stood up, shaking his head. Instinctively, Joe jumped back a step, remembering the bad case of dandruff the man had.

"But we can't be sure unless tests are done. Think we should seal this place up."

"I swear, officers! I don't know a thing. Some damn kids must have broken into this place…" McCain gazed at Con Riley pleadingly, "You aren't going to take this place away from me, right? I mean, yah, I hate coming here but still, I paid for them!"

"We're just going to seal it up for further investigations temporarily, Mr. McCain. Meanwhile, I hope you can assist us with some questions." Con Riley smiled genially at the man, "Care for a trip down to the station?"

The variety of curses spewed by McCain next would have all the dead lying in Bayport cemeteries tossing and turning from their eternal rest.

***

"Interesting lady…" Nancy mused wryly as she stepped into the car, "I wonder how you managed to remain so unruffled."

"You did fine too, Nan." Frank buckled up, adjusting his rearview mirror before he started the engine, "Takes a lot of practice. She isn't the worst I've seen."

"Who's the worst?"

A dark veil eclipsed the glow on his face. He grew silent as he shifted the gear to 'Drive', maneuvering the purring luxury car out of the driveway smoothly. Nancy bristled in her seat, clasping her hands together, chiding herself inwardly for knowing better than to ask. Before Joe came back, Frank had chased after someone who was a monster beyond doubt- alone. Then, he had to pit his wits against the craftiness of two serial child killers while balancing the emotional well-being of his brother when Hallie vanished. In a more recent email, Frank spoke, very succinctly, of how he wished Joe's homecoming could have been different. The guilt that came with taking too much self-imposed responsibility for Joe's life and all the bullet holes riddled into it was evident throughout the message but she would keep her opinions to herself for now. Frank had to learn to let go.

Lost in her anxiousness at having caused him hurt in any way, she didn't notice that Frank had taken a different turn until she saw that they were on a track that led further up the cliff rather than back down into old little Bayport. She sat up straighter and gazed out of the window intently, absorbing in every sight along the way. Up in the sky, hues of pink, purple and blue suffused into remarkably blended streaks. Bathing in dusk's light, the surroundings scintillated from orange rays bouncing off smooth green leaves and grass. Harsh edges softened with the romantic touch of an artist's loving hands.

And when they approached the cliff's top, a gorgeous picture emerged. From the distance, the colorful sky merged seamlessly with the iridescent Atlantic which was scattered with unattainable jewels. Stationary water crafts dotted the horizon and she felt like even time had to stop to admire the sight.

"Wow…" She exclaimed, forgetting for a moment about the tenseness just a couple of minutes ago, "Beautiful…"

"Yup, thought I'll show you a part of Bayport which will never make it into those travelogues. Angela's Cliff is something, not just that protrusion at mid-point where you will find those three villas side by side. We can steal some time from the case. C'mon," He pulled his car to a stop and nodded towards the outside, "Step out and smell the fresh air."

She couldn't tell from his tone if he was feigning casualness. Yet, she knew she wasn't mistaken about the gloom emphasizing his five o'clock shadow from earlier. Shaking the thought away, she decided that she would enjoy the scenery- after all, she was bushed from all that transpired and her exhaustion didn't come from the case alone.

Exiting the car, she was instantly welcomed with a blast of moderately humid air imbued with the saltiness of the sea. Frank walked over to her side and draped an arm across her shoulders. She felt safe always when embraced in his strength- friend, lover, or a forgone soul mate, he would always be the same to her- a person she couldn't imagine not having in her life.

"See that? The rocky outcrop right at the tip?"

"Yup… hey… it… hmm," Nancy scrunched her eyes against the last burst of light before the sun called it a day in Bayport, "Looks like a dog…"

"Want to hear a story?"

She threw him an amused glance before shrugging, noting the glint in his eyes. He hawked once before he began- a faraway look in his enigmatic dark brown eyes.

"Once, long before Bayport was named, there was a man and his dog- a great Dane. They only had each other and lived happily on this cliff. They would both sit on the edge and the man would talk about life, philosophies and most of all, the wonders yet to be discovered. One day, gazing out at the ocean, he told the Great Dane that he wanted to be a sailor. He wanted to go explore the many islands beyond their shore and the Great Dane let its master go with tears in its eyes. It would, with each of its master's trip, sit upright by the cliff's edge and wagged its tail, gazing out onto the Atlantic, awaiting its master's return.

Sometimes, the master would be gone for weeks… months… but always he would return to his beloved Great Dane. The Great Dane too never faltered in its devotion to its master. Physically tired but mentally rejuvenated from his expeditions, the master finally returned home for good with more stories to tell the Great Dane. Once again, they were together and the master would smoke his pipe as he gestured out to the open sea and regaled the Great Dane with stories from islands faraway.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and months into years. Time bled the Great Dane's fur into an ancient hue of gray just like what it did to its master's beard and hair. The master ran out of stories and repeated many that the Great Dane had already heard quite a few times before. But the Great Dane didn't mind. It would wag its tail vigorously as its ears point excitedly upwards as if it was hearing those stories for the very first time. But the master could no longer muster up the same enthusiasm. He missed the freedom of the ocean and the scent of adventure. One day, in the middle of one amazing tale, he stopped and sighed. The Great Dane cocked its head, knowing something was wrong.

The master stroked the Great Dane's back and gazed into its eyes, 'I have to go to this island where no one ever stepped foot on before. The seas are choppy and the journey perilous. But I have to go. I have to seek that one treasure which eluded everyone. When I come back, you'll hear the most awesome story ever told.'

The Great Dane wanted to tell its master that its love and devotion towards him was more than just the stories the master could tell. But it also knew the master had to do what he had to do. Thus, on the day the master set sail, it sat upright by the tip of the cliff and kept sentinel.

Villagers who saw the Great Dane could only feel sorry for it as news had arrived on the shores that the master had perished in his foolhardy journey. The Great Dane didn't know and never gave up hope. It just kept watching and waiting until one day, when one of the villagers climbed up the cliff to bring it food and water, he saw that the Great Dane had turned into rock, forever keeping watch until it was reunited with its master when the sea clamoring below finally conquered the majestic cliff.

And thus, the cliff was named after the loyal Great Dane. Angela was its name. So this cliff became known as, 'Angela's Cliff.'"

Nancy stole a glimpse at Frank as he told the story and saw the glisten in his eyes. Maybe he wasn't aware of it but he had held her tighter in the middle of his storytelling. She didn't want to alert him to the boundary that he had crossed- selfishly, she wanted to hold him back and kiss him.

"End of story." He breathed out heavily and retracted his hand from her shoulders, stretching himself to release the stiffness in his joints, "I always feel a little sad when I come up here. But the sight brings me some peace."

"Why the sudden passion?" She asked, rather disappointed that he wasn't holding her anymore. "I never knew you're a story person."

"Oh, I am. Stories are lies from beginning to end but there's always some glimmer of truth in them. They can help us understand things that confuse us just as they can baffle us with a barrage of falsehoods. The rock was not originally a dog of course; just a freak coincidence under nature's sculpting hands. The rock will be nothing without the story but the story will still be something without the rock."

"Now, you are puzzling me…" Nancy arched a brow, bemused, "As if the riddles and potholes of a case isn't enough, I have to unravel the mysteries behind Frank Hardy's words."

He let out a soft laugh, throwing her sheepish look, "Nay, you don't need to. Like Joe always say, I wax lyrics just to sound smart. But I do love this story. Like the master, there are some things that I just have to do though I'm not as dumb. I won't risk my life on some mindless, needless and dangerous task. But sometimes, as you know very well, our cases can get a little life-threatening. I just hope that there'll always be someone at home who understands; who don't ask too many questions. Someone there with a cup of warm, chamomile tea for me every night."

"I'm happy for you…" Nancy patted his shoulder and mustered up a smile, "You have found that someone."

"I guessed. She's really special." Frank smiled at her but, unlike a man at peace, there was the inexplicable poignant shine in his eyes. Despite what she had promised Joe, she felt that she would be doing herself an injustice if she didn't bring up their unresolved past. After all, love was selfish, wasn't it?

Yet, before she could begin, her phone rang. It was Con Riley, asking her if she wanted to come down to the station to question the owner of the warehouses where they found evidence of a rave party infiltrated by drugs.

The case came first. And the generous side of her schizophrenic conscience was appeased by her silence on the subject which would soon be verboten anyway.

***

The official workplace of Hardy Investigations was a small, cluttered little rat nest tucked away in the corner of the third storey of Gladiator's Tower. The building's name was oxymoronic since the building was a stout five-storey affair, hardly a tower. Despite its almost grandiose moniker, the exterior was drab and gray with streaks of brown, unidentified stains running down its walls, like the rusted armor of a fallen knight. Joe laughed hysterically, in self-pity of course, when Frank brought him there and designated the pantry table as his workspace. According to his brother, Fenton had picked the spot years ago because, just like little scheming rodents, a lot of law firms made their home inside the gloomy hole and there was bound to be businesses lying in such close proximity with them. Besides, it was only one junction away from the police station. Laura had insisted Fenton shift his office out of the house for the sake of emotional and psychological well-being. She wanted a home to be purely, a home. However, Fenton still brought back work into his massive study to his wife's chagrin. Old habits died hard and the office was left to degenerate into nothing more than a glorified storeroom.

"You allowed Dad to rent this place?"

"Yah, it's cheap and it's a good location. Close to my apartment. But Dad hardly comes here because, to him, his study is still his office, so the president's office is all mine."

"President?"

"CEO, chairman, president… whatever. But, you, kiddo, have to earn your stripes. You can call me boss during working hours. And that's really the table we kind of reserved for you but then, mom and Aunt Gertrude flooded us with so much snacks that we had no choice but to convert it temporarily into a pantry space."

"Somebody pinch me…" Joe remarked wryly, "It's like a dream come true…"

"Now that we are pretty 'caseless', you have a new task- I've decided to computerize all the records.. turn this place into a real office."

"But don't you work from your own apartment too?"

"I needed to work from my study for a while…" Frank admitted, "I can't work in a dumpster and that's what too many files, too little time and even fewer cabinets turned this place into."

"We can hire a secretary to take charge of such things like cleanliness. Someone pretty, leggy, long flowing hair, tiny waist… you know…"

Frank threw him a dirty look, shaking his head, "I tried. No one is suitable, as in the sense of mental capabilities. Now that I have you to bully, I think we can clean up this place in no time."

The only accomplishment of their computerization project was that Phil finally had the custom software's bugs smoothed out. Emails shot to-and-fro between Bayport and Silicon Valley filled with unspeakable language and geek-talk had their old friend throwing his hands up in surrender owing to Frank's eloquence. Farting up the law lingoes he heard along the corridors to scare Phil, Frank finally had the software genius working for the money paid out to him. The friendship was untarnished though- Phil and Frank often insulted each other while working together in such nerdy projects- it was like part of their culture and Phil often took pot shots at Frank, reminding Frank who was on his way to becoming the next Bill Gates.

Joe peered over Frank's shoulder at the computer screen as Frank furiously typed away, "Hey, Frank… you don't want to make Phil too… whoah…ah, where did you learn those vocabulary?"

"From dad when we're young and impressionable. Hah! This email should do it! Bill Gates my foot! I'll investigate all his illicit activities and have him begging for mercy! With my brilliant detective skills, any evil doers will have to bow down to me! MUAHAHAHAHA!" Frank threw back his head and laughed diabolically, spinning in his swivel chair as he punched the air vehemently, "And that includes buggy Phil Cohen!"

Joe rolled his eyes, pouring himself a glass of water, "You two are arrested adolescents. High school was bad enough and it seemed like the both you have degenerated since then. You make me feel like the more grown-up Hardy Boy for once."

Because Con Riley refused to let Joe listen in on the questioning, he thought it would be useless if he stayed at the police station. Besides, he could already guess what happened to the poor, unlucky owner. Sometimes, even garbage must be looked after.

Loosened the screw securing the seat of his chair to its wheels so he could double it up as a rocking chair, Joe was happily reading an automobile magazine while bobbing up and down when the door swung opened. Frank sauntered in, dumping a paper bag on a small table nearby which was the latest addition to the office since they had to shift the pantry somewhere else after Joe rightfully claimed the space.

"One day, Joe Hardy, the screw is going to come off and you're going to topple over like Humpty Dumpty."

"Dumpity, dump, dump…" Joe muttered, drooling over the newest convertible that would hit the market in two months time, "How's the interview with Colin Brown?" He swiveled his chair so he would face the door, pursing his lips when he saw only Frank.

"Nan's still mad at me? That's why she won't come?"

"No, she's at the police station, gathering information from Con. I thought you'll know, since you were with Con." Frank glanced through the office's mails one after another before placing them onto Joe's table.

"Come into my office. It's too messy outside…" Frank bent over and picked up some pages of comics Joe printed out from the internet from the floor. Scowling at him, Frank tidied the loose sheets into a neat pile and laid them in Joe's inbox. Joe grinned, ducking behind the magazine when Frank pretended to seethe.

"Sorry, boss." Joe whimpered, "Your lowly servant will never do it again!"

"Never do what again?"

"Treat the floor as one big shelf."

Frank snatched the magazine away from his hands and he hunched slightly as Frank smacked him lightly on the top of his head, "Some things never changed. Just don't turn the office into your room, all right?"

"Right! Don't worry! Elle trained me very well to be neat and organized!" Joe stood up, following behind his brother into 'Boss Office'. Frank shook his head in resignation and Joe threw his brother a sweet from the crystal bowl on top of a cabinet inside the smaller, neater space when Frank was seated down in his black, leather armchair. It landed on a pile of paper on the desk with a soft thud.

"Oh, come on. Eat a sweet and smile sweetly?"

Frank picked up the goody from the table and clucked his tongue, "Toffee. To stick my teeth together right?"

"Right! So you can't nag at me!"

"Idiot." Frank groused in jest and booted up his computer. Joe slumped down on the chair opposite him and started rocking away. Just like his chair outside, he had gently administered to this one as well and unsuspecting clients sometimes get a rude shock when they leaned back against the chair. Actually, so far since his return to Bayport, only one client called their office- a domineering woman who demanded that Frank obtain evidence of her husband committing adultery in two days. Frank had no patience for such overbearing clients and was about to show her out the door when she landed on her posterior, losing her balance upon making acquaintance with the wobbly seat.

Frank had found the scene hilarious but chided Joe nonetheless, saying that if she had been hurt or decided to sue, it wouldn't be a joke. Thus, Joe promised that when clients call, he would quickly tighten the screw to prevent similar incidents from happening.

"Colin wasn't at home… in fact, we found out from his mother that he doesn't even live there. But there's probability that he would be with his father, Howard Wain…" Frank typed lightly on his keyboard and smiled crookedly, "His address is listed in Bayport's directory. Hopefully the information is not outdated. When we first met Colin, he had grease stains all over his t-shirt. Hmm… looks like Howard Wain owns a car workshop too, Wain's CarWorks. High chance we will find Colin there."

"Why didn't Justin tell us earlier? He must have known."

Frank tightened his lips, playing with the wrapper of the uneaten toffee, "We had this conversation in the afternoon, didn't we? Justin is protecting Colin."

Joe turned grim, remembering the argument he had with Nancy and not liking having to sleep tonight without patching up with a friend, "Stupidity then. Are you printing out the directions to Wain's place?"

"Yes. You know, if you have met Marcie Brown, you'll be kneeling down and giving thanks to God for mom." Frank's lips curled slightly as if he tasted something bitter. Joe shrugged, knocking the hanging pendulums against one another on Frank's table, hypnotized by their rhythmic swings.

"Oh, I thank God for mom everyday." He muttered, abruptly brought back from the somnolence realm when Frank brought the swinging of the pendulums to a halt by grabbing their attached strings in one tight bunch. He blushed, noticing his brother's amused look, "Hey, I have to pray with Hallie every night."

"Hmm, next time, I'll swing a pendulum in front of you so you'll always be so forthcoming with answers." Frank mused, releasing the hanging pendulums, causing them to bounce off each other chaotically before settling, very quickly, in that familiar rhythm and pattern.

"Nothing wrong with praying, Joe. It's good, actually. I'm kinda hoping you'll join me for Church tomorrow. With the case though, I'll have to skip cell group."

"Nay, Church isn't really for me… let's not talk about my lapse in faith, all right? Suffice that I do believe in God and still have faith in goodness, not everyone has the same privilege…" Joe dismissed the topic. Frank was the more religious brother while Joe was an occasional churchgoer. But he made sure that Hallie attended Sunday Classes and Church with the family while he slept away on his bed at home.

"Everyone has the privilege; it's a question of accepting it." Frank commented- the man of faith in him wouldn't let the matter rest. Joe could understand and thus, smiled as he thought about tomorrow and wishing he had some time from the case to spend with Hallie. "All right, forget it for now. How are your investigations with Con Riley?"

"Now that Nancy's in the station with him, I think she will have more information than me. Chief Collig may come down on him for being too friendly with us. I'm just glad he let me tag along with the search. We found evidence in the warehouses that ties in with what Justin told us. McCain, the owner, had abandoned the warehouses, casting them aside as bad investments while hoping the property prices will rise so he could sell them off soon. If you ask me, it seems like the organizers knew about his predicament so they are assured that their activities would be safe. But they will have to look elsewhere since the police sealed up the warehouses. Right now, Con's men are running fingerprints and examining evidence found in the premises to see if any more suspects come up though I doubt it."

"Why?" Frank asked, arching a brow, "Maybe the system may find matches for the prints. You didn't manage to sneak any back so I can run them with AFIS?"

"Nope, Con may be friendly but he watched me closely. Anyway, I am thinking that those prints, if they are matched, will only let us to the users- not the organizers with cash-fat wallets. I don't know… not going to lay too much hope on it. But that's Nancy's angle right? We just have to clear Justin."

"You got a point but let's keep our eyes open. Nancy may need our help. To sidetrack, I don't she's angry. She didn't even mention your argument with her."

Joe shrugged, reaching back into the crystal bowl for a candy before dropping it back, "Hey, I stir up their passions like no one can. It's such a silly spat. But I believe in what I said."

"I'm glad you know it's a silly spat." Frank smiled and popped the toffee in his mouth, "Sweet."

"Now, bro, since I gave you a sweet…" Joe leaned across the table, smiling cheekily, "Will you buy me dinner before we check out Howard Wain? Mom cooks real horrible stuff for me these days… I'm not sure if they are even food."

"Joe… you know mom's only thinking for your health…"

"Yup… but I'm not delicate china, you know? I know how to eat in moderation… pretty please?"

Frank guffawed, "Okay, prepare your stomach. We're going to have Italian."

Joe whooped and punched the air triumphantly, violently rocking the chair.

Real food! He rubbed his hands in glee as Frank shook his head, checking his wallet for the restaurant's card so he could call and ask about availability of tables.

Finally!