"I can't do this," grunted the athletic blond youth as he strained every one of his muscles. "Mmmm," he groaned, closing his blue eyes and pulling with all his strength. "Oh!" he shouted as the rope slid from his grasp and his chubby seventeen-year-old friend, Chet Morton, went sliding down the side of the building.
"Chet!" Joe Hardy shouted and dropped to his knees and leaned over the edge of the roof.
His brown eyes glaring, Chet hung upside down in midair trying to right himself. "Thanks!" he shouted back up in a sarcastic tone.
Joe sighed and sat back, looking up at the man who taught the survival training class he, Chet, and his year older brother, Frank, had joined. "I'm sorry," Joe said. "I just couldn't hold him."
Smothering a grin at the disgruntled expression on his brother's face, eighteen-year-old Frank stooped down and, with the help of his partner for the workout, nineteen-year-old Kevin Morris, began hauling Chet up.
"Daddy's mad," Kevin muttered loud enough for Joe to hear him but not the rugged forty year old teacher with blond hair and blue eyes who was frowning at Joe. The resemblance between Joe and Tom Leland was so uncanny that everyone who hadn't known him had assumed he was Tom's son on the first day of class. The teasing kept coming even though the misunderstanding had been straightened out immediately upon introduction.
"I'm afraid you just failed your exam for the day," Tom told Joe with a slight shake of his head.
"I tried," Joe argued. "He was just too heavy."
"Then you should have tried another method of hauling him up," Tom said not accepting Joe's meager defense.
"I couldn't get to any of the other gear without letting go," Joe protested.
"Then you should have attained a prone position, relinquishing the energy needed to stand upright, and pulled in that fashion," Tom told him. "Prone, you could have grabbed hold of his other hand and assisted him in walking up the remainder of the building."
Angry with himself for not having thought of it, Joe sighed. "You're right," he admitted. "I guess I need to reread my manual."
"Couldn't hurt," agreed Tom with a smile. "Okay, everybody!" he called out, turning to face the other students. "Pack it up. We're done for today. We'll meet in the classroom on Tuesday."
Topside once again, Chet gave Joe a light punch in the arm careful not to hit him too hard because Frank's watchful brown eyes were on him. Even in jest Frank would not allow anyone to hit Joe with any amount of force.
"Tough break," Kevin said to Joe. "You'll have to work hard to make up for this failure," he added. Tom was a great guy but a tough grader.
"My own fault," Joe admitted with a shrug. "I need to study more," he glanced at his brother who had just pushed a lock of brown hair from his eyes. Frank had told him only last night he should go over the manual in case Tom gave them a pop quiz today. I should have listened, he thought ruefully. He grinned. At least Frank wasn't an "I told you so" type of person.
"Me too," put in Paul Osborne from his right. Paul was twenty-two-years old and had signed up for the class to surprise his father who was a professional mountain climber. "I never would have thought of that."
Frank, Joe, and Chet finished packing their gear and headed back into the building and down the five flights of steps that led to the lobby. "Hey, wait up!" Chet demanded, spotting a vending machine in the corner of the lobby. He headed over to it as Frank and Joe stood by the door waiting patiently. Chet put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of change, most of which fell and began rolling around on the floor.
Sighing, Frank handed Joe his backpack. "Here," he said. "Go on to the van. I'll help Chet."
Grinning, Joe took the pack and headed out the door as Frank went to help retrieve the coins. Joe had barely left the building before he saw something that brought him up short. "Hey!" he shouted upon seeing Tom being held by two men as a third rammed a fist into Tom's stomach.
Joe dropped his gear and took off running. He grabbed hold of the third man's fist as he pulled it back for another punch and spun the guy around. Joe's left fist connected with the man's right jaw and sent him to the ground.
One of the other men released Tom and moved in on Joe throwing a right cross which Joe easily blocked. The man still holding Tom pushed Tom hard into Joe causing him to fall back onto the pavement with Tom lying on top of him. "Let's split," the man ordered, spotting two boys running toward them.
"This ain't over," snarled the man Joe had decked. "You're gonna pay big," he added, looking over his shoulder, as he followed the other two thugs and jumped into a red and black jeep Cherokee. The jeep roared down the street and around the corner as Joe and Tom got to their feet.
"Are you guys okay?" demanded Frank as his eyes raked over the two for visible injury.
"I'm fine," Joe quickly assured his brother. "But Tom might need some medical attention."
"No," Tom said with a little grunt of pain. "I'm all right." He looked at Joe and frowned. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you shouldn't have interfered."
"You would rather I let them beat you up?" demanded Joe, his eyes flashing.
"I appreciate it. Really," Tom told him trying to cool Joe's rising temper. "But by interfering you have made yourself a target," he pointed out.
"Is that all you're concerned about?" Chet asked, opening his bag of chips. "Frank and Joe are used to that," he added airily.
"What do you mean?" asked Tom his eyes narrowing on the brothers.
"He means that Joe and I are detectives," Frank answered. "We're used to taking on bad guys."
"But you're just kids!" Tom rejected the concept. He looked at Joe with a worried frown. "Maybe you should drop out of my class," he suggested.
"What? You're punishing me for helping you?" Joe demanded in disbelief.
"Look. It's complicated," said Tom, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. "If you didn't look like you do, it wouldn't be so bad."
"You mean because Joe could be mistaken for your son by those hoods the way that some of the students did?" Frank asked, glancing at Joe.
"Yes," Tom admitted wearily. "If anything happened to you on account of me..." his voice trailed off as he shook his head.
"Who were those men?" asked Joe curiously.
Tom shook his head. "I'm not..."
"We can take care of ourselves," Joe interrupted him. "And whether you want it or not, you are getting our help."
"No," Tom responded sharply. "Stay out of it or don't bother coming to any more classes," he added as he turned and walked away.
"Well, that's it," Chet said with a false brightness as he headed back to where their gear was lying near the front door. "Let's go home and reread the manual and have dinner."
"We'll drop you off at home," offered Frank. "Then Joe can go to the police station and look through the mug shots and I am going to run a background search on Tom."
"What can I do?" Chet asked with a sigh as he resigned himself to help.
"Nothing," answered Frank. "For now, it's strictly research mode."
The three boys gathered their gear and climbed into a black customized van that was, at one time, used for police surveillance. After dropping Chet off at his farm on the outskirts of town, Joe dropped Frank off at their home on the corners of High and Elm streets. "Keep my dinner warm," Joe told him sternly as his stomach let out a growl.
Frank laughed. "Just hurry," he told his younger brother before closing the van's door and going inside.
Joe drove down to headquarters and asked to speak with Sergeant Con Riley. Con was a man in his late twenties with curly brown hair and brown eyes who had been a friend of the Hardys for several years. Arriving at Con's desk a few minutes later Joe took a seat in front of Con's desk.
"What do you need this time?" Con inquired with a tolerant grin at his young friend.
Joe told Con about the attack on his teacher, omitting his name, and asked to see the mug shots. "No one has filed a report," Con said, looking quizzically at Joe.
"I know," Joe admitted. "He wants to forget it happened, but he needs help."
"And you and Frank are going to make sure he gets it," Con deduced. "Okay, go on down and tell Arnie I said to let you have at 'em."
"Thanks," Joe said getting up and heading out of the room and down the hall.
***
Back at the Hardy home Frank was sitting at the desk in the room his father had converted into an office. He was staring in shock at the screen of the computer where a page was displayed from the files of the FBI detailing the crimes of Thomas Andrew Leland. "Joe's never going to believe this," he mumbled scrolling down the page.
Frank printed the file so Joe could read it then logged off and went downstairs. As he reached the entryway to the living room, he came to a stop. He stood still for a couple of moments listening to their surprise guest talking to his father before continuing into the room.
"Hello, Tom," said Frank causing the man's eyes to widen as he jumped to his feet. "Imagine seeing you here."
Fenton Hardy watched the interaction between their visitor and his eldest son through narrowed brown eyes. Obviously Frank knew something about this man.
"I knew your and Joe's last name was Hardy but I didn't realize you were Fenton Hardy's sons," Tom said. His eyes searched behind Frank, straining for a glimpse of Joe. "Where is Joe?" he asked, his eyes taking on a glimmer of fear.
"At the police station," informed Frank. "Why?"
"Joe's the reason I came to see your father for help," answered Tom.
"Chet!" Joe Hardy shouted and dropped to his knees and leaned over the edge of the roof.
His brown eyes glaring, Chet hung upside down in midair trying to right himself. "Thanks!" he shouted back up in a sarcastic tone.
Joe sighed and sat back, looking up at the man who taught the survival training class he, Chet, and his year older brother, Frank, had joined. "I'm sorry," Joe said. "I just couldn't hold him."
Smothering a grin at the disgruntled expression on his brother's face, eighteen-year-old Frank stooped down and, with the help of his partner for the workout, nineteen-year-old Kevin Morris, began hauling Chet up.
"Daddy's mad," Kevin muttered loud enough for Joe to hear him but not the rugged forty year old teacher with blond hair and blue eyes who was frowning at Joe. The resemblance between Joe and Tom Leland was so uncanny that everyone who hadn't known him had assumed he was Tom's son on the first day of class. The teasing kept coming even though the misunderstanding had been straightened out immediately upon introduction.
"I'm afraid you just failed your exam for the day," Tom told Joe with a slight shake of his head.
"I tried," Joe argued. "He was just too heavy."
"Then you should have tried another method of hauling him up," Tom said not accepting Joe's meager defense.
"I couldn't get to any of the other gear without letting go," Joe protested.
"Then you should have attained a prone position, relinquishing the energy needed to stand upright, and pulled in that fashion," Tom told him. "Prone, you could have grabbed hold of his other hand and assisted him in walking up the remainder of the building."
Angry with himself for not having thought of it, Joe sighed. "You're right," he admitted. "I guess I need to reread my manual."
"Couldn't hurt," agreed Tom with a smile. "Okay, everybody!" he called out, turning to face the other students. "Pack it up. We're done for today. We'll meet in the classroom on Tuesday."
Topside once again, Chet gave Joe a light punch in the arm careful not to hit him too hard because Frank's watchful brown eyes were on him. Even in jest Frank would not allow anyone to hit Joe with any amount of force.
"Tough break," Kevin said to Joe. "You'll have to work hard to make up for this failure," he added. Tom was a great guy but a tough grader.
"My own fault," Joe admitted with a shrug. "I need to study more," he glanced at his brother who had just pushed a lock of brown hair from his eyes. Frank had told him only last night he should go over the manual in case Tom gave them a pop quiz today. I should have listened, he thought ruefully. He grinned. At least Frank wasn't an "I told you so" type of person.
"Me too," put in Paul Osborne from his right. Paul was twenty-two-years old and had signed up for the class to surprise his father who was a professional mountain climber. "I never would have thought of that."
Frank, Joe, and Chet finished packing their gear and headed back into the building and down the five flights of steps that led to the lobby. "Hey, wait up!" Chet demanded, spotting a vending machine in the corner of the lobby. He headed over to it as Frank and Joe stood by the door waiting patiently. Chet put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of change, most of which fell and began rolling around on the floor.
Sighing, Frank handed Joe his backpack. "Here," he said. "Go on to the van. I'll help Chet."
Grinning, Joe took the pack and headed out the door as Frank went to help retrieve the coins. Joe had barely left the building before he saw something that brought him up short. "Hey!" he shouted upon seeing Tom being held by two men as a third rammed a fist into Tom's stomach.
Joe dropped his gear and took off running. He grabbed hold of the third man's fist as he pulled it back for another punch and spun the guy around. Joe's left fist connected with the man's right jaw and sent him to the ground.
One of the other men released Tom and moved in on Joe throwing a right cross which Joe easily blocked. The man still holding Tom pushed Tom hard into Joe causing him to fall back onto the pavement with Tom lying on top of him. "Let's split," the man ordered, spotting two boys running toward them.
"This ain't over," snarled the man Joe had decked. "You're gonna pay big," he added, looking over his shoulder, as he followed the other two thugs and jumped into a red and black jeep Cherokee. The jeep roared down the street and around the corner as Joe and Tom got to their feet.
"Are you guys okay?" demanded Frank as his eyes raked over the two for visible injury.
"I'm fine," Joe quickly assured his brother. "But Tom might need some medical attention."
"No," Tom said with a little grunt of pain. "I'm all right." He looked at Joe and frowned. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you shouldn't have interfered."
"You would rather I let them beat you up?" demanded Joe, his eyes flashing.
"I appreciate it. Really," Tom told him trying to cool Joe's rising temper. "But by interfering you have made yourself a target," he pointed out.
"Is that all you're concerned about?" Chet asked, opening his bag of chips. "Frank and Joe are used to that," he added airily.
"What do you mean?" asked Tom his eyes narrowing on the brothers.
"He means that Joe and I are detectives," Frank answered. "We're used to taking on bad guys."
"But you're just kids!" Tom rejected the concept. He looked at Joe with a worried frown. "Maybe you should drop out of my class," he suggested.
"What? You're punishing me for helping you?" Joe demanded in disbelief.
"Look. It's complicated," said Tom, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. "If you didn't look like you do, it wouldn't be so bad."
"You mean because Joe could be mistaken for your son by those hoods the way that some of the students did?" Frank asked, glancing at Joe.
"Yes," Tom admitted wearily. "If anything happened to you on account of me..." his voice trailed off as he shook his head.
"Who were those men?" asked Joe curiously.
Tom shook his head. "I'm not..."
"We can take care of ourselves," Joe interrupted him. "And whether you want it or not, you are getting our help."
"No," Tom responded sharply. "Stay out of it or don't bother coming to any more classes," he added as he turned and walked away.
"Well, that's it," Chet said with a false brightness as he headed back to where their gear was lying near the front door. "Let's go home and reread the manual and have dinner."
"We'll drop you off at home," offered Frank. "Then Joe can go to the police station and look through the mug shots and I am going to run a background search on Tom."
"What can I do?" Chet asked with a sigh as he resigned himself to help.
"Nothing," answered Frank. "For now, it's strictly research mode."
The three boys gathered their gear and climbed into a black customized van that was, at one time, used for police surveillance. After dropping Chet off at his farm on the outskirts of town, Joe dropped Frank off at their home on the corners of High and Elm streets. "Keep my dinner warm," Joe told him sternly as his stomach let out a growl.
Frank laughed. "Just hurry," he told his younger brother before closing the van's door and going inside.
Joe drove down to headquarters and asked to speak with Sergeant Con Riley. Con was a man in his late twenties with curly brown hair and brown eyes who had been a friend of the Hardys for several years. Arriving at Con's desk a few minutes later Joe took a seat in front of Con's desk.
"What do you need this time?" Con inquired with a tolerant grin at his young friend.
Joe told Con about the attack on his teacher, omitting his name, and asked to see the mug shots. "No one has filed a report," Con said, looking quizzically at Joe.
"I know," Joe admitted. "He wants to forget it happened, but he needs help."
"And you and Frank are going to make sure he gets it," Con deduced. "Okay, go on down and tell Arnie I said to let you have at 'em."
"Thanks," Joe said getting up and heading out of the room and down the hall.
***
Back at the Hardy home Frank was sitting at the desk in the room his father had converted into an office. He was staring in shock at the screen of the computer where a page was displayed from the files of the FBI detailing the crimes of Thomas Andrew Leland. "Joe's never going to believe this," he mumbled scrolling down the page.
Frank printed the file so Joe could read it then logged off and went downstairs. As he reached the entryway to the living room, he came to a stop. He stood still for a couple of moments listening to their surprise guest talking to his father before continuing into the room.
"Hello, Tom," said Frank causing the man's eyes to widen as he jumped to his feet. "Imagine seeing you here."
Fenton Hardy watched the interaction between their visitor and his eldest son through narrowed brown eyes. Obviously Frank knew something about this man.
"I knew your and Joe's last name was Hardy but I didn't realize you were Fenton Hardy's sons," Tom said. His eyes searched behind Frank, straining for a glimpse of Joe. "Where is Joe?" he asked, his eyes taking on a glimmer of fear.
"At the police station," informed Frank. "Why?"
"Joe's the reason I came to see your father for help," answered Tom.