"Frank? Frank!" Fenton's frantic calls went unheard as the boys ran, leaving the phone dangling from the unit. How did they find us so fast? Frank thought despairingly as he and Joe sprinted for the tree line.
Unfortunately, the young escapees did not get far; they were quick, but not so quick as the average adult. It was obvious very soon that they could not possibly outrun the kidnappers, although the idea of giving up did not appeal to either boy. Frank spun around to fight, and Joe scanned the ground, looking for something, anything he could use for a weapon. As the footsteps neared, Joe spied a good sized stone on the rocky beach. He seized it, hurling it at one of the figures running at them. He was rewarded by a thud and an outcry of pain from the one he had hit.
It turned out to be Jake, who staggered from the blow, his hands going up to his head. Greasy-Hair paused, eyes wide in surprise, moving as if to help his hurt partner.
Seeing this opportunity, Frank yelled, "Run, Joe!" and again the boys fled through the slackening rain.
"Get after them!" Jake growled, shaking off the injury. Furious, he took off after the fleeing boys.
Frank yelled when a hand clamped on his shoulder and spun him around. Joe, in the lead, skidded in the mud and ran back, ready to help his brother fight off his long-haired attacker.
But something happened then that brought everything to a halt. A deafening report echoed across the water, leaving everyone's ears ringing. The Hardy boys jumped, badly startled, and even Greasy-Hair was taken by surprise. All three turned to look.
Jake, apparently, was done fooling around. He held a pistol in his hand, pointed out towards the turbulent water, and his facial expression was wrathful. A little blood dripped from the minor wound Joe's stone had dealt him. He aimed the barrel of the gun unwaveringly at Frank and Joe.
Frank gasped, and took a step backwards, and Joe's eyes got very big. They had both seen guns, of course, as their father carried one and taught his sons about them. However, needless to say, neither boy had ever faced the business end of one.
"Okay." Jake's voice was frighteningly grim. "I have had enough. Either of you moves before I say so, I'll shoot out your goddamn kneecaps. Move again, I'll blow your brains out of your head. Understood?"
The Hardys nodded quickly, holding onto each other with panicky tightness.
"Good. Then get going, follow him." He nodded to Greasy-Hair, who took the hint and headed quickly back towards the idling car. The boys shakily followed, glancing behind them as they walked. Neither could quite believe that someone had pointed a gun at them.
Jake took the receiver of the pay phone and slammed it into the cradle on the way to the car, then told Greasy-Hair to get in the front seat. "You two," he growled, nodding towards the back door. "In. Now! Move it!"
Not wanting to make the man any angrier, Frank fumbled the door open, and the boys crept inside. On Jake's order, they slid to the opposite side of the seat, Jake sliding in after them. The gun remained trained on them, and Frank found he could not stop staring at it. Joe seemed to prefer burying his face in Frank's T-shirt.
"Get us out of here," Jake said to the woman, who sat behind the wheel. She put the car into gear, and they sped away from the shore.
Fenton Hardy cursed, not something that he often did, and slammed the phone down on the desk. "Blast them," he hissed, and hung up the phone. He looked at the screen on the tracer, and his expression lightened considerably. The trace had gone through! He dialed the number to the police station, telling them about the call and giving them the location. The officer on duty told him they'd send a couple of squad cars out there immediately.
Then he woke Laura and briefly explained what was going on. She kept her cool and asked what he wanted her to do.
"I'm going after them," he told her. "I need you to monitor the phone in my study. Any word from them or the police, forward it to me cell phone.
"Got it," said Laura. "Be careful, Fenton, okay?" She gave him a quick kiss, slipped on a robe, and sat down behind the desk in Fenton's study.
Fenton grabbed his jacket and holster from their bedroom, then slipped back into his study for his firearm. He unlocked the door, checked the weapon over, and grabbed an extra clip of ammunition.
"Good luck, and be careful," Laura repeated.
"Thanks," Fenton said. "I will." He hurried from the house, praying the whole way that it was not too late to find them.
Frank and Joe were taken back to the house and taken in at gunpoint. Jake shoved them down onto the couch in the living room, and stood glaring in front of them. He looked to Frank, who had been the one on the phone. "You called the cops, didn't you?" he said.
Frank shook his head. "N-no."
Jake narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, pressing the barrel of the gun up against Frank's head, right between his eyes. Frank's eyes widened, and his pale face went white. "This isn't a wise time to cross me, boy. Tell me the truth!"
"Th-that i-is the t-tru-th," Frank stammered, trying not to move too much.
Joe spoke up. "W-we didn't call the cops, we called out m-mom and dad."
Jake drew back and gave Joe a baleful glare. "Oh you did, did you?" He smiled nastily. "Maybe I'll just have to drop him a line too, then. You think he's stop hunting for you if he listened to one of you die because of his interference?" He put a hand briefly to the gash on his head. "And you can just guess which one of you I would choose."
He turned and picked up the phone receiver, while Greasy-Hair and the woman kept a watch on the boys. They need not have bothered; Frank and Joe was far too afraid to try anything resembling an escape. At Jake's threat, Joe began to cry quietly, and Frank put his arms protectively around him.
Jake spoke quietly into the phone for a few moments, then hung up. He turned to Greasy-Hair. "Go get the van ready to go, we've got to ditch the car. Get everything out and off of the car that we might need, or don't want found. Including the plates. We gotta move these kids soon. Oh and get my cord out of the shed and bring it in, will you?"
Cord? Frank thought.
"Cops?" the woman asked, as Greasy-Hair nodded and jogged outside.
"Yeah, all over that rental shop," Jake said. "So we can't stay here overlong." He gave Joe an evil glare. "I got the okay for a little demonstration, though."
Joe shrank back into the cushions of the couch, and Frank's hold on him tightened. "You can't kill him, I won't let you!" Frank cried, his voice thin with fear.
Jake sneered. "I'm not killing him – yet. But I am going to work him over. Make sure he doesn't get it into his head to throw rocks again." The brothers looked at each other, not sure what working someone over meant. Jake looked at the woman. "Hold the older one."
The woman grabbed Frank's hair from behind the couch, and yanked on it. "No!" Frank protested, struggling against her grip, but the woman was strong, and when she grabbed Frank's arms, her hands were like bands of iron. She forced his arms up and over the back of the couch, pinning them there.
Greasy-Hair came back just then, holding a strange thing that looked a little like a thick homemade riding crop, or a flexible billy club made from braided segments of a heavy-duty, outside extension cord. The thick, orange cords were held together at the bottom with wrapped duct tape, making a handle of sorts. Frank began to suspect just what working someone over might mean, and he gave Joe a worried look.
Jake looked up. "Just in time." He grabbed Joe by the arm and dragged him off the couch. He pinned the boy up against an ornate, square pillar that stood between the living room and the kitchen. "Hold him from behind," Jake said, and Greasy-Hair did just that, grasping the boy's wrists and pulling them back against the pillar. Pinned, Joe could move little but his legs.
A phone call was made, and Jake scowled once he dialed the number. "Get me Fenton Hardy," he demanded. A pause. "Then I suggest you get me in contact with him. Now."
Joe and Frank exchanged glances. If their father wasn't home, maybe he was out looking for them!
However, that idea wasn't such a hopeful one right then. The boys didn't think that he would get there in time to prevent Joe getting hurt.
Jake suddenly smiled, an expression Frank was liking less and less. "Listen up, Hardy. " Even from the couch, Frank could hear his father's voice, sounding angry. He couldn't hear what he was saying, but he knew his father was not happy!
Jake said nothing else, simply holstered his gun, picked up the makeshift, flexible truncheon instead, and approached Joe with it. Joe looked nothing less than terrified. Frank was tensed, his eyes wide, not believing what he was seeing as Jake brought his arm back and struck Joe hard across the face with the weapon.
Joe screeched, shocked, and then started to cry. But Jake did not stop with hitting him only the once. He made his displeasure with the younger Hardy brother evident in the savage beating, hitting him over and over again. Joe thrashed around, but Greasy-Hair held him tightly, and Joe couldn't avoid any of the blows. He was soon sobbing in pain and terror, and eventually stopped fighting.
Frank was livid. He also fought against his captor, screaming at Jake at the top of his lungs. "Leave him alone! Stop hitting him, stop it!" Frank gave a violent wrench, and very nearly yanks his arms from the woman's grasp. She cursed, and grabbed his shirt, yanking him back onto the couch, and grabbing his wrists. Frank did not even notice the pang from his injured arm.
By all appearances, Jake completely ignored anything that Frank said, only continued with his "chastisement". Once he had beaten him fairly badly, he told Greasy-Hair to let go of Joe's arms, which he did. The boy fell to his knees, and Jake struck him hard across the back, sending him sprawling. The boy started coughing, the breath knocked from him. And now that Joe's back was to Jake, the beating continued.
The weapon was not hard enough to break bones or skin, or even to seriously injure a victim, but it was painful, and would leave welts and bruises.
Frank himself was in tears, very afraid that the man was going to hurt his brother badly. "L-leave him alone!" he yelled, his muscles tensed, and his fists clenched. "Stop it – you -" Frank finished the statement with a swear word he had only said once before in his life. Now while Joe would say a mild cuss word here and there, when there were no grown-ups around, Frank had only cussed once or twice in his life. For him, this was a serious word to say.
Jake, however, did not seem all too impressed. He actually laughed, his mood seeming to have been lightened considerably from the violence he had dealt the younger Hardy boy. Joe was curled up on the carpet sobbing, his hands over his head.
Jake tossed the cord-club onto the carpet and went over to Frank, slapping him open-handed across the face. It was not enough to hurt, or even sting much, and was only meant as an insult. "Little children shouldn't say such words, boy," he said with a chuckle. "Okay," he said to Greasy-Hair. "Get the kid in the van." He stalked over and picked up the phone, smirking. Joe's cries had quieted to whimpers, and everyone could now hear that Fenton was yelling, which was something the boys did not often hear. Jake winced as he held the phone to his ear. "Keep on shouting, Hardy," he said loudly. "And you'll hear your other son screamin' in just a couple of seconds." The line went quiet. "Just consider that a warning: back off!" He slammed the phone down and turned his gaze to Greasy-Hair, who was carrying Joe out the door.
"Okay, boy," Jake said to Frank. His gun was out again, and pointed at him. "Get outside and into the van, got it?"
Frank didn't answer, only looked worriedly at the door after Greasy-Hair and his brother, but when the woman let go his arms, he did not run. He got shakily off the couch and walked to the door. A panel van was parked outside, its side door open, and Frank felt a nudge from behind in that direction. Greasy-Hair was already behind the wheel, and he looked around for Joe. The boy was huddled in the corner, sobbing quietly. Frank climbed in, and immediately went to him, kneeling down and carefully gathering the younger boy into his arms. Joe whimpered, and buried his face in Frank's clothing, and Frank could feel Joe shaking as he held him.
The van door was closed, and the woman climbed into the passenger seat up front. Jake, however, kept his gun out and sat in the back, keeping an eye on the boys. Frank paid him no mind, all of his attention on his terrified brother. He held Joe, and on impulse started smoothing his still-damp hair back. He had to be hurting, Frank thought angrily, looking at the welts on his brother's body. The skin hadn't been broken anywhere, except a split lip and a bit of a bloody nose, but he could already see Joe was going to be bruised. He turned to glare at Jake for just a moment before going back to calming his brother.
There was very little talk in the van for at least a half hour. Joe quieted, and simply huddled against Frank. Frank alternately held him and glared at Jake. Greasy-Hair drove, and the woman rode shotgun. Jake said nothing, only kept his gun drawn as a warning.
Eventually, Joe dropped into a sort of fitful, exhausted sleep, but Frank did not rest. He simply sat with Joe, kept him protectively cradled in his embrace.
"You didn't have to do that," Frank said finally, keeping his voice low so that he didn't wake Joe.
Jake raised an eyebrow at the boy, and then chuckled. "You're right. But I wanted to. The little son of a bitch..." Frank noticed that the bad guys cussed a lot. He and Joe were not used at being called cuss words by an adult... "had it coming."
Frank scowled, his eyes narrowing. "Don't call him that," he said.
Jake snorted. "I'll call him anything I please, brat. And if you don't like it, tough rocks. Just take a look at your brother, boy. I'll do the same to you if you tick me off, so I'd think twice about protesting too much."
Frank glared for a moment then looked back down at his brother, and ignored Jake for the rest of the trip.
The journey was a long one, at least three hours, and Frank found he was fighting sleep. Joe still lay in his uneasy doze, curled up against Frank and shivering. Frank wasn't sure if it was because he was cold or he'd just had the heck beaten out of him, but as he himself was beginning to get chilly, he suspected it was both. The storms had left the area warm and humid, and the air conditioning was on in the van.
Very carefully, trying not to wake Joe, Frank shifted his brother into a lying-down position, then lay down beside him and closed his eyes. He did not expect to sleep, but the exhaustion caught up with him just then, and he joined his brother in dreamland.
Jake, of course, had no protest for this, as it kept the boys quiet.
When the van finally arrived at its destination, Jake half stood, and walked over to the side door and opened it. Joe, sleeping very lightly to begin with, woke with a start and looked around in alarm. He realized that wherever they were, it was their final destination, and felt a surge of near-panic. Not wanting to face whatever was out there alone, he shook Frank, who also woke looking startled.
Frank looked blearily around, saw his scared brother, and put an arm around him while he tried to figure out where he was. Oh yeah, the van. He frowned, seeing the open door, and hearing Jake talking with someone outside. "I wonder if that's his boss," he whispered to Joe.
"Hey, keep quiet back there," the woman snarled from up front, turning around to glare at them.
Frank shut up, but he did notice that she seemed a little nervous, and Greasy-Hair kept glancing outside as well. Maybe they did something wrong, Frank thought, now more certain that it was indeed their boss outside that Jake was talking to. Their boss, or someone bearing a message from their boss.
"Yeah, they're in here," said Jake, his voice closer than it had been. He peered in and gestured to the two boys, who looked warily back.
A second face peered in, his eyes widened, and then withdrew quickly. All Frank and Joe could catch was close-cropped white-blond hair and startlingly light gray or blue eyes. They both heard the man's angry, hissed voice, however. "You blasted fool! Why aren't they blindfolded?"
"I-well, I guess I didn't think of that," came Jake's flustered voice. "I mean, they're just kids."
There was a snort from the boss. "Just kids. They managed to escape you once, and still you didn't take precautions? I don't care how old they are, they're Fenton Hardy's sons. If they figure out where they are that's all the more risk. I want them blindfolded before you take them out of the van, and don't take them off until you get them into the cellblock. And make sure they're secured. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. When you're done, report to my office."
Despite himself, Frank was vary curious. He held up a finger to his lips, and made a "hold on a sec" gesture to Joe, then very quietly crept forward a bit towards the open door. He had no plans of trying to make a break for it, as wherever they were he had the idea he would not get out so easily, but knowing that the bad guys didn't want them seeing anything made him want to see just what was there.
Peering around the door, Frank caught a glimpse of a man's back, the boss he assumed, and of a very large building in front of them. There seemed to be a tall fence surrounding everything, and more buildings around the grounds. What kind of place was this?
Jake, who also had his back to Frank, turned around just then and his eyes widened in anger. He lunged forward, and Frank recoiled, avoiding the backhand that Jake had been aiming at him. The boy retreated back into the rear of the van, wincing a little as Jake cursed violently. His hand had collided with the side of the van.
The angry man stormed over to the boys, clamped his hands on Frank's arms, and shook him, hard. "You're lucky I don't have the time to deal with you," he growled, throwing the boy to the floor of the van. Intimidated, Frank said nothing.
"I'll go get something to blindfold 'em with," said the woman, exiting the van. Jake did not answer, only half-knelt there glaring at the Hardy brothers. When the woman came back, she carried what looked like two cloth bags, and poked her head in through the side door. "Hey, here they are," she said, tossing them towards Jake.
Jake nodded curtly. "Fine. Stay here." She nodded and Jake turned to the boys, drawing Frank slightly away from his brother, grasping the front of his shirt. "You two are going to keep these hoods on until I take them off you, you got that?" he said. "I catch either of you touching them, I'll simply beat you into unconsciousness. Understood?"
This threat worked on Joe far better than it did Frank, and he nodded quickly. Still, Frank had no desire to earn the same kind of violence he had watched his brother endure, and so he also nodded his head.
"Good." Jake pulled the thick, canvas hood over Frank's head, tying it lightly around his neck. Frank realized that these hoods were designed just for this purpose, to put over someone's head. Swallowing hard, disliking not being able to see, he reached out for his brother's hand. Joe took it and held on.
After Joe was hooded, Jake crept towards the door and pulled on Frank's shirt. "Well, come on!"
Moving carefully, Frank and Joe crept out of the van, managing not to let go of each other's hands. Each felt someone grip their arm, and were pulled forward.
The trip inside the building was frightening. Bad enough not being able to see, but they were not with people they trusted to any degree, and that made it worse. The brothers held tightly to each other's hand as they were ushered along at a rapid pace through the building. Frank was still barefoot, having lost his sandals from his pockets in the escape and recapture. He walked on what felt like tile or smooth stone. The building was air-conditioned. At one point, a door was opened and the boys were ushered back out into the oppressive humidity and into another building. This happened two or three times, making the boys very unsure of where they might be.
Finally, the boys were led into a carpeted building, to one end of the room, and told to stand still. Frank frowned, trying to identify the dinging noise that he heard, but a moment later he was fighting to keep his balance as the floor seemed to drop slightly from his feet. Joe actually stumbled and fell, nearly bringing Frank down as well. An elevator, Frank thought, helping his brother to his feet. He could tell the younger boy was crying, probably in pain. Falling couldn't have felt very good to him just then.
The elevator descended at least three floors before stopping. Once there, the boys were pulled from the elevator along a floor that was concrete. A door was opened, then closed and locked, and after being drawn along a few feet, Frank felt someone untying the hood from his head. When it was pulled off, he looked around, squinting as his eyes adjusted to bright light.
It was, indeed, a cell block, and Frank found himself wondering again just what kind of place this was. It wasn't like a real jail; his scout group had taken a tour of one once. These were more like dungeon cells, with chains hanging from the ceiling, dark stone walls, and dark steel bars; each had a cot, a toilet and a tiny sink. There about a dozen cells on each side of the hall, and a larger room at the end of the hall that looked like it might be a small kitchen. The place looked clean, but very dreary.
Jake took Joe's hood off, and took a key from his pocket to unlock one of the cells. The door slid into the wall, and he gestured inside with a look of mock courtesy on his face. "After you gents," he said, sarcasm nearly dripping from his voice. A shove from behind courtesy of Greasy-Hair accompanied this invitation, and Frank reluctantly stepped inside. Joe stayed glued to his side. "Turn out your pockets," he demanded of the boys. Frank frowned, but did so, revealing nothing except the buckle from his sandals, which fell on the floor. Jake picked it up and frowned, seeing the paint from the basement window that clung to the buckle. "So that's how you did it," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're a gutsy brat, I'll say that." He turned to Joe. "Well?"
"I-I can't," Joe stammered. "They're attached, I-I can't turn them inside-out."
"Oh for -" Annoyed, Jake pulled the boy forward and went through his pockets. He found some string, but that was about it. He took this, then stood up.
They expected Jake to lock the door and leave them but he didn't, not quite yet. He turned to Greasy-Hair, who held out what looked like handcuffs, except that the cuffs looked awfully big. Ankle cuffs, Frank thought, except he noticed that there was only one cuff on each, attached to a very long chain.
"Sit," Jake commanded, gesturing to the lumpy cot bolted against the wall. The boys did, if somewhat reluctantly, and Jake closed the ankle cuff on Frank's left ankle. The second one was attached to Joe's foot, and the ends of the chains were padlocked to an iron ring in the center of the floor. Jake nodded in satisfaction, then checked the cuffs on the boys' ankles. He made sure they were tight enough that they could not be slipped out of, and stood back and smirked. "Let's see you get out of this room," he said to them, before slipping out of the cell.
Frank glared at him as the barred door was closed and locked, and then the three adults left. He closed his eyes and let out a big breath, slumping back against the cold stone wall. He had not realized how tense or scared he had been since they'd been recaptured. And now that he and Joe were alone, he could relax a little. Joe was glaring at the cuff on his leg. After experimenting with it a bit and finding that there was no possible way he could budge it, he gave up. "I-I wanna go home, Frank," he said in a little voice. Frank put an arm around him. "Wh-what if they kill us?" He sounded very scared.
Frank knew how he felt! He himself was terrified. "I-I don't think they will. They...they wanna keep Dad away from them, right?" Joe nodded and Frank continued, trying to convince himself as much as Joe. "Well, if they, you know...if they kill us, Dad won't ever stop until he finds them. So...so I don't think they'll kill us."
Joe seemed reassured, but Frank wasn't entirely convinced his words were true. They made sense, but criminals didn't always do what made sense. Frank and Joe had seen what their captors looked like, and even knew the first name of one of them. They had gotten a glimpse of the boss, which Frank knew was a very dangerous thing. Once the bad guys had finished whatever it was that they didn't want Dad to find out about, they might just decide to kill the boys and leave them somewhere they wouldn't be found for months.
Frank found he was starting to shake, and felt the unwelcome threads of panic beginning to wind into his mind. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and made himself stop thinking about it. Finally he sighed, and looked at Joe. "I'm gonna get a drink of water, okay?"
Joe nodded, and let go of Frank, lying down tiredly on the cot. Frank stood and went to the sink, realizing that there was a clean washcloth and a tin cup on the back of the sink. He rinsed the cup out and used it to get a nice, long drink of water. "You want some?" he asked Joe. Frank had not realized how thirsty he was until now and figured his brother probably was, too.
"Okay," came Joe's voice from the cot. He sat up and took the cup his brother brought him, drinking it slowly.
Frank smiled at him and brushed Joe's nearly-dry hair from his forehead. Then he went back to the sink and turned on the hot water tap. He was very pleased to find that they did have hot water, and adjusted the temperature to his liking. He soaked the washcloth and began cleaning himself up a little bit. Both he and Joe were filthy by that point, especially after their escape attempt, as the area had been quite muddy during the rainstorm. Once he was fairly clean, he rinsed all the mud and dirt out of the cloth. He wished he could clean his clothing.
He glanced back over at Joe, who was finishing his cup of water. He soaked the cloth again, then went over to the cot. "Hey, lemme clean your face a little bit, okay?" he said to Joe. There was dried blood on him from his split lip and bloodied nose.
Joe nodded. "Okay," he said, wiping his eyes. Normally, Joe would have protested such a thing, but now it seemed he was quite happy for any kind of comfort or care.
Frank took the wet cloth and very carefully began to wipe the blood and dirt off his brother's skin. Joe winced a few times, but did not fuss, only let Frank continue. The elder brother grimaced as he washed Joe's face. It's bruised up real good, he thought angrily, wishing that he could do the same to Jake as Jake had done to Joe. See how he liked it! Joe's eye was black and blue, and swollen up about halfway. His lips were swollen too, and there were a couple of lines on his face where it had welted up. Frank remembered the terror in his brother's cries, the sound of the hateful thing hitting his skin. Swallowing hard, Frank finished his cleaning and drew Joe into his embrace. He felt guilty. Guilty that he could not stop the man from hurting his brother. They were only a year and a few months apart, but Frank always had this protective streak in him. He figured that most big brothers, if they were any kind of decent, would have the same urge.
Joe seemed surprised by the impulsive hug, but did not complain. He curled up and sighed. "I-I'm scared, Frank."
"I know," Frank said. "Me too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The boys were quiet for a while after that. Joe simply let himself be comforted by Frank's presence, and did not think of much besides how much he wanted to beat Jake and the others up. There were times he wished he were an adult, or at least a teenager! With a whole lot of muscles. Big ones.
Frank was the more pensive one, trying to puzzle everything out. He was the one who read voraciously, who liked to solve puzzle and enigmas. He knew very little about his father's case, except that he was probably investigating a murder, and that someone had threatened his family prior to the boys getting kidnapped. It stood to reason that Jake's boss was the one who ordered the murder. That's enough reason for them not to want to be caught, Frank thought. But it's a lot more than just a murder. Frank had read enough mystery and crime books to know how this kind of thing worked. There had to be something big going on here; the murder was only a small part of it. Probably someone that found out about...whatever it was that the bosses were doing. Drugs? He wondered. It seemed likely, he supposed. Maybe illegal arms, or smuggling, that's what it always ended up being in the books. The books were fiction of course, but then most fiction had a strong base in reality.
Frank sighed quietly. Whatever it was, it was something major, and that meant that if their dad were to crack this case, a lot of people would be going to jail. Would he crack the case? Frank wondered. It wasn't that he didn't think his father could do it, but with the threat of Frank or Joe being killed, would his father continue? He wouldn't abandon us, Frank thought. He'd just be very careful.
Still, the young Hardy wasn't all that confident. In all the books he ever read, only the big crime syndicates ever had complexes like this, with guards, and prison blocks. Crime syndicates, or governmental types. This idea wasn't a cheerful one, either. Either way, Frank thought, we're in big trouble.