Joe stopped in front of a place on King Street a few blocks away from Lake Michigan. It was a cheesy looking restaurant, but if he could get a job as a waiter he could take home tips every night. That would at least get him a change of clothes and some food until he got paid from his real job. Mentally crossing his fingers, he opened the door and went inside.

"I would like to apply for a job as a waiter," Joe said, walking up to the person at the register near the front.

"Have you ever waited on tables before?" asked a squat man with a curly black beard and thinning black hair from the woman's right.

"Yes, Sir," Joe replied honestly since he had performed the duty while undercover a time or two.

"Well, come over here and I will give you an application," the man said. "After you fill it out bring it to me and we'll talk," he instructed, leading Joe over to a small booth in the back of the restaurant. "If you are hired, when can you start?"

"Immediately," Joe answered.

"Good," the man said. "Would you care for a soda while you fill out the application?" the manager asked. "On the house?"

"That would be good," Joe replied gratefully. "Thank you."

"Cola?"

"Yes. Thank you," Joe replied again, sitting down and taking the paper and pen that he was given. As the manager walked away, Joe began filling out the form. Forty-five minutes later, he was led back into the kitchen.

"Kevin," the manager, whose name Joe discovered was Anthony Marvel, called out to a young man in his early twenties with short brown hair and green eyes. "This is Joe. He's starting tonight. Get him a uniform and show him the ropes."

"Sure thing," agreed Kevin. "Come on, Joe," Kevin said, leading Joe back into a side room. "There are new uniforms over in the corner. Pick out your size and go into the employees' restroom to change. When you come out I'll show you around."

Frank and Fenton arrived at the Bayport Police Station a little after nine am. They were freshly showered and dressed but neither had been in the mood for breakfast. "Any word?" Fenton demanded of the sergeant who was sitting behind the desk nearest Collig's office.

"Sorry, Fenton," replied Sergeant Donaldson. "No one has seen him. We're considering the possibility he hitched a ride out of town."

"We'll never find him," Frank moaned miserably. What had he done?! His younger brother was gone, maybe forever, and it was all his fault. He thought back to all the times he had felt things were his fault where he had been reminded that he wasn't because the circumstances hadn't been under his control. 'But this time they were,' he thought sadly. If only he hadn't said anything at Callie's party. He hadn't even meant it. Not really. He loved having a brother and he never wanted to be an only child! He had only meant that it would have been nice if Joe didn't get into so many negative situations. Would he ever get the chance to explain? To apologize? To hold Joe again and tell him how much he really means to him? To just see him again? 'God, please?' he begged silently not for the first time since Joe had left.

"Fenton," the officer was saying when Frank refocused on his surroundings. "We can't call in the FBI. Joe ran away from home. He wasn't kidnapped and there is no reason to suspect foul play. I'm sorry. Really," he added and both Hardys could tell he was sincere.

"You will let us know if you hear anything?" Fenton asked, his voice pleading. Donaldson nodded and watched the two dejected forms leave the room.

"What do we do now?" asked Frank.

"I'm going to call Sam Peterson," Fenton said, naming his old partner and the current chief of police in New Your City. "Maybe Joe went there. It's close and big enough so that he might think he could get lost there."

"What if he's not there?" asked Frank. "What if we never see him again?"

Fenton put an arm around Frank's shoulders. "We aren't going to give up," Fenton declared in a fierce whisper. "We will find him."

"How?" Frank demanded. "You've always told us that missing persons cases were the hardest to solve."

"You think I don't know that?" Fenton snarled, releasing him and turning to face him with blazing eyes. "But I am not giving up on my son. I will find him even if it means following up every crank call, every dead end, every..." his voice broke. Unable to go on, Fenton let the tears fall as he made his way back to the car.

Frank followed silently. It hit him that as much as he was hurting, so was his father. It had been his father's idea to change the locks and that was inflicting as much pain on his dad as his own words at the party were causing him.

"Dad," Frank said when they were nearly home. "Maybe we should advertise in the papers. All of them," he suggested. "We could beg him to come home. You know how Joe loved reading the personals. He always got a kick out of reading the ads that someone put in for a girlfriend or boyfriend."

"That's a great idea," Fenton approved. "We'll put one in all the major papers and have it run in every edition until we find him."

"Dad," Frank said as his dad came to a stop in their drive. "I want to go to New York with you. I can't just stay here."

"Frank, Joe may not be there," Fenton reminded him. "He could have gone anywhere. And your mother..." he broke off and swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat at having to face Laura again. He could already see the disgust in her eyes when she looked at him. It was his fault Joe was gone. He knew it and so did Laura. "I want you to talk to everyone," Fenton said when he could speak again. "Maybe someone saw Joe get into a car. Maybe they saw which way he went. There has to be at least one person in this city who saw him after he left home."