Killing Joe

Chapter 12

The next morning broke bright and sunny. The roads were still wet but at least the rains had stopped.

Tom Oakes groaned and looked at the time when he heard the phone next to his bed ringing. 5:30 a.m. Cursing the caller, he grabbed the receiver and muttered, "This had better be good."

Oh it is. Very good the voice of his deputy Miles Parsons filled his ear Just got an anonymous tip about a blond haired teenage boy found by the river. The kid fits the description of that missing Hardy kid. Thought you might want to know..

Instantly, the sheriff was standing, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he reached for his pants. "Where is he?" he demanded tersely.

They left him at the motel. Room 11B. Said the kid was pretty much fine. A bit banged up but definitely not dead.

"I'm on my way," Oakes told his deputy before hanging up the phone and finishing getting dressed. 'Not dead…yet', he thought to himself, his mind already racing about how he could still make this all work; his memory flooded with the image of Fenton Hardy's wad of cash. 'I'll pin that boy's murder on his brother yet!'

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe Hardy groaned as he slowly opened his eyes and glanced around. "Where the heck am I?" he wondered aloud as he carefully eased his stiff body out of bed – he had to pee like nobody's business!

"What the-?" he exclaimed when he noticed what he was wearing, "These aren't my clothes!"

Feeling decidedly unsettled, the teen finished in the bathroom quickly, washed his face and then checked out the small motel room, scowling when he picked up the phone and got no dial tone. At first he wondered if this had all been some bizarre dream, but that didn't explain the clothes, why this wasn't the room he and Frank had rented, or – Joe stepped back into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror – or why his face was bruised and sore.

He winced as he saw the vivid bruise on his jaw. 'Good thing Frank pulled back on that punch,' he thought, running his fingers through his tangled hair, wincing as he brushed over a painful lump on the back of his head. 'mind you…he's probably going to feel pretty bad when he sees he left a mark!'

So it had all happened – that was the only thing he could deduce.

Involuntarily he shivered as he thought about Cletus and Norton, quickly moving to make sure the room door was locked. His memories of them were pretty vivid but things got hazier after they went to the bank machine.

Something about two pretty girls…another douse of river water and – the teen screwed up his face as a vague image of two men's faces came to mind. Or was it only one guy? Muffled voices. Warmth. Laughter?

Shaking his head, Joe sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face, trying to ignore the tenderness in his shoulders. He'd spent too much time tied up yesterday – or he hoped it was only yesterday. But he just didn't know….

"Gotta get to a phone," the teen said to no one as he looked around for something to put on his bare feet. "Gotta call Dad and find out what happened with Frank – let him know where I am." At least he was dressed, in an oversized plaid shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. The jeans fit rather well, all things considered.

"Need my own underwear, though," he groused as he got on his hands and knees to look under the bed. "There's just something very wrong about wearing someone else's boxers! Oh crud," he cursed. He had nothing to put on his feet. "Cletus! Norton! Now you've really ticked me off! Taking a guy's sneakers…and my socks—" he sat back on his heels and scowled, "that was just low!"

Sighing, he slowly got to his feet and headed for the door. Bare-foot or not, he needed to find a phone!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank opened his eyes as soon as he heard his father get up.

"I'll grab a shower first," Fenton said, moving towards the bathroom, "and then once you're done, we can call Deputy Hilroy and find out what the search plans are."

The dark-haired teen nodded and then closed his eyes tiredly. He had not slept very well at all, as his sleep had been plagued with the same nightmare, over and over again. It always started the same, with his and Joe's fight on the bridge…

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe had just stepped outside the motel room when he saw the sheriff's jeep pull up in front of him and recognized Sheriff Oakes smiling at him. The smile sent a chill coursing down the boy's spine.

"Joe Hardy?" Oakes verified as he approached the kid. Joe instinctively took a step back and paused briefly before nodding. No use in denying it now.

"Yeah…that's me."

"Well boy, I must say you've made the last twenty-four hours rather eventful. We thought you were dead – a couple of times over, actually." The sheriff continued smiling but the look in his eyes was downright predatory. "I can't begin to tell you how relieved I am to find you. Now if you'll come with me."

"Uh…if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. I was just going to use that payphone over there—" Joe indicated the one he saw outside the motel office, "to call my Dad and then grab a bite to eat." As if on cue his stomach growled – having only a couple of mouthfuls of soup since the supper he and Frank had together the night before his 'murder.'

"I'm afraid I need to insist on this," the sheriff said, and Joe's eyes widened in disbelief when the man un-holstered his gun, "in fact, you might even say I'm not prepared to take no as an answer."

"Am I being arrested?" the teen asked, his heart rate picking up, knowing it would be a very bad idea to go with Oakes. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but something was definitely not right about all this.

The man never answered him, just indicated with the gun. "Come on son, nice and slow. Get in the jeep."

"What you going to do if I don't?" Joe joked tensely, "Shoot me?"

"I'd prefer not," Oakes admitted, "a hole might be hard to explain in a drowning victim."

"In a drowning victim?" the boy repeated slowly, his eyes widening as something clicked. "Wait a sec! You're planning on tossing me back in your stupid river and trying to somehow still pin my brother on a murder rap, aren't you?"

"You are a smart kid," the man acknowledged, "However, that won't really help you much. Now come on. Move."

"I've survived that river twice now," Joe stalled for time. "They say third time's a charm."

The man snorted. "Not this time, kid. Now get in the jeep."

"No," Joe flatly refused, his irritation rising at the audacity of this corrupt sheriff. Did he actually think Joe was going to go along with this, quietly?

"No?" The sheriff was not impressed.

"No," the boy repeated, his voice rising with each word until he was practically shouting. "You listen here! In the past twenty-four hours I've been knocked out twice…trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey…been hijacked by the hillbilly versions of Dumb and Dumber…had my clothes stolen…my money stolen…been swimming and almost drowned in your river – twice…woke up in a strange motel wearing someone else's underwear and NOW you want me to go along with you – quietly – so you can toss me back in that damn river and accuse my brother of murdering me. I think not!" He folded his arms in defiance and glared at the shocked sheriff, his blue eyes flashing angrily. "You're going to have to shoot me first!"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank opened his eyes and frowned as he heard some sort of commotion coming from outside his room.

Sitting up, he strained to make out what was being said over the sound of his father's shower.

I think not!

The blood drained from Frank's face – that voice... it sounded like – but no it couldn't be…could it?

You're going to have to shoot me first!

Quickly he stood up, his heart just about pounding out of his chest – that voice sounded just like Joe!