Thanks to God n Fluffykitty12 who will teach me how to post these chaps or die trying.
Miranda n Barb thnx for motivating me w yr kind words. You r in this chap – hope u don't mind.
Chap 13
Pov Joe
I stifle a groan as I pull Frank's polo shirt over my head. Partially because I'm in pain, mostly because Frank has scary taste in clothes. Who buys black polo shirts? Frank and people in the mob.
My jeans and t shirt are torn and blood stained from the motorcycle crash. All my clothes are back in what's left of my house.
Glad I kicked Sam out. Impossible to hide my pain.
"You ok?" Sam shouts through the closed door.
"Go away," I yell through grit teeth as I pull on a pair of Frank's ugly brown sweats. Who wears brown? Groundhogs and Frank.
The pants are too long. I hate Frank, myself and the guys who shot up my house.
Sam opens the door and walks inside.
"Trust me, I'd like to," Sam says. He gently grabs my arm and helps me down the stairs. "I had to cancel my date with Michelle."
"Sorry," I mumble as I collapse on Frank's leather couch.
"No problem, if you feel half as bad as you look, we're in trouble," Sam says.
He covers me with an expensive looking scratchy wool blanket the same gray as Frank's walls.
Why is everything here so ugly and uncomfortable? I miss my house or what's left of it.
Maybe I could sleep in my Mustang on the beach by what's left of my house.
"Frank?" I ask.
"He and Con are questioning the guys who tried to kill you," Sam says.
"Can't believe I'm homeless," I mumble.
"I don't think Frank will put you out on the street," Sam says with a smile.
"If we're stuck living together, I may find a cardboard box and toss myself out on the street," I grumble.
I want to trust God, but it's hard when I'm a mess and homeless.
"Con said the guys who tried to kill you claim something deflected their kill shots,"Sam says. "Any idea what he's talking about?"
I nod no. I grit my teeth as pain jolts through me.
The doorbell rings.
"Probably the doctor," Sam says.
But when he opens the door, I see two young women.
"Hi, I'm Barb," says the tall blond woman. "This is my friend Miranda. We're here to clean Mr. Hardy's condo."
"Wait a minute," I say. "Frank told me he keeps this place up on his own."
"All our clients say that," Miranda says with a grin. "No one wants to admit they use a cleaning service, so we named our business 'On My Own."'
"I'm gonna kill him," I say and scowl. "Do you know how long Frank's been nagging me to pick up my place? Forever."
"Brotherly love," Barb says and laughs.
"Hey, could you short sheet Frank's bed for me?" I ask.
"Sorry," Miranda says. "We have our professional ethics."
"$100?" I ask.
"You're on," Barb says.
I grab my wallet off the side table, pull out my emergency $100 bill, and hand it to Barb.
"We'll get fired," Miranda says.
"Stop worrying," Barb says. "We're not scheduled to clean today. We just stopped by to ask Frank if we could switch our cleaning day. He'll never know we were here."
"No worries. I'll tell Frank I short sheeted his bed," I say. "He'll drive himself crazy trying to figure out how I did it."
They go upstairs.
I smile for the first time since my house got destroyed. I like these women.
Still can't believe my house is toast. My last piece of Iola – the cottage deck- is gone.
Insurance won't cover rebuilding the place. Guess I'll have to look for a cheap, crappy apartment to fit my budget.
Or I could ask Tony to save me a big cardboard box from his pizzeria. At least my new cardboard house will smell like pizza.
"Heard the condo board wants to give you a reward," Sam says as he hands me an ice pack for my pick of sore areas.
"Hope it's a new house," I mumble as the doorbell rings.
I'm grateful to have a minute alone before I have to wipe the pain off my face.
"What's up Doc?" I say as Doc walks over.
Sam's phone rings. He glances at the phone number and frowns. "I've got to take this, but I'm getting a full report from the doctor."
When Sam leaves, the doctor pulls out a black bag like I've only seen in old movies.
"So how are you feeling?" Doc asks as he takes my blood pressure.
"Good," I say.
"Blood pressure is normal," Doc says.
Doc shines a light in my eyes.
"So how are you really feeling?" he asks.
"Good," I say, trying to convince both of us.
"Look, I'm old. I don't have time for this," he says and starts to pack up his bag.
"If you aren't going to level with me, I'm out of here. I'll call an ambulance for you," Doc says.
"What makes you think I'm faking?" I ask.
"You are underweight, exhausted and look like you haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks," Doc says.
I grit my teeth. Hospital or honesty? I can't take the hospital.
"Sometimes I have nightmares," I mumble.
"Me too," Doc says. "Son, we're a lot alike. We carry guilt for the people we couldn't save."
"You have guilt?" I ask.
"Every doctor I know does. My wife died of brain cancer. A year later my only child overdosed on drugs."
"The woman I was going to marry died in a car bomb meant for me," I whisper.
"Son, my wife left me a note. I found it in our Bible after she died. Made me promise I wouldn't blame myself. I bet yours would tell you the same," Doc says.
"I just want to tell her I'm sorry," I say and blink back tears.
"Son, she knows. I don't think anyone we love ever leaves us."
It's true. Sometimes I feel Iola is near me . I close my eyes and lie back on the couch.
"Swallow these pills and get some sleep," Doc says. "I'll be back in a few hours."
God, You know I want to believe. I just have so many questions. Can you let Iola know I'm sorry?
I feel peace. The smell of Iola's lilac perfume comforts me.
I fall asleep wondering if it's just a dream.
Pov Frank
"I'm gonna enjoy snapping your neck," Leonard growls.
His hands tighten around my neck.
"You won't get away with this," I whisper as black spots crowd my vision.
"Think again. I studied blueprints of the police station. After I kill you, I crawl through that ventilation shaft. I've got a car, money and guns in it. But thanks for thinking of me."
I have to stop this guy. But he is choking me out. I am not going to survive. My last thought is of Joe. I can't let this guy kill him.
Something falls on my head. The pressure leaves my throat. I gasp in air.
Through glazed eyes I watch a police officer tazer the guy who almost killed me.
"Guy with him," I whisper. "Prison blueprints."
"Figures," the cop says and cuffs the unconscious prisoner's hands.
He hits the clip radio on his shirt. "Need a report on Staris ASAP. He's the prisoner getting picked up by the FBI."
The cop removes the chair from under the door handle. A swarm of blue uniforms rushes in.
"Frank? You ok?" Con asks from across the room. A stream of blood covers his scalp.
"Frank?" the officer who rescued me asks. "You're Frank Hardy?"
I nod once and regret it as pain rockets through my head.
"Your old man almost let my prisoner escape, now I had to pull your butt out of the fire," the cop says. "You guys sure don't live up to your reputation. Are you working for the other side or just really bad at what you do?"
"Harrison that's enough!" Con shouts. "Fenton Hardy bagged your perp – get over it! And a real cop doesn't insult someone after he saves them!"
The room is quiet. Everyone stares at me and Harrison. I really don't need this.
Only one thing to do. I swallow hard, grit my teeth and get to my feet.
"Thanks for the assist," I say and put out my hand to shake. Harrison never offers his hand to shake. My world spins and everything fades to black.
Pov Frank Two hours later
I hear someone talking.
"He should be fine Mr. Hardy," someone says. "He just needs to rest."
I force my eyes open.
"Joe?" I ask.
"Easy Frank. It's Dad. You remember what happened?"
A jumble of memories from the police interrogation room hits me.
"Con ok?" I hoarsely whisper.
"He's in the room next door," Dad says. "Possible concussion and some broken ribs."
Dad holds out a paper cup. Water never tasted so good.
"I messed up," I say.
"We're only human Frank," Dad says. "Main thing is you are ok."
"Harrison saved me," I mumble.
"At least he didn't make a speech about how you should retire," Dad said.
"No, he suggested I was either really bad at what I did or working for the bad guys," I say and shut my eyes.
"Guy needs a personality transplant," Dad says. His phone rings.
"Hardy," he growls.
"No, that's not an option. Redo all the plumbing. If Joe's insurance doesn't cover it, I will. Hold on a minute," Dad says.
"Frank, the deck was the only part of the house that reminded Joe of Iola, right?" Dad asks.
I nod and regret it as waves of pain flood my head.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder.
"Raze everything except the deck. That one area has to stay the same. I've picked out a state of the art security system so the electrical has to be updated. Call me if you have any questions."
Dad hangs up.
"Think you can keep Joe occupied until I get the build done?" Dad asks.
"Definitely," I say. "How is Joe?"
"Sleeping. Which is good. I need Joe ready for anything," Dad says.
"Staris escaped prison. He's on the loose. You and Joe are all that's standing between him and $10 million," Dad says. "And we still have no idea who he is working for."