Thank you for all your wonderfully kind words on the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one just as much.
It was just past 10pm as Grandpa Hardy entered the Red River Hotel. He gripped a brief case in one hand, doing all he could to seem confident as he strode into the extravagant lobby. He didn't look around, pretending the splendour around him was nothing worth remarking on. His eyes were fixed on the doors to the ballroom even as he ran through the plan in his head.
His dear wife had not been happy when he had told her he was going undercover. She had understood, of course. She would do anything for her son, just as he would. But she had to admit she had hoped that he had entirely left the dangerous life of fighting criminals behind him, left it to younger men.
The doors to the ballroom opened up to a startling sight. It was difficult to keep it from showing on his face. His eyes played over the expensive art and statues on display, the great and the bad gathering so they could buy stolen artefacts. He joined the flow of people, freezing as a young woman in a cocktail dress approached him. He conjured up the backstory he and his son had agreed on, prepared to offer it to the young woman. However, she silently slotted a printed brochure into his hands. He thanked her with a smile, flicking through the pages absentmindedly as his eyes scanned around the room.
Frank had shown him a picture of Percy Whitmore and Grandpa Hardy looked around for him and his other grandson over the top of the brochure, hoping he might spot one of them. And then he reached the end of the booklet.
His eyes caught on a name.
Lot 97 – Joseph Irving Hardy – Our final lot is the honour of killing Fenton Hardy's youngest son, the apprentice of the now incarcerated Mr Marsden, in front of our esteemed audience.
Grandpa Hardy's blood ran cold. His stomach twisted. His grandson, his fourteen-year-old grandson, was going to be sold to some cold-hearted killer, killed in front of the gathered crowd. It was sickening, horrific.
But it meant Joe had to be there. A criminal like Whitmore wouldn't have put Joe up for sale without letting the entire world see how powerful he was, how he could trap and control a Hardy so easily. Grandpa Hardy looked around the room, following the numbers of lots until his eyes settled on lot 96. He couldn't see the lot next to it. That was where the crowd was thickest, people entirely obscuring his view.
Fighting his hands as they tried to shake, Grandpa Hardy folded up the brochure. He moved across the room at a slow pace, trying to seem calm. As he drew closer, he could hear the people gathered there were jeering.
"He doesn't look much like Hardy," one man said.
"He looks like Hardy's wife," a female voice replied.
He slotted himself into the crowd, easily snaking his way to the front of the crowd.
His stomach dropped at the sight of his grandson, trapped on a mockery of a throne, gagged with a piece of golden cloth. He was glowering defiantly at the crowd and Grandpa Hardy thought that should have been enough to prove Joe was his father's son. Only a Hardy could keep such a bold face against such impossible odds.
He watched Joe's eyes fall onto him and caught his gaze. The look flickered. For a moment Joe was a scared little boy, feeling like he could let the mask slip because he was with someone he felt like he could trust. But he caught the mask, realised any Hardy standing before him had to be there undercover. He couldn't let people know he recognised his grandfather, that he believed he was going to be able to get him out of there.
Grandpa Hardy held his gaze, trying all he could to reassure him that he was not going to let him die. Then he slowly examined the fourteen-year-old, checking for any sign of injury. Besides a few bumps and bruises from being handled roughly, Joe didn't look hurt.
"I see young Mr Hardy is proving popular," a posh voice said smugly.
The crowd in front of Joe parted and Grandpa Hardy watched as Whitmore moved in front of Joe. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder in a mockery of fondness.
"As I am sure all of you know, Joseph here was raised by a criminal and had a promising career in theft ahead of him when the Hardys decided to meddle. I tried to offer Joe that life once more but I am afraid Fenton Hardy has turned the boy's head. All Joseph could talk about was how much he loved his family and how much they loved him. So how better to punish Fenton Hardy for all he has done for us than by making sure burying Joseph this time is a far more permanent situation?"
It took all of his focus for Grandpa Hardy to keep the anger off his face. He wanted to pounce at Whitmore, knock his hand away from Joe, snap at him that it wasn't meddling to fight to get your kidnapped son back, that a kind, loving family was the least that Joe deserved, not criminals who betrayed him the first moment he wasn't an obedient drone in their schemes.
"Now I know I made you all agree to come to this auction unarmed," Whitmore continued. "So I have put together a collection of weapons that the winner of this lot can use to kill young Joseph. It's quite an impressive selection if I do say so myself."
Whitmore paused to correct an out of place hair on Joe's head and then turned to look into the boy's eyes.
"Anything you want to say?" he asked.
He hooked a finger into the gag and pulled it down.
"Stop show-boating and just get this thing over with," Joe growled be defiantly.
Whitmore raked a slap against his cheek and jeers erupted from the crowd. Before Joe had even a second to recover, the gag was being forced back into his mouth.
Grandpa Hardy decided he had heard enough, seen enough. He shuffled away, glancing around the room. There was a small door off to one side. From the plans of the hotel he had seen, he knew it led to a small storage area with an emergency exit at the far end. He headed toward it, freezing as Whitmore said they would start with bids on the first lot. He glanced back, watching as two suited men picked up the painting marked 'lot 1' and carried it to the front of the room.
He told himself it would be okay. Joe was the final lot. They still had time to make their move. He pushed open the door and hurried out.
Fenton shifted nervously as he watched the back of the Red River Hotel. He couldn't help but be nervous. Situations like this, where kidnap victims were being held in a room full of criminals… They could so easily go south. They always made him anxious.
But his son being trapped in there… Joe. Fourteen years old and desperately deserving infinitely better than the hand life had dealt him.
He watched as an emergency exit swung open before him and hurried forward, Laura and Frank moving with him. His father stood there, quickly gesturing for them to join him.
"Did you find Joe?" Frank asked.
"Yes," Grandpa Hardy said, closing the emergency door behind him. "But things have gotten a little bit more complicated."
Fenton raised an eyebrow, asking what Grandpa Hardy meant. He could sense his wife and son were becoming increasingly anxious. They had all be desperately hoping that getting Joe back would be easy, a plan pulled off without a single hitch. Fenton told himself that had always been an unrealistic hope.
"Joe isn't just with Marsden. He is one of the lots up for auction. They're bidding over who gets to kill him," Grandpa Hardy revealed. "And he's being kept on the ballroom floor in front of a huge crowd. We'll need a serious distraction to get him out and even then…"
Horror fell onto the faces of Frank and Laura. Frank could barely think. A room full of killers next door and they were all baying for his brother's blood. And Joe hadn't done anything wrong. His only mistake was being taken in by people who had claimed to care about him.
Fenton grimaced. That was not even close to what he had wanted to hear. Still, he forced himself to shoulder it. Joe needed them, now more than ever. If him being rescued was difficult, him escaping would be infinitely more so.
"When does the auction start?" Fenton asked.
"It already has," Grandpa Hardy admitted.
"Okay," Fenton said. "Can you show Laura and Frank where Joe is? I'm going to call an old friend of mind on the force."
Frank's eyes widened sharply.
"You can't!" he hissed. "We don't know if we can trust them. Marsden had cops working for him, Whitmore probably has hundreds…"
"Whitmore is in the middle of running an auction. If we're quick, if I tell him to only speak to people he trusts implicitly, then we should be able to get Joe out ourselves and then have every person in that ballroom arrested and held on charges related to kidnapping and attempted murder. And that might just be what we need to take Whitmore down. At least one of the people in there is bound to turn on him give evidence that'll help us keep him locked up. He played into our hands doing something so public."
Fenton kept himself from adding it was really the only plan he had. There was probably no way he and his family were going to be able to make a quick get away from the auction, not unless there were people there to round up the criminals the moment they gave chase. Fenton knew the best he could hope for, the best any of them could hope for, was getting Joe out of immediate harm, getting all of his family outside of the hotel once more safely.
He turned to Frank.
"I don't suppose there is anything I can say that would convince you to wait outside for us."
"Not a chance."
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please consider leaving a review.