Boosting - Chapter 5

Frank hadn't returned to Joe and their table for a good ten minutes or more, by which time, his burger had grown cold and Joe had long finished his. Frank slid back into the seat and started zipping up his leather biker jacket, imprisoning his walking stick away inside. Evidently, he wasn't going to be using it. "Ready to go?"

"You okay, Frank?" Joe asked, bemused.

"Yeah, why?" Frank shot back, in an overly surprised tone.

"Because you…never mind." Joe sighed. "You going to eat that burger?"

Frank looked down at it as though it was the first time he'd noticed it was there. "Nah, I'm not hungry. Let's go and find that cabin. You can follow me this time—" he grinned and tipped his head towards the waitress he'd managed to offend earlier. "—as you didn't bother to look at the map when you had the chance!"

Joe frowned at the back of his brother's head as they left the restaurant, amazed at his brother's ability to switch his moods on and off at the drop of a hat. When he got outside, he zipped his jacket up, and patted his pocket to make sure he'd not left his wallet at the table. Then he sensed he was being watched suddenly and looked over his shoulder to find the coquettish waitress was watching him closely. She slowly looked him up and down, smiled flirtatiously and wiggled her fingers, so he waved back. "I've still got it!"

He reached his bike after Frank, who had already jammed his helmet down onto his head and was fastening up the chinstrap. Joe desperately wanted to discuss with his brother what had happened at the table, but he obviously wasn't going to get the opportunity. His brother was still managing to put hurdles in the way.

Joe straddled his bike and started putting his own helmet on, watching as Frank turned the throttle towards himself and simultaneously pressed the red button, his bike roaring into life. He kicked up the stand and leaned the full weight of the machine directly onto his right leg, obviously suffering a little discomfort in his knee at having to support such a weight, but managing to control it admirably. His left toes tapped the bike into first gear and he pulled away, barely giving his brother enough time to follow suit.

*****

Fenton knew that Con was in a state of shock when he pointed out that he didn't think he'd be able to mentally absorb what was in the box given to them by Chief Ezra Collig until they got back to the office, and had proposed leaving it until then. This was a first for Fenton Hardy: in all the years he'd known his friend, he'd never known Con Riley not to want to open a mysterious package immediately.

As soon as they'd reached the car outside the station house, Con had blurted out. "Fen, did you see how much we're getting paid for this job?"

"Considering I negotiated it, yes!" Fenton said, grinning.

"But you've always said that you'd have earned a lot more if you'd stayed working for the NYPD – were you lying to me, pal?"

"No. I remember what I said, and I wasn't pulling your leg. That was the highest amount I've ever dared bargain, and I'm a bit taken aback that it worked myself." He started the engine. "I remembered how much Joe and Frank got paid and realised that the government obviously has a lot more to offer than the average client and this isn't your average job."

"How did you have the nerve?"

Fenton laughed. "It's all in the wrist, my friend—" Con cast him a strange look until he snickered and said: "Seriously, its just practice. I've been negotiating fees for years, remember, you'll get the hang of it." He began pulling out into traffic. "I knew having Frank and Joe on the books was a shrewd move."

Reaching their office block, Con took the box and they re-entered the building and made their way quickly to the office. Fenton let them in and immediately went and wheeled his chair from his desk up to Con's and they both sat down across from one another and prepared to finally open the package.

"Let's see what we have here, Flash." Con muttered and tore the tape from across the length of the box, released the flaps and pushed them aside."

Fenton stared silently at the random pile within, taking in the spectacular view. Eventually, he took a pen and reached forward to hooked a pair of police issue handcuffs and raise them into the air, rocking them backwards and forwards in front of Con's face. "Hmm, I wonder what possible use these could be put to?" he asked, amused.

"I can think of a few—" Con remarked. "Four sets, with keys!" He pulled them free of the heap and placed them to one side. "Oh-ho, and look at these as well!" he said digging out four black leather wallets that were all linked together by an elastic band. He pulled it off and started opening them until he came to a particular one. "As I thought, Police badges, no, scratch that—" He turned it around for Fenton to see "—Not police badges, FBI badges. I left the force and got a promotion!"

Fenton opened up the other three and checked the names of whom they were made out to. "They're definitely including my sons in this arrangement," he confirmed. "They even got hold of photographs. Obviously they've been planning on hiring us for a while. I feel a bit manipulated and dirty. Thank God for the money, but I still need a long shower!"

Con laughed and then sobered and muttered: "Uh-oh!"

Fenton glanced up from the badges. "Uh-oh?" He saw that Con had removed a large manila envelope from the top of the box and was now peering down at what was hidden underneath. So Fenton looked over into the box to see what had made his friend react so dramatically and felt his own mouth dropping open.

Eventually, through narrowed eyes, Con said, "What are they expecting us to be getting involved with?"

They both simultaneously reached into the interior of the box and pulled forth one of the four Walther 9mm pistols that were lying inside.

Con brandished his and appeared to be testing the weight in his hand.

Fenton did the same; assuming that the weapon wasn't pre-loaded as it was so light. He confirmed this by running his thumb across to the lever next to the trigger and sliding the empty magazine case free. "Worrying!" was all he said as he slapped it back into its placement.

Reaching into the box again, Con rummaged about until he came upon a box of ammunition and held it forth. "Ditto worrying!"

Fenton sat back in his seat, still with the gun in his hand. "I suppose it's standard practice to issue all agents a firearm, but nevertheless—" he raised an eyebrow. "—I'm not exactly thrilled at some faceless agency handing weapons over to my boys." He tossed the gun into the box, feeling slightly revolted.

"I hate to remind you, Buddy, but Frank and Joe are a little old to be told they can't arm themselves. They're a chip off the ol' block, and if that means they have access to all the equipment we've been issued with, so be it! I've seen them down at the shooting range, and they're pretty good marksmen."

"Frank and Joe use the shooting range?"

"Erm…yeah. Didn't you know?" Con reddened.

"No." Fenton thought about for a second and then smiled grudgingly, "You're right, they are too old to be told what to do. He stood to tip the remaining items out of the box, and then began packing the guns, ammo, cuffs, and badges into it. But then he froze, having second thoughts and decided to take his and his partner's badges back out. He handed Con's to him and slipped his own into his pocket. "Actually, these could come in handy, but the rest is going straight into the safe." Closing the flaps down on the box, he dipped out of Con's sight to open the strongbox.

While he was opening the door, Fenton heard the unmistakable sound of an envelope being split open. He quickly moved some things aside and shoved the box into the safe before slamming and locking the door. He bobbed back up to find that Con had pushed his seat back on its wheels and was resting his heels up on the table top, flicking through a document thoughtfully.

"What you got there?" Fenton asked.

"It's a list of the cars they believe were boosted by the organised gang. It includes addresses of the victims, dates, times and incident reports. Ming was right, some of the more rarer ones were taken by force, but most were taken at night when everyone was asleep." He looked up as Fenton was sitting himself down again and grimaced. "Fen, it's a massive list, there must be over 200 cars here."

Fenton reached forward and took the list, glancing through it himself. "Boy, this is a huge job," he agreed and dropped the paper down into his lap. "We're seriously short-handed with the boys being away."

"Do you want to call them back?"

"No I don't, I want them to rest and get their strength back." He dropped the manuscript down onto the table, picked up the pen and started tapping it on the table solicitously. "We need at least one other set of hands, and someone who can hit the ground running—"

"Sam Radley?" Con immediately suggested.

"It's the obvious solution, but he's not around. He and Ethel are away – and his life's supposed to be slowing down, not speeding up."

Con's face softened. "Oscar Smuff?"

"So very funny! You should be on the stage!"

Con laughed. "Okay, pal – what about Nancy Drew?"

Fenton slowly smiled. "You know what? That's not such a bad idea!" He reached for the phone and tapped in Nancy's cell phone number. Connecting, it began ringing out and was picked up after three rings. He could immediately hear music, followed by a loud squeal and riotous laughter. A voice started 'shushing' before saying: "Hi, Fenton."

"Hi Nancy, honey. Sorry to interrupt, you sound like you've got visitors."

"No, just Vanessa – Rufus dashed out from under the couch and attacked Van's ankle. I haven't heard anything from Joe if that's why you're phoning?"

"It isn't."

"Oh?"

"Nancy, are you on a case at the moment?"

"That'd be something of a miracle considering I'm not at work at the moment. Why?"

"Con and myself…well, the whole agency really…have been hired to look into a large case and we were wondering that as the boys are away, if you wouldn't mind coming and giving us a hand in the meantime – you'll get paid, of course."

"Sure!" she immediately replied, obviously flattered and surprised to be asked. "So long as Frank doesn't find out I didn't go back to River Heights, then yeah, I'd love to. Would you like me to come over?"

"If you're able to."

"I'm not doing anything special, finishing off some pizza. I'll be over in about half an hour when I've prised Rufus from Vanessa's leg!"

Obviously tired of waiting, Con opened the last envelope and pulled another document free.

"Great. See you in a short while." Fenton said, finishing off his conversation with Nancy and disconnecting the call. "What you got there, Con?"

"It's a dossier on the missing private investigator. His name is Bobby Shandley. Ever heard of him?"

"Can't say that I have, name certainly doesn't ring a bell. Is there a photograph?"

Con went back to turning the pages over. "Yes…oops, it's a girl, not a guy. It's Bobbie with an 'ie', not a 'y'." He passed it across for his friend to have a look.

Fenton accepted it and looked hard at the picture of a girl with dark, shoulder length hair and big doleful eyes. "No, can't say I've ever met her. She's young, isn't she?" he flipped the pages back to the front. "From Pennsylvania. Says here that she was making a trip to follow-up on a lead but hasn't made contact with her family since."

"What sort of a lead?"

"Doesn't say. It appears she didn't even set a mechanism in place to keep someone informed of her whereabouts – why on earth was she hired to do this job? She obviously lacks experience." He turned over the final sheet. "Oh, here's why she was hired, she's the daughter of a senator." He licked his upper lip. "Obviously it's who you know and not what you know in the state of Pennsylvania."

Con shook his head in amazement. "Unbelievable!" He took his feet off the table and stood up. "Coffee?"

"Sounds like a plan." Fenton replied, shuffling together all the paperwork and leaving them in the middle of the desk in a neat pile. He stood and followed his friend to the kettle. "I've got a fair idea as to how we should split responsibilities between us, but that's a discussion to be had when Nancy gets here."

Shortly she walked in through the front door. "Yowsers! Smell the testosterone!" was the first thing she said and followed that up with a quick scan of the room. She pointed at one desk "Joe's." and then at the other "Frank's."

Fenton and Con were both leaning back against the counter, steaming mugs in their hands, already on their second cups.

"Well, you can tell Nancy's a detective, what remarkable observational powers of deduction she has!" Con said.

"Is this the first time you've visited the office?" Fenton asked her, tugging at his eyebrow.

"I came here once a long time ago, but you were still only working with Sam, and I think you were in that smaller office across the hall."

"Do you take sugar, Nancy?" Con asked, turning to the kettle again.

"No thanks, just milk."

They spent the reminder of the evening filling Nancy in on the case and breaking the news about her boyfriend's missing car. She was heartily angry about Frank's convertible being stolen and therefore more enthused than ever to offer her services. They then divvied the various jobs out.

Due to Con's experience of dealing with vehicle thefts during his time in the force, he was volunteered to concentrate on the cars. Nancy agreed to assist Con, but with a particular view to getting Frank's car back. This left Fenton, due to his vast knowledge of tracking down missing persons and runaways, to investigate the whereabouts of the elusive Miss Shandley.

"Will you be okay on your own looking for Bobbie?" Nancy asked Fenton afterwards.

"Um?" Fenton asked, pulling his gaze away from Frank's desk to answer her. "I'll play it be ear and if I need any help, I'll come looking. So don't worry about me, just find Frank's car." He went back to plucking away at his brow.