Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

"Since you know who we are already, I thought the answer is obvious," the man who knelt before him said. "We want to know where you and your buddy have stashed the money and the rest of the merchandise."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Joe said, and was instantly struck across the face.

"Wrong answer," the man said. "Now we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. You decide, kid."

Joe licked his bleeding lip. "I really don't know what you are talking about."

The man suddenly grasped him by the hair and yanked his head back cruelly. "Listen to me, kid. Just tell us where you've stashed the stuff, and you'll make life much easier on yourself. The other kid has left you hanging out to dry, so you might as well spill all that you know. The money's going to do you no good if you're dead."

Joe swallowed painfully. "I just wanted to stop you from getting Jason. I don't know anything about the money and merchandise."

"Ribera, let him go," the other man said. "Let me handle him."

The man who had Joe in his grip reluctantly let go and stepped aside. "He's all yours."

The second man squatted down before Joe and stared unblinkingly at the tied youth for a long moment. There was no expression whatsoever on his face and Joe had to control a shudder at the man's deadened features.

"You know I have a very good way to find out whether you speak the truth or not," the man finally said. "Though I really don't think you want to find out first hand how I intend to do that."

Joe shook his head wearily. "I really don't know anything about the money and the merchandise. Whatever Jason was doing for you, I have no part in."

"Ribera, give me your knife," Scala said calmly. "I think the kid needs stronger persuasion."

Joe stared wide-eyed at the knife held before him, stained with what only could be his blood. Scala slowly pressed the knife to his exposed throat.

"You know, I really prefer the knife to the gun. The bullet, once fired, is so final. It's totally out of your control. But it's so different with the knife. You control it, every inch of the way. How deeply you want it to cut, how much damage you want it to do. It's all within your control. Don't you agree?" Scala carried on conversationally.

Joe dared not even breathe as the point of the knife continued to prick at his skin. He could not help but wince as the knife was pushed in fractionally and then dragged slowly down toward his chest, slicing apart his T-shirt. He could feel the warm trail of blood following the wake of the blade.

Suddenly, the knife was pulled back and Joe sucked in a sobbing breath.

'That was just for a start," Scala said. "Are you feeling more talkative yet?"

Joe shook his head miserably. "I told you. I don't know where the money is."

"Well, we will just have to see about that, won't we?" Scala said. He pushed aside Joe's jacket with the point of the knife. "Let's see, where should we go next?"

"Man, I've got to hand it to you, Scala. You're scaring the kid shitless. Look how he's shaking," Ribera laughed.

Joe burned at the other's words and he made a valiant attempt to still his body. He was scared, probably more scared than he ever had been in his life, but he was damned if he was going to show that before these scumbags. But despite his resolve, he could not contain the whimper when he felt the knife probe at his chest and began to etch lazy lines on the exposed skin. The cuts were shallow, but they burned with a fierceness that left him shaking helplessly with the pain.

"Stubborn little bastard, isn't he?" Ribera asked as he watched his partner withdraw the knife. "I think you need to up this a notch if you want him to talk."

"What do you think, kid? Do you need more before you starting talking?" Scala asked.

Joe drew in another sobbing breath. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Tsk, tsk," Scala shook his head sadly. "You really like to do things the hard way, don't you? All right, Ribera, straddle his legs and make sure he don't move. The fun is about to begin."

Joe's eyes widened with fear and he thrashed out with his legs, but tied as he was, he was soon overpowered and Ribera had him pinned firmly to the ground with his considerable weight.

"Hold his legs still," Scala directed.

"He ain't going nowhere," Ribera said as he clasped his ham-like fists around Joe's knees.

Scala brought the point of the knife over Joe's right thigh and flickered a questioning glance at Joe. "It's not too late to talk."

Fear and pain were making him hyperventilate and Joe gasped out his words. "I don't know."

Scala shook his head and pressed the tip of the knife into the imprisoned youth's thigh. Joe jerked and cried out as he felt the white-hot pain piercing his leg.

After an inch of the knife had disappeared into the unresisting flesh, Scala looked up at Joe again. "Well?"

"I don't know! I don't know!" Joe shook his head desperately, trying in vain to pull away from the awful pain. He jerked convulsively as the knife continued its slow descent.

"I'll stop when you decide to tell me," Scala said, watching the youth's face closely.

"Jesus!" Ribera breathed as he watched the scene before him with unblinking eyes while tightening his hold on the struggling youth.

"Ooops, looks like I've hit the bone," Scala said and sat back on his heels, looking at the buried knife with clinical interest before turning his eyes to the boy that he was tormenting. "Well, kid?"

Tears and sweat spilled down his whitened face as Joe sobbed out his answer. "Don't know."

Scala reached out and gave the knife a hard twist. Joe screamed at the unearthly agony and darkness quickly and mercifully overtook him. Glancing at the unconscious youth's face, Scala reached out and yanked the knife out, mindless of the blood that gushed from the gaping wound.

"I don't think he knows anything," Scala said flatly. "Or he would have talked."

"So we've wasted all this time for nothing," Ribera muttered as he released his hold on the now limp form. "We should have been out there looking for the other little shit. Now what do we do with him?"

Scala handed the bloody knife back to the other man. "We'll leave him. Nobody will find him for a while, and by the time they do, he's not going to have any breath left to rat on us."

Ribera systematically wiped the bloody knife back and forth on Joe's jeans until he was satisfied of its cleanliness. "What do we do now?"

"We have to find Jason. If we don't get the money back, you and I are dead meat. And when I find that little bastard, he's going to find out what real pain means. He won't be as lucky as this one," Scala said coldly, his dark eyes flashing with deadly anger.

"Yeah, you make sure you leave enough of him for me as well," Ribera said.

"Mom?" Frank called out as he closed the front door.

Almost immediately, Laura Hardy appeared at the kitchen doorway. Frank hurried forward and wrapped an arm around his mother's shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

Laura grasped his hand and held on to it. "I have been so hoping that Joe would be returning with you."

"Sorry, Mom," Frank apologized.

There was a slight squeeze on his fingers. "Not your fault, Frank. Come and join me for a cup of tea. Where's your father?"

Frank sat down at the kitchen table and watched his mother set the kettle on. "He's still down at where the van was found. He wanted me to come home first to keep you company."

"Thank you for coming home. It's been hard sitting here by myself and letting my imagination go," Laura said and patted him on the shoulder. "I know it couldn't have been easy to leave and come home like this, without knowing more of what's happened to Joe.

"Dad promised to let us know if anything comes up," Frank offered.

"And he will," Laura said grimly. "He knows better than to hide anything from us." She poured a cup of tea for her son and then one for herself. "So do you have any idea where Joe might be?"

"I think he was out looking for Jason, and he must have seen something. He left the car with the door wide open," Frank said, knowing that it was better to come clean with all the details with his mother.

"So you don't think somebody pulled him from the car? You think he left the car voluntarily?" Laura asked.

Frank nodded. "I think so. There were no signs of struggles. It looks like he just took off after something or someone."

"Maybe he did find Jason," Laura said.

"But where is he now?" Frank asked, half to himself.

Laura frowned, her eyes darkening with worry. She hugged herself as an involuntary shudder shook her small frame.

Frank reached across the table and grasped her hand. "I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have left him to come home by himself."

"Frank, your brother is not a child. You cannot watch over his every step, and you should not have to do so," Laura said rather sharply. "You can’t hold yourself responsible each time something goes wrong. It's certainly not your fault if he chooses deliberately to disobey your father's orders of staying off this case."

Frank let out a long breath. "I know it's not my fault, but Joe is still missing, and I have this awful feeling that he's in trouble."

"Oh Frank!" Laura enveloped her son's hand in both of hers. "I think he's in trouble too and I'm worried to death." She shook her head. "I've been trying so hard to work up my anger against your brother, thinking it would take my mind off the worries, but it's useless. I keep thinking of all these horrible things that could have happened to him."

"Dad will find him, don't worry. Dad's the best," Frank said with a conviction that he did not feel. "And I am certainly not going to sit back and do nothing either. If Joe's in trouble, I am going to find him."

Laura watched her older son and could see the fiercely protective big brother coming into play and felt both saddened and gladdened by it. She took joy from the fact that her boys shared such an unusually strong bond with each other, but it also pained her to see her older son being overwhelmed, time and time again, with worries for his younger sibling.

"It's not easy, is it? Going through this roller-coaster of emotions each time he gets into trouble," Laura asked gently.

Frank managed a tired smile. "You'd think we should be used to it by now. Remind me to pound his sorry butt when this is all over."

"You will have to wait in line, after your father and I get through with him first," Laura said. But in her mind, it was a different story. Oh baby, please come back to us safely!

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.