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Tony Prito and Chet
Morton saw two figures running for all they were worth across the joint
Cassidy properties.
“Is that Joe and Biff?” Chet asked, peering through the darkness.
“Let’s go, Chet,” Tony said in alarm, “Something’s wrong!”
They both scrambled from their hiding place, following their
friends.
“Frank!” Joe cried loudly, knowing in his heart he was close to where
his brother was. Joe suddenly
saw Frank lying in the snow. Joe
slid to his knees in the snow as he approached Frank’s still form.
“Frank,” Joe said again, more softly this time.
He shivered as the wet snow began soaking through his jeans.
Joe carefully placed a finger on Frank’s throat and sighed;
there was a strong, steady pulse.
All of a sudden, Frank was bathed in light as Tony’s flashlight was
directed toward them.
“Is that b-blood?” Chet stammered, gazing wide-eyed at Frank’s
head.
Joe nodded and then, hastily pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket,
wrapping it around a handful of snow.
He quickly placed the improvised icepack against Frank’s head.
“Biff,” Joe glanced up at his tall friend, “will you and Tony go
find the van and call for an ambulance, please?”
“No, Joe,” came a soft voice, as Frank began to stir, “Just give me
a minute and I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think so, Big Brother,” Joe said, adamantly shaking of his
head, “Someone whacked you big time, Frank.”
“Joe’s right,” Tony agreed, “we’re going to get help.”
He and Biff grabbed Joe’s van keys and headed down the road.
“Chet, maybe Mr. Cassidy is still working in the house over there,”
Joe pointed out the house where Mr. Cassidy’s Audi was parked, “Will
you go see if he’s there?” Chet
took off as fast as his feet would move.
In just minutes, Joe, Chet and Mr. Cassidy had carefully moved Frank
indoors, out of the cold. Tigh
grabbed his heavy coat and draped it over Frank, as the youth lay on the
bare living room floor.
“Sorry I don’t have more comfortable accommodations, Frank,” Mr.
Cassidy said, his blue eyes full of concern, “Joe ran to show the
paramedics where to come. They
should be here shortly.” Frank
nodded slightly, but then closed his eyes against the pain that encased
his skull.
Moments later, Joe led two medics into the house, followed by Tony and
Biff. They examined Frank
briefly, and then loaded him into the back of an ambulance.
Joe climbed in with Frank, while Chet, Tony and Mr. Cassidy rode
with Biff in the Hardy’s van to the hospital.
*
* *
“So
tell me about your new friend, son,” Dan Martin said, glancing at his
18-year-old son, “He was kind to pick you up this morning for
school.”
“Yeah,” Luke smiled, looking up from his homework, “Joe’s a real
nice guy. I like his brother,
too. Frank and I are actually
the same age, but I see more of Joe.
We’re in three classes together.”
“What was their last name?” Dan asked, laying aside his newspaper to
give his son his full attention.
“Joe and Frank Hardy,” Luke answered.
Dan Martin frowned. He knew
that name. “Did the boys
mention what their father does for a living?”
Luke thought a minute, “No, I don’t think so.
But I got the feeling at lunch today that he travels quite a bit.
The guys said something about him being on a ‘case’, whatever
that means, and that they wouldn’t see him for a few days.”
Dan was sure of it. He was
willing to bet that Joe and Frank’s father was probably Fenton Hardy.
He was well aware of Mr. Hardy’s reputation and suddenly
realized that moving to Bayport was a big mistake.
Susan Martin had watched the exchange between her husband and son.
Dan’s _expression told her that something was very, very wrong.
* * *
“What happened
out there? They were on a
simple surveillance job!” Fenton Hardy cried out in exasperation,
running his hand through his dark hair.
He and Laura had rushed to the hospital as soon as Tigh Cassidy
had called him.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Hardy,” Tigh stated as he led the distraught man
and his wife to the waiting area of the Bayport hospital.
“The other boys are here. They’ll
be able to fill you in, I’m sure.”
“Joe?” Laura Hardy called out as soon as her eyes fell on her younger
son. Joe was sitting in a
chair with his face buried in his hands.
He looked up at the sound of his mother’s voice.
“Mom! Dad!” Joe cried, rising quickly to meet them.
“Joe, what happened? How’d
Frank get hurt?” Fenton asked, looking intently into Joe’s deep, blue
eyes.
“I-I don’t know, Dad,” Joe began, trembling at the memory of his
brother’s bloody head, “Frank went to park the van.
He was supposed to meet up with Chet and Tony, but he never showed
up.”
“We thought maybe he went to check with Joe and Biff, first,” Tony
offered.
“B-but then my head started to hurt, really bad,” Joe continued, “I
just knew Frank was hurt. Biff
and I went looking for him and, and f-found him lying in the snow.”
Fenton watched his
son carefully, taking in Joe’s drawn, pale face.
He pulled the 17-year-old boy into his arms.
Though he didn’t always understand it, he knew Joe’s special
bond with Frank had probably saved the older boy’s life.
Fenton was grateful, not for the first time, of that very special,
unique bond his two sons shared.
Let the
author know what you think of this story
 
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