Joe and Chet were on the other side of the road from the Café Spot entering Harry’s Hardware store. This was the third hardware store they’d tried. Each visit so far proving totally fruitless - none stocked that particular tool. They stepped inside and were immediately hit with a solid wall of heat.

"Whoa! How can they work in this temperature?" asked Chet, beads if sweat immediately growing on his forehead.

"I don’t know, but the guy behind the counter doesn’t seem to mind. Look at him, he’s wearing a sweater!"

They approached the man who was sitting on a high stool, hunched over the Bayport Times. Joe noticed that even with wearing the heavy sweatshirt, he wasn’t perspiring. "Amazing," he thought. He cleared his throat noisily to attract his attention.

He looked up, took off his glasses and focused on the boys standing before him. "What can I do for you, lads?" he asked eyeing them up and down. "Looking for a present for your dad?"

"Erm, well, yes actually, we are," he agreed, taking advantage the store keeper’s assumption. "Our dad recently had a tool stolen from his truck and we’d like to replace it for him."

"What type of tool?"

Joe opened the photograph of the wrench and passed it across to him. The store keeper put his glasses on and peered at the picture. "You’re gonna to be fresh out of luck finding one of these at a household hardware store," he said shaking his head and passing the picture back.

"Why’s that?" asked Chet.

"Well, that’s not a common-all-garden wrench. That particular tool is only used on particular building sites."

"What type of sites?" asked Joe trying to retain his excitement.

"Wish I could help you son, but I’m not sure."

"Okay, thanks for your help, Sir."

"No problem, lads – I do have lots of other tools that would make a great present for your dad though," he added quickly, realising that the boys were leaving and he was fast losing a sale.

Chet opened the door and looked back over his shoulder. "That’s okay, thanks Mister. We’ll have to think of something else."

They stepped gratefully out into the fresh air. Joe fanned his face with the photographs. "So, now we know why it isn’t stocked in the hardware stores we’ve been visiting."

"I don’t see how this is going to help us any," thought Chet aloud.

"You’d be surprised."

"Hey, don’t keep this to yourself Buddy, spill the beans!"

"Tomorrow, I think we should go and visit some of Bayport building sites and have a look-see, we may strike lucky."

"Yes, and ask the foreman if he recognises any of the guy’s descriptions or the wrench," said Chet.

"Exactly - now you’re thinking and talking more like a Detective," laughed Joe.

"You’re the Holmes to my Sherlock!" Chet replied, nodding his head emphatically.

"More like Road Runner to your Coyote."

"Har, har."

There was a loud roar across the road and a Harley Davison pulled up outside the Café Spot.

"Nice bike!" remarked Joe.

"Yeah, really nice," agreed Chet.

They began to make their way back to the van.

***

Frank heard the noise of the bike and looked out of the window.

"That is one seriously cool Hog!" he exclaimed to Callie.

"What? Pig?" she asked scanning the street outside in confusion.

Frank looked at Callie amused. "Hog is another name for a Harley, didn’t you know that?"

"Well – funny you should say that – but, no!" Callie looked at the bike. "It’s not bad I suppose."

"Not bad? Its roasting!" he jumped up from the table and quickly left.

"Was it something I said?" wondered Callie as she watched him leave the coffee shop. Her eyes followed him as he moved towards and confronted the owner who was taking his tiny helmet off. He was dressed in well worn black leather and denim. When he turned, she saw a painting of a large jumping tiger on the back of his jacket. He was long-haired and wore a beard. Callie didn’t like the look of him at all, he looked like a hell’s angel. She watched open mouthed as Frank drew him into conversation, gesticulating towards the bike.

More started to pull up, all carrying similar looking biker types, some with girls riding behind. They all displayed identical emblems on their jackets. They began dismounting and crowding around Frank, who was now openly laughing and jesting with them. Callie decided it was time to intervene when she witnessed her boyfriend mounting one of the Harleys. Quickly standing, she opened her purse and left enough money to cover the bill. Exiting the coffee house, she caught up with Frank. "It’s getting late, we should be heading back," she said taking him by the sleeve and pulling him from the bike.

"Is this your Chick, Frankie Boy?" asked his new friend.

"It sure is, ain’t she a babe?" replied Frank.

Callie gaped at him, not quite believing what she’d just heard, he’d never referred to her as a ‘babe’ before, and she didn’t like it.

"Frank, I have to go home now, and I’ve got to drop you off first," she said sullenly.

"Oh, okay then, Cal. See you later Fly,".

"Yeah, see ya Frankie Boy," they clasped each others forearms and he and Callie headed for her car.

"What was all that about?" she asked.

"What?"

"All that ‘babe’ and ‘chick’ stuff?"

"I don’t know what you mean."

Callie decided to let it go, realising that this could be what the doctor meant by ‘slight personality changes’. "Slight changes? That’s the understatement of the century!" she thought.

What Frank and Callie didn’t realise, was that someone observed the whole episode. An observer sitting at the steering wheel of a non-descript, black sedan car.

***

That night Frank lay wide-awake in bed, suffering from insomnia. He sighed in frustration, rolled over onto his belly and closed his eyes.

Half an hour passed and he was still wide-awake. He looked at the luminous dial on his alarm clock, it read 11.30 p.m. He ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully, and came to a decision. Getting out of bed, he quickly and quietly dressed himself in blue jeans and a black tee-shirt. He grabbed his leather biker jacket from the closet which he owned for undercover work (although he couldn’t have known that). He pulled on black boots, put his baseball cap on and stuffed some cash into his pocket.

He went to the window and opened it wide. Leaning out, he was able to ascertain that ivy reached right up to the window. "Good," he said to himself. He gripped the sides, climbed out onto the ledge and swivelled around. Dangling a foot out, he carefully groped for a foothold with his toe and began to slowly climb down, clinging to the vine tightly. Less than a minute later he was jumping the final few feet to the ground.

The security light suddenly came on, illuminating the garden and momentarily startling him. He jerked his head up as a light went on in one of the upstairs rooms. Not wishing to be seen, he spun around wildly looking for a hiding place. Spotting a well placed shrub he dived over it, rolled on his shoulder and quickly scrambled behind the plant. Peeping through the foliage he watched as Joe pulled his curtains aside and peered out into the night. His brother stood looking out for a full minute before finally closing the drapes and switching the light off again. Frank waited another full minute before making off across the lawn. He stepped into the road and started jogging in the direction of Callie’s house.

***

Twenty minutes later, a breathless Frank stood outside the Shaw residence. He walked around the outside of the building, trying to judge which one was Callie’s bedroom and taking the opportunity to catch his breath. Setting upon the room with the pink curtains, he bent, snatched up a handful of gravel and threw it in the direction of the window pane. Gaining no response, he repeated the exercise, throwing harder this time. At last, the light in the room came on. A silhouette could be seen walking to the window, Frank judged the shape to be Callie’s and relaxed his stance. The curtain was pulled back and she opened the window and peered warily out.

"O Callie, Callie! Wherefore art thou Callie?" he called.

She was not happy to see him. "Be quiet Frank! What do you think you’re doing? You could have broken the window!" she hissed.

"Come down, my love."

"No! Go back home, Frank - your Mom and Dad would flip a lid if they knew what you were doing so soon after being released from hospital."

"Hey, relax babe. I only came over to ask if you fancied going into town with me. We’ve been invited to go drinking with the guys," he announced sulkily.

Callie was horrified. "Drinking? Are you crazy? It’s illegal for people our age to drink, you’ll be arrested!"

"I take it that’s a definite no then?"

"Good deduction - go home!" she snapped and slammed the window shut.

Frank shrugged his shoulders, thrust his hands into his pockets and trudged into the road to hail a cab.

***

Callie sat on the edge of her bed, seething quietly, she reached and punched in the Hardy’s number, she hoped Joe would answer rather than his parents.

"Hello," said a sleepy voice that Callie was relieved to note was Joe.

"Thank heavens it’s you."

"Callie, what’s wrong?" he asked, suddenly sounding wide awake.

"You’re not going to believe who I’ve just had a visit from."

"Your thick-headed brother, that’s who!"

"What?…Who?…Frank?" Joe asked, obviously confused.

"Yes, of course Frank - have you another brother I haven’t been introduced too?"

"Hand on a sec…" the receiver was placed down on the table and she listened to the sound of Joe’s bare feet padding away from the phone. Ten seconds later and she heard his feet padding back again, only quicker this time. "Your right Callie, he’s gone."

"Of course he’s gone, I didn’t dream it! But not just gone, Joe, he’s gone drinking ‘with the guys’."

There was a pause as Joe mulled over what Callie had said. "I think your worrying over nothing Callie, Biff and Chet aren’t going to go drinking with him. They’ll bring him home as soon as they realise what he’s got in mind," he said confidently.

"Oh, you think so do you?"

"For the simple reason that these are not the ‘guys’ that I‘m referring to".

Callie explained to him about the bikers outside the café, and about how Frank had said to one of them ‘see you later’. "I didn’t think anything of it at the time, most people nowadays use the term as a phrase."

"Joe, I’ll tell you this, I will be ecstatic when he gets his memory back."