"Did you enjoy your smoke?" Lewis asked Joe, with a laugh. "Ah, I thought so," he said at Joe's rebellious glare. "Don't worry," he soothed sarcastically, removing the butt from Joe's mouth and flipping it onto the concrete floor beside him. "I've got a whole pack for you."

He reached out and grabbed a handful of Joe's hair. "You know Pretty Boy, I think we ought to give Daddy a little scare." He grinned at Joe, watching Joe's fear filled blue eyes stare up at him. Joe swallowed nervously, waiting for the next punishment. Lewis released Joe and leaned close to his ear. "Have you ever gone bowling?" he whispered, confusing Joe. Lewis laughed and walked away from Joe, leaving him wondering what kind of torture bowling could inspire.

After Frank hung up with his father, he ran outside and climbed into his father's car. By the time he reached the Speedmart, the police were there and an ambulance had already come and departed, taking Biff with them.

Sergeant Con Riley, a twenty-six year old brunet with kind brown eyes, spotted Frank and walked over to him. Con had met the Hardy boys his first day on the Bayport police force four years previously when he had been sent in response to an alarm at Treadway's Supermarket. He had arrived to find twelve year old Joe Hardy and his thirteen year old brother, Frank, delaying the thief by spraying him with soda from cans they had vigorously shaken before opening. Con thought about the mischievous look in Joe's eyes and the excited look Frank's had held. It was a far cry from the way Frank looked at him as he approached.

"Have you found out anything?" Frank asked, his soulful brown eyes begging.

"Not yet," Con replied. "The manager is on his way and he will pull the security video for us," he added.

"What about Biff?" Frank asked. "How badly was he hurt?"

"He'll be fine," Con assured Frank. "He was unconscious when we got here but he woke up before the paramedics took him to Bayport General. He wasn't up to being questioned so we'll have to wait until the doctor says we can talk to him."

"He didn't say anything about Joe?" Frank asked.

"Just to tell him he was sorry," Con replied.

"For what?" Frank demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"He didn't say," Con answered with a frown.

A bright red Ford truck pulled into the parking lot and stopped in front of the air machine. A six foot three, two hundred pound man climbed down from the cab and looked around. His middle-aged face had worry lines creasing his forehead and his hazel eyes were serious as he made his way over to Con and Frank.

"How's Biff?" the man asked, running his hand nervously through his thinning black hair.

"You're the manager?" Con asked.

"That's right," he acknowledged. "Steve Mast," he introduced himself. "How's Biff?" he asked again.

"He has a concussion but he should be okay. He's on his way to Bayport General," Con informed the man.

"I'd better call his parents," Mast said with a weary sigh.

"They've already been notified," Con said. "We need to see your security video," he added.

"Of course," Mast responded and led the way inside. He took them behind the counter and through a door into an office. There he pulled a key ring from his pants pocket and selected a small golden key which he inserted into a lock on the front of a VCR. He moved the bar aside and hit stop. "You want to preview it before you take it?" he asked. "It works on a different speed than normal VCRs."

"Please," Con agreed and watched as Mast hit the rewind button. Fifteen seconds later, he hit stop and play. There was Biff, putting cigarette packs into displays on the counter. A minute later, someone came into the store and walked to the back.

Biff looked out the window and smiled as he turned on the pump for someone outside. The customer came up to the front and started back into the employees only section. "You're not allowed back here, sir," they heard Biff say right before he froze and held his hands up.

The customer was still out of the video camera's range at this time but they could hear the gruff voice telling Biff to get on his knees and put his hands behind his back. Biff did as he had been ordered, then Greg Lewis stepped into view, a revolver in one hand and a length of rope in the other, a price tag dangling from it.

Lewis tied Biff's hands behind his back, then pulled out a roll of masking tape and bound his ankles together. A couple of minutes later, Joe came into the station. Lewis put the barrel against Biff's windpipe and whispered something in his ear. Biff swallowed nervously, but a second later he could be heard asking Joe to come back to the employee's section.

Mast, Con, and Frank watched what had happened after Joe entered the station. When Lewis dragged Joe out the door, Mast stopped the tape and ejected it, handing it to Con.

"Have you got an APB out for our van?" Frank asked Con as they left the building and went to stand outside by the ice machine.

"And on Joe and on Lewis," Con replied, putting a hand on Frank's shoulder. "You should go home in case Lewis calls," he added. "The way things stand now, he has the next move."

Frank nodded, not saying a word. Leaving the station, he went back to the car. He had to go see Biff before going home. He had to know if Biff had seen or heard anything the security camera and microphone hadn't picked up.

Back at the deserted bowling alley, Joe had been struggling with his bonds but the strong duct tape wouldn't give. Lewis came forward, both hands behind his back and stared at Joe toughtfully.

"I've been thinking," Lewis said seriously. "As an escapee, I really shouldn't hang around here for sixteen days. So, I've decided to take off and leave you here." He watched a ray of hope flicker in Joe's eyes. "Dead," he added, pulling his right hand forward, revealing the revolver he had been holding behind his back, and aiming it at Joe.

Joe's eyes widened in horror as Lewis pulled the trigger while at the same time bringing forth his left hand holding the camera and snapping a picture of Joe's terrified face.

Joe breathed deeply, wondering why he was still alive. Lewis stood in front of Joe, the camera clutched in his left hand, the revolver dangling in his right as he laughed uproariously. "Oh, Joseph," Lewis said, his eyes still twinkling with unmitigated delight. "Your daddy's going to love that one."

When Lewis had quit laughing, he pulled the bullets out of his shirt pocket and reloaded his gun. He looked in Joe's eyes when he had finished. "Sixteen days, sixteen tortures," he reminded Joe. "Mind games are free."

Lewis turned away and left Joe, leaving the building this time. He had a van to get rid of and a camera to deliver, plus, he was getting hungry.

Lewis started to open the door to the van when he heard something. He looked over and saw a rattlesnake slithering near the bushes heading down toward the rocks by the creek below. Smiling, he went to the back of the van and opened it up. He grabbed the backpack he had noticed earlier and dumped the contents on the floor of the van. Then he dropped the camera into the backpack and made his way over to where the snake now lay coiled. He lay the open pack on the ground a few feet from the snake. Picking up a long branch which must have been blown off a nearby tree by a strong wind, he herded the rattler into the backpack and flipped it shut with the branch. Cautiously, he snapped it closed, careful to avoid the fangs which came through the pack.

Using a smaller branch, he carried the backpack to the van and placed it on the floor in the back. He closed the door, went around to the driver's door, opened it, got inside and started the van. Not long after leaving the abandoned bowling alley in Oxford, he was back in Bayport, pulling up to the Hardy home at the corner of High and Elm Streets. Seeing no sign of life, he parked the van in the Hardy's driveway. Using the branch he had brought with him, he lifted the backpack from the van's rear and carrried it to the front porch. He set it down by the door and, taking the branch with him, took off down the street on foot.