DISSONANCE
by
Duckling
Chapter 16
The Chapters
Four hours of diligent searching through old case-files, verifying the whereabouts of old enemies, and depleting five pots of coffee resulted in a single name and address of dubious reliability. The one clean fingerprint the police were able to lift from the bloody note confirmed the identity of the kidnapper. Now the men, exhausted from their efforts, sat dejectedly as Collig’s men radioed in their report: the address listed did not exist.
“What more do we know about Carl Ruthers?” Collig asked into the silence.
Sam glanced at his friend and partner, noting the worn, gaunt figure beside him. “Ruthers was a small-time crook in the City who was trying to go straight. A few years ago, he fell into financial difficulties and got involved with a gang we were investigating at the time for arms trafficking,” he replied. “He was small-fry; the authorities weren’t interested in him. He was married and had a wife and young son. The family lived in an area controlled by the gang. Unfortunately, the gang found his family useful: the wife and child were used as human shields; the police opened fire, Ruthers’ wife sustained only a flesh wound but the child died.”
Collig and Riley looked solemnly at Sam. Biff shivered.
“I had been negotiating with Ruthers when word of the tragedy arrived. Ruthers holds me personally responsible for the death of his son,” Fenton spoke up.
“What happened to Ruthers, Mr. Hardy?” Biff asked. “Did he go to jail?”
“Yes,” Fenton replied. “He agreed to a lesser sentence. The authorities kept an eye on him for me in light of his threat, but he never mentioned it again. I had almost hoped he had forgotten it, or had at least come to conclude that I wasn’t responsible.”
“Apparently not,” Collig snorted.
“What we need, now,” Sam stated quietly, “Is to continue tracking his old haunts. He just recently got out of jail, so he probably has hidden Joe in an area he knew well before his incarceration.”
“Right,” confirmed Collig. “Riley, call up NYPD, ask if they could spare us an officer to go over what they know of Ruthers. If they’d rather meet in person, tell them you’re on your way.”
“Do you really think Joe is in the City?” Biff asked.
“I think it’s highly probable,” replied Collig grimly. “And, if Ruthers doesn’t want to be found, he’s picked a good place to hide.”
As Riley got up to follow out his chief’s orders, Fenton continued to sit at the kitchen table, shoulders slumped, eyes red with fatigue. His body ached for sleep but he didn’t dare. He knew without doubt that once he closed his eyes, he would be tormented mercilessly by the scene that had greeted him when he had first entered Joe’s room. The mind-numbing, heart-constricting fear even now threatened to overwhelm him. But greater still was his sense of failure and guilt. He reminded himself that this was not his fault; this time at least, there had been no shameful, unheeded warning. The knowledge of Frank’s impending arrival only caused him to feel the guilt more keenly. How could he look into those accusing brown eyes, eyes which once had beamed at him with affection and pride? He had asked Biff to stay and tend to Frank; Fenton didn’t think he could cope with his irate elder son himself.
Collig eyed the anguished father with concern. Frank would be furious when he arrived, and the chief didn’t relish being present when he did. The normally pleasant, mild-mannered young man hardened into a cruel and fearsome avenger whenever his younger brother had been harmed; a transformation made all the more disconcerting by the contrast. As the head of the local rescue efforts, Collig didn’t want to waste time serving as a referee between the warring Hardys. His thoughts must have communicated themselves to Sam Radley, because as he looked up and caught the fair-haired investigator’s gaze, Radley gave him a slight nod of assurance, his glance announcing to the weary chief that he would ensure that things didn’t get out of hand.
A sudden knock on the door shattered the silence. Fenton visibly tensed as Biff got up from the table to open the door for Frank. Sam silently positioned himself behind Fenton, one hand casually resting on the back of Fenton’s chair. Collig decided that now was as good a time as any to see if his men had uncovered any new leads and excused himself to radio headquarters. In the silence that followed, Sam reached out and gave his old friend a tight squeeze on the shoulder before resting his hand once again on the back of the chair.
***
Frank was livid. He had hoped to persuade Joe to join him before another kidnapping took place, but had promised his father one more chance to protect Joe. Confronted with Frank’s accusations that day in the study, Fenton had almost pleaded for an opportunity to redeem himself. Although it had been left unspoken, both father and son realized that the next time would determine the outcome of the argument: whether or not Fenton was capable of protecting his son.
And now, Frank seethed, it had become abundantly obvious to everyone that his father had once again failed. Not only had Joe been taken yet again from the relative safety of his own home, but he had been deliberately hurt as well. Biff’s terse description of Joe’s bloody room had been more than enough to send Frank to new heights of worry and anxiety. Now he needed to find his brother, and once he was well enough to travel, take him to his new home with Frank. There was absolutely no way Joe was returning to the house from which he had been so frequently stolen.
***
Joe Hardy hurt. His mind, hazy with pain, struggled to remember where he was and why he hurt so much. He attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, but stopped immediately as a new wave of pain crashed over him. Giving up in his attempts to puzzle out what had happened, he allowed himself to slip into a dreamless sleep.
His captor sat in the corner of the little room and watched the blond boy with interest. He had spirit, that one. Ruthers smiled as he remembered the boy’s valiant attempt to free himself from the iron grasp that held him, how the boy still struggled to escape even after the blade of the knife had been dulled with his own blood.
The blood. Ruthers’ smile widened into a grin. He hoped Fenton Hardy appreciated the blood. It would be a shame for the boy to have suffered so much without suitable appreciation from his father.
Ruthers suddenly stood up and walked over to the still form lying bound at his feet. He crouched down by the boy’s head and reached out to touch the young face. The boy was cold. Moving his hand to the teen’s forehead, he noted with satisfaction that the boy had a fever. Maybe infection has set in, the man thought happily. He glanced at the dark stains on the boy’s abdomen and chest; he had been careful not to make the stab wounds too deep. It wouldn’t do for the boy to die too quickly. Satisfied with the state of things, he straightened back up and returned to his position in the corner. He had plenty of time.
***
Biff was a bit surprised to find someone with Frank, when he opened the door to the Hardy home to his former friend. He shot a puzzled glance at Frank, who said simply, “Biff, meet Bix. Bix, Biff,” before pressing past the tall blond boy and into the house.
Bix looked at Biff and nodded a greeting. Biff stepped back to let the other boy in and the two made their way into the kitchen.
They stopped suddenly behind Frank, who stood in tense anger in front of his father. Fenton had risen from his chair and the two eyed each other warily. Sam gently cleared his voice before greeting the boys. “Frank,” he stated calmly, “have a seat.”
“This is Bix, Mr. Radley,” Biff piped up. “He came with Frank.”
Sam turned to the tall dark-haired boy and smiled briefly. “Welcome, Bix. Now why don’t we all sit down and get back to work.” But Sam remained standing.
Frank glared at his father, almost trembling with fury. He never should have left Joe in this accursed house. He should have taken Joe with him when he first left. If only he hadn’t given in to his father that night, and agreed to give him one more chance. The thought stoked his anger to a higher intensity and he opened his mouth to speak.
He was deprived of a chance to do so, however, as Bix gently snagged his arm and firmly pressed him into a seat. Frank looked up at his friend in astonishment. Sam shot Bix a smile of approval and marshaled Fenton into his own chair. Biff let out the breath he had been holding and took his own place at the table.
“Now,” Sam continued, “Collig and Riley are here and are busy tracking this guy down. You two,” he nodded at Frank and Bix, “need to be filled in on what we’ve garnered so far. Then, we can all focus our energies on getting Joe back, and soon.”
The quiet, unemotional insistence that they focus on finding Joe had its immediate, desired effect and Frank’s anger was soon forgotten as Sam filled him in on the results of the investigation.
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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.