Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Joe Hardy struggled vainly against the ropes that bound him, but to no avail. The ropes around his wrists were biting into his skin, and the cords tied around his ankles only seemed to get tighter. At the same time, he worked his jaw furiously against the gag that had been roughly stuffed into his mouth, but, once again, his efforts were pointless.

He looked around the small, dark room that he was captive in. There was not one piece of furniture, no light, no windows. The large wooden door was locked and bolted in four places. Joe gave a mental sigh of resignation.

Why did this always happen to him? It seemed like every time that an enemy was mad at his father, Fenton Hardy, an international detective, he would get revenge by kidnapping one of his sons and torturing him. And who was always that son? Me, he muttered mentally.

Or when an enemy wanted to keep his father and from a case trying to find one of his sons, which son got kidnapped? Me.

Or what about when an enemy wanted ransom or Fenton to do something for the return or safety of one of his sons? Who was the one kidnapped? Three guesses, Joe said bitterly to himself. Me, me, and me.

But why?

Joe knew the answer right away. Because he was the youngest son of Fenton Hardy. But that wasn't fair. Being seventeen years old, he had been kidnapped and held for ransom more times than even he could account for. And his eighteen year old brother? Five, at the most.

It wasn't that he wanted Frank to get kidnapped. That wasn't it at all; he just didn't see the justice of being the one who always got a gun pressed against his head. Or the one who was tied up and thrown into the back of trucks and carried to unknown places. Or the one that lay helpless in a dark, dank room as he heard his kidnapper, a tall, ugly man wearing a ski mask with shifty black eyes, call his father using a voice disguiser, saying, "Drop all charges against my client, Mr. Hobs, or you'll never see baby boy again...well, you'll probably never see him again, anyway, but you'll never see him alive again."

And that was all that had happened to him that afternoon after he was ambushed outside of the local gym. All because of his father's case concerning a maniac named Mr. Hobs, who was charged with the arson of many important legal buildings. Joe didn't know all the details, but what he did know was that he was kidnapped because of them. Because he was the youngest.

His kidnapper had long gone, leaving him alone in his prison, probably for good. He sighed beneath the gag and tried to convince himself that he would be okay. Frank would come. He was sure of it.

Hours passed. Joe's stomach rumbled hungrily, and his wrists and ankles ached from being tied so tightly. Fatigue consumed him, and the gag made his mouth dry and his throat sore. Finally Joe closed his eyes wearily, skating on the thin line between sleep and unconsciousness.

It seemed like his eyes had been closed for hours when he felt someone gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes wearily and saw with utter amazement--and delight--Frank's anxious face wavering above him. Then he saw his father in the background.

He blinked his eyes from the light that he had become unaccustomed to and saw that he had been moved to right outside an old broken down house and was lying on a weed covered driveway. He realized that the house must have been his prison.

"Joe, you okay?" Frank asked, then pulled the gag gently from his brother's mouth.

Licking his lips, Joe managed to crack out, "I--I think so...I'm just...hungry...and sore."

Frank smiled slightly and, with his father's help, assisted Joe in sitting up, then took out his pocket knife and hacked the ropes binding his brother's hands while his father worked at the ankles. Then the two of them set to work massaging the boy's wrists and ankles until the circulation was back in them. Then they helped the trembling youth to his feet.

"You really scared me, little bro," Frank said.

"Me too," Fenton added, putting a protective hand on his son's shoulder.

Joe sighed and muttered, "Sorry."

"What's wrong?" Frank asked.

"Oh, nothing," Joe said sarcastically. "If you were the one who always got kidnapped and all that crap, you might feel a little upset too."

"Hey, now!" Frank said defensively. "You obviously have some major problems with this, and I don't blame you...but that doesn't mean I don't have my share of 'em either!"

Joe was about to retort when Fenton shushed him. "Joe obviously isn't feeling well," he said, addressing his youngest son as well as Frank. "Why don't we postpone this argument until later?"

They agreed, but both mentally decided the topic would be brought up later.

What they didn't count on, however, was the completely unseen and seemingly impossible thing it would bring along with it.

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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.