Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Joe reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wadded-up baseball cap. Grateful to have the irritating lump removed from his backside, he shook it into shape and planted it firmly on his head. It wouldn’t completely conceal his telltale blonde hair, but it would make him a little less obvious. With the same intent, he tugged his shirt free from his shorts, mussing his clothing slightly so as to look just slightly less reputable. He wouldn’t exactly blend in with the casual Polynesian look of the Hawaiians, but he didn’t want to look as if he had no business down here on the docks, either. And it wasn’t like they were all Hawaiians; it was a mixture: some looked Oriental, some Hawaiian, some definitely Caucasian. But all were strong-looking and muscled, no matter how short or tall they were.

He strolled along, whistling softly and stopping occasionally to admire the large ships in front of him, and to look them over. The stevedores were scurrying up and down gangplanks, loading smaller crates onto the ships; cranes were hefting the larger cargo up mechanically, saving the workers’ backs. Joe watched intently, curious as to the workings of the mechanism. A reminiscent smile curved his lips. This is like back in Bayport, when I was little!

He could remember being at the harbor-side docks in Bayport when he was about six or seven. He had been fascinated – so mesmerized by the sight of a large crane, carefully picking up a package, hoisting it into the air, swiveling and then lowering it with precision to the deck of the ship, that his mother had been forced to pull on his arm, physically move him along, when it was time to go.

And I fussed and whined and complained, he thought with a grin. I kept saying wanted to stay just a little longer, and see the crane do it again! Laura hadn’t allowed that – evidently there was some reason or other that staying wasn’t an option, right then, although Joe couldn’t recall what it might have been – but now, over a decade later, there was no one to tug at his arm and insist that he leave. Joe sighed with contentment.

“Hey, man, what’re you doin’ here, anyway?” A voice broke into Joe’s thoughts, and he found one of the Hawaiian stevedores staring at him suspiciously. The voice was almost accusatory – a little hostile. Evidently he objected to this malihini’s unwarranted presence so near his ship.

Joe smiled his friendliest smile. “Watching the crane,” he said, with complete honesty. “I get a real kick out of watching how it works. I was remembering how I saw something similar back home when I was little, and how fascinated I was!” Nothing like using the absolute truth, he reflected; beats making up a story, any day!

The worker looked a little less hostile. “Where you from, then?” he inquired.

“New York state,” Joe replied. “A city called Bayport – on the Atlantic coast.”

“You’re a long way from home, brah,” the man chuckled. “How you happen to be here in Hilo?”

“My father’s here on business, combined with a vacation with my family,” Joe explained. “I wanted to get out and explore this morning, you know? Wander around and see different parts of Hilo. I saw the cranes,” he went on with another engaging grin, “and I had to investigate!” Another half-truth. “Have you worked on the docks long?”

“Over 20 years,” the man admitted. “It’s hard work, but I like it. Keeps me in shape.”

“I’m not sure I could do anything that hard,” Joe admitted, with a sheepish expression. “I don’t think I’d have the stamina for it.”

The worker shrugged, with a slight smile. “You could do what you set your mind to, if you tried hard enough. I like it. I get to be on water most of the day – even if it does mean a lot of heaving and lifting – and it pays good, real good. So I can take time off…go on trips when I want to.”

Joe nodded, trying to look interested without being too overly-inquisitive. “Do you ever go on the boats – uh, ships…when they’re doing a cargo run, I mean?”

The man grinned a little and winked. “Not supposed to,” he confided, “it doesn’t comply with the union rules….But sometimes, yeah, if they’re shorthanded on crew—”

“How long does it take to get to the mainland?”

“A few weeks, give or take a day or two,” his informant said. “The old chuggers don’t go very fast – the speedier ones can make it in a week; two weeks for the slower ones. More than that, if there’s bad weather and you have to try and go around it.”

Joe nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the ship and the continuously-working crane. “What’re in the crates?” he asked, indicating the larger boxes.

“Usually huge pallets of pineapples,” the man replied. “Sometimes other fruits. Coffee – a lot of coffee. Koa-wood furniture. Or people moving to the continent will have their cars and household goods – furniture and such – shipped over.”

Cars shipped….Joe’s ears pricked up. “Their cars? Why would they do that?” he asked. “Why bother, I mean. Isn’t it awfully expensive?”

The dockworker shrugged. “Dunno, man. Probably not as expensive as buying a new car stateside. But I don’t know, to be honest.” He looked around, as if suddenly remembering he was supposed to be doing a job. “You’ll have to excuse me, brah, I gotta get back to work! Enjoy your vacation...aloha!”

“Mahalo!” Joe tried out one of the few Hawaiian words he’d picked up. “Thanks!” He watched the man return to work, and stared consideringly at the ship. Wonder if there are cars on board already…stolen cars, not cars being legally shipped by their owners….He would have liked to get closer, but knew that was sheer fantasy. He wouldn’t be allowed closer, no matter how excited he acted!

He checked his watch and was startled to see how much time had passed. It was time for him to meet up with Frank, and compare notes. He turned, with a last reluctant glance back at the crane, and retraced his steps to where he and Frank had parted company.

To his irritation and slight concern, Frank wasn’t at their meeting place. Joe waited impatiently, wondering where he could have gone; Frank was usually punctual when it came to check-in times. What could have delayed him? The possibilities were unsettling.

Joe loitered about, trying not to look too conspicuous. After waiting an extra ten minutes, growing increasingly concerned by Frank’s continued absence, Joe finally wandered back into the row of warehouses; listening, watching…searching for any signs of his missing brother.

Slipping close to a window, he peeked cautiously into one of the warehouses, and saw a circle of men gathered around what seemed to be a collapsed stack of crates. A tarp was half askew, revealing several more crates beneath it. The men were grumbling and grunting with effort as they worked to right the fallen boxes.

Joe ducked hastily down as one of the workers happened to glance in his direction, and prudently stayed low for a few moments before he dared take another peek. Where the heck is Frank, anyway?

“Let’s get out of here.”

Joe nearly jumped out of his skin when the low whisper came from behind him. Whirling about, he saw Frank standing there, looking much the worse for wear. His brother’s hair was tousled and dusty; his clothing was ripped in more than one place, and filthy, and worst of all, he had a nasty-looking scratch on one bare upper arm.

Frank was holding his arm gingerly, but he motioned toward the warehouse behind them, and the path leading into it. “Let’s go, before they come out here looking.”

Joe silently led the way, and they eventually found their way to another street, further from the docks. It was something of a hike, perhaps a half-mile or so, getting to where they could catch another taxi.

“Okay, what happened to you?” Joe demanded after they had trudged a block or two, and he knew they wouldn’t be overheard.

“I was checking out that warehouse,” Frank began. “I was under the tarp when those crates started to fall. I would’ve been crushed like a bug, but I got lucky – at the last second, the stack was caught on the crate behind me, and I managed to wiggle out from under. And then the whole stack came down, and I got hit by the corner of one when it broke open. That’s how I cut my arm.”

Joe shuddered. “How’d you get out without them seeing you?”

“Hid behind another stack of crates, and sneaked out when all the workers gathered around to pick up the mess,” Frank explained. “Oh, by the way – the crates might have said they contained coffee…but they didn’t. They contained artifacts – at least, the one that fell on top of me did. I saw a statue, made out of some kind of green stone – jade, maybe? Weird, huh?”

Joe frowned in thought. “Yeah – we’re finding a lot of oddball things around here, lately.”

The boys arrived back at the hotel feeling a little more knowledgeable about how ships’ traffic worked, but without any further information that might have helped in their case. Slipping through the lobby as inconspicuously as possible, they made their way to the elevators and up to their room.

“Let’s clean that up,” Joe suggested, indicating the cut on Frank’s arm. “Lucky thing we always lug a first-aid kit around, huh?” He dug the kit from Frank’s suitcase and prodded his brother in the direction of the bathroom. Soap, water, antiseptic cream and a bandage completed the procedure.

“There.” Joe smoothed the bandage down carefully. “It should heal up fine; it wasn’t even bleeding any more.”

“Thank you, Florence Nightingale,” Frank said, with a rueful chuckle. He flexed the arm, then straightened it. It hurt a little, but was livable. “Guess this shirt is done for.” He stripped off the ripped shirt and went to find another to replace it.

*****

“Frank, you with us?”

Startled, Frank blinked and refocused his gaze. He looked up and found Detective Meka Ekela looking down at him and speaking in a low voice. He realized with a start that the afternoon seminar session was over; he hastily checked the slides and was gratified to see that somehow, despite his zoning out, he had managed to keep up with his father’s class. Seeing Fenton’s smile and thumbs-up of approval, Frank returned the smile and began the task of shutting down the projector, glancing up at Ekela as he did so.

“Yeah, Detective, I’m fine – I guess I was just up too late last night.”

“Partying already? It’s not New Year’s Eve until tomorrow!” Ekela teased.

“No, no…nothing as fun as that,” Frank said wryly. “I lost my wallet and had to stay up to talk to hotel security about it. In fact,” he went on, “I need to talk to Chief Pauahi. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course, Frank – he’s over there.” The big detective motioned towards the front of the room, where Chief Pauahi was standing in a group of officers. Frank noticed that Lieutenant McCullough was among them. Genial laughs were coming from the group, indicating that they weren’t talking shop – or if they were, it wasn’t something serious!

Somewhat apologetically, Frank asked Pauahi if he could have a moment of his time. The Chief graciously assented, and they moved to the back of the auditorium, where Frank explained about his missing wallet.

The police chief looked surprised, but not shocked. “I’m afraid that thefts of wallets and other small valuables is the same in Hilo as it is anywhere else in the world. We may look like paradise here, but the analogy only holds so far. Unfortunately, tourists are all too easy marks in the eyes of any aspiring thief.”

“I know that, sir; I just wanted to let you know about it. I’ve already contacted the credit card company – the only real problem is the fact that my driver’s license is gone now, and I may end up having to stay here if I can’t board the plane back home!” Frank joked.

Pauahi laughed at that. “Well, we can hope that whoever took your wallet will dump it with the license still inside – you might get lucky that way. I’ll drop the word to keep an eye out for it, just in case.”

“Thanks, Chief Pauahi; I appreciate it. I won’t take any more of your time.” Frank had spotted Joe talking to their father, and bidding the Chief goodbye, he moved to join them.

“You all right, Frank?” were Fenton’s first words. “Joe said you ran into a little trouble this morning. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

Frank gave Joe a dirty look. Evidently his younger brother had been letting his mouth run away with him! “I’m fine, Dad,” he said, smiling at his father reassuringly. “Joe practiced his first-aid techniques on me.”

“Hmmm,” Fenton said, apparently unconvinced. “After we get this stuff cleared up—” he indicated the detritus of the afternoon seminar, “why don’t you let me take a look at it…just to check on Joe’s first-aid job, of course.”

“Dad, you don’t need to go to all this fuss about a little scratch—”

“How about you let me decide for myself, Frank,” his father returned, decisively ending the argument.

Joe, ignoring Frank’s glares, smiled blandly and turned away to gather up discarded agenda sheets.

“Well, it doesn’t look too bad,” Fenton conceded, after he had inspected Frank’s wound. “Just don’t get careless with it, or ignore it if it starts burning or hurting worse, Frank.”

“I promise.” Frank held up a hand in a ‘pledge’ gesture.

“Why don’t you boys change into something more comfortable?” their father went on, eyeing Frank and Joe’s dressy seminar attire. “I think I’m going to call Sam and give him a heads-up about that passport before I change. It won’t hurt to have him send it, even if your license does turn up. When the girls get back from their shopping expedition we can decide what we want to do about dinner. I’m NOT going to that statistics report dinner, that’s for sure, even though I was invited!”

Gladly acquiescing with their father’s suggestion, Frank and Joe went to their room to change. Joe scrambled into a tank top and shorts; Frank decided to opt for a shirt with sleeves, to conceal the bandage on his arm. They both added comfortable tennis shoes to their ensembles, and then rejoined Fenton to await the return of Laura, Vanessa and Megan.

*****

To the Hardys’ surprise, they were invited to dinner by Lieutenant Dylan McCullough early that evening.

“I’m afraid that I’m skipping the stats reports,” he confessed, when he called Fenton. “I’ve sat through too many, and they’re always the epitome of boring. Unless I was contributing a report,” he added with a laugh. “So please – won’t you take pity on me and join me for dinner?”

When they met in the lobby, Dylan announced that he’d tentatively made reservations for them at a restaurant only a block or two from the hotel, and the seven of them walked companionably through the soft tropical evening. They found that a group of seven didn’t get challenged much on the sidewalks, especially as both Dylan and Fenton walked with that ‘don’t mess with me,’ attitude that seemed to be inherent to them.

Over dinner, the handsome police lieutenant effortlessly charmed Laura, Vanessa and Megan, and he entertained them all with stories of his time with Hawaii 5-O, and some of his more interesting cases. Fenton countered with a few episodes of his own, with the NYPD – some of which only Laura had heard before.

Listening avidly, Joe found his attitude towards Lt. Dylan McCullough mellowing; despite the man’s insistence that kids – i.e., people his and Frank’s ages – shouldn’t get involved in investigating cases, the man was intelligent, strong, and was very evidently relentless in his pursuit of criminals. Just like their father. Just like Frank and himself.

“I don’t miss living on the mainland,” McCullough was saying now, “and I certainly don’t miss living in California! Hawaii has crime, of course, but nothing to the extent of California. The sleepless nights I spent there, working on cases, or worrying about working on cases…well,” he grinned ruefully, “it doesn’t bear repeating. Enough of that! You four are all in college, right?” He glanced at the teens inquiringly. “What are you majoring in?”

“Criminal justice,” Frank said promptly.

“Criminal investigations,” Joe chimed in.

“Graphic arts, with an emphasis on computer work,” Vanessa smiled.

Megan hesitated. McCullough cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “What about you, Miss Megan?” he asked, smiling.

“I started out in criminal justice,” she admitted, “but I’m considering switching majors. I just haven’t decided exactly what to switch to, yet.”

“You’ve got time,” Dylan assured her. “You boys going into law enforcement when you graduate?” he asked the Hardys.

Both of them shook their heads. “Dad seems to think he needs a couple of partners,” Frank grinned. “Hardy Investigations is going to expand.”

“Nothing against the police,” Joe said, a trifle smugly, “but we’ve already solved quite a few cases on our own…usually without the help of the local law!”

Fenton cleared his throat softly, and cast his younger son a slightly disapproving look – with some paternal pride mixed in. Joe grinned at him.

Dylan shook his head. “Not trying to insult you or anything, but I just can’t condone letting kids get involved with criminal cases. It’s just too darned dangerous!”

“We don’t always get involved on purpose. Sometimes the cases find us, rather than us trying to get mixed in,” Frank said calmly. “But of course, there are times….”

He let the sentence trail off, not offering any further comments. The fortuitous arrival of their dinners just at that moment provided a welcome distraction, and conversation lapsed while everyone paid attention to the delicious food.

They were just finishing dessert when light musical tones emanated from Lt. McCullough’s pocket. He hastily pulled the cell phone out and flipped it open. “McCullough!” A few short sentences later, the police detective was rising to his feet and offering apologies:

“I’m afraid I have to go – don’t worry about the bill; it’s covered. I’ll see you tomorrow at the seminar; I’m looking forward to it. Charming evening, lovely company, ladies! Aloha!”

And he was gone.

“Wonder what he’s up to?” Vanessa smiled, looking after the handsome police officer. The others were exchanging glances too, wondering the same thing.

“Police business,” Fenton said. “Lord, am I glad I’m not in that rat race anymore!”

“We’re finished; let’s walk back to the hotel,” Laura suggested, pushing back her chair.

When they arrived back at their hotel, Joe suggested trying to find something they all could do together – and was a little surprised at his parents’ reaction.

“I think we’ll pass on that, honey,” Laura said with a soft smile.

“I’m in Hawaii with a beautiful woman and I want to spend a romantic evening with her…alone,” Fenton elaborated, grinning as his younger son flushed at his words.

Remembering what he suspected he’d interrupted that morning, Frank was nearly as pink as his brother. He managed to cover it up by faking a coughing attack, as Fenton put a hand on his wife’s back and led her away.

“Remember kids, I’ll need all four of you in the morning!” Fenton called back over his shoulder as they disappeared around a corner.

“Aren’t they sweet?” Vanessa murmured, and Megan nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Storybook couple,” she assented.

Joe was still flushed with embarrassment. “Let’s hit the swimming pool,” he proposed, striving for a normal tone of voice. “C’mon, let’s change into our suits. It shouldn’t be crowded this time of the evening; everyone’s at dinner.”

The others agreed with Joe’s suggestion, but before they could act on it, they were surprised by hearing a voice calling to them.

“Hey, glad I caught you!” Jarrod, who had evidently been on the lookout in the lobby, came up to them, smiling. “Quint and I still want to show you ‘Hilo by night,’” he invited. “Do you have time tonight?”

“Sure, I guess so,” Joe spoke for them, after a quick glance to make sure no one had any objections. “Do we need to change?” He indicated their ‘tourist casual’ attire: slacks and casual shirts, and sandals; the straw hat Vanessa had worn to dinner, and the purses the girls carried.

“Nah, you’re fine,” Jarrod assured him. “C’mon!”

He led the way to the parking lot, and to a large, open jeep. Seated in the vehicle were Quint, behind the wheel, and another of their friends, but they managed to squeeze in Jarrod and the four newcomers as well. Frank, surprised at the roominess of the battered-looking car, realized it was an old Hummer – and a combination of rickety-ness and sturdiness.

Starting the engine, Quint depressed the gas pedal, and the old vehicle shot across the parking lot with a roar. Megan, cuddled on Frank’s lap, with his seat belt enclosing them both, let out a whoop of laughter. Vanessa giggled, squeezing Joe’s hand tightly, and clutched at her hat, to make sure it didn’t sail off her head.

“Hilo’s a great town,” Quint called out, “not too big, not too small. I’ve always loved living here.”

“Ever want to live anywhere else?” Frank asked.

“Nope, unlike some other people,” Quint replied, as Jarrod and the other boy hooted derision. “No burning desire to live anywhere else. Even with Madame Pelè shooting off ash and pouring out lava every so often. It’s nice here – and the sky is blue and the water’s warm.”

After a quick tour of downtown Hilo, they headed out on the highway which bordered the coastline. Several miles along, Quint slowed the Hummer and turned off the road, into a nearly-invisible lane which headed for the water.

“We’re going to stop here,” he announced. “It’s a private beach – well, I don’t mean it’s privately owned, but it’s…um…secluded. Tourists don’t come here much. Kids our age come here almost every night. Sometimes we have a cookout, sometimes we play games and stuff – sometimes we don’t do much of anything; just hang out. It depends on what we feel like doing.”

“We won’t intrude?” Megan asked hesitantly, as they bumped down the dirt path.

“Nah, it’ll be cool,” Jarrod assured her.

“It’ll be fun…trust me,” Quint turned his head to grin at the little redhead, who smiled tentatively back.

Frank also felt a little uncertain, but finally nodded his agreement. Joe and Vanessa were both indicating enthusiastic approval of this introduction to island ‘young’ fun, and he didn’t want to be a wet blanket on the evening. When Quint parked the Hummer, everyone piled out. Joe extended a hand to help Vanessa, and Frank put his hands on Megan’s waist to swing her to the sand.

The two Bayport couples linked hands and followed Jarrod, and Quint towards the beach, where they could see a bright bonfire, a volleyball net set up, and coolers sitting around on the sand. Large palm trees rustled and swayed, blown by the evening trade winds, creating shadowed patches of intense darkness which shifted as the fronds moved.

As they passed beside a blooming hibiscus, Megan reached to pluck one of the yellow blossoms, and tucked it behind one ear.

“Malihini alert!” someone yelled from the beach as their group approached and people caught sight of the strangers. “Quint, man, what you doing with them haoles?”

“Chill, it’s okay,” Quint returned. “They’re cool. We met ‘em over at the hotel. They played beach volleyball with us, and we told ‘em we’d introduce ‘em around.”

“That’s right,” Jarrod assented.

Mollified, the group of teens and twenty-somethings gathered around for introductions, and the newcomers were made welcome.

“Want somethin’ to drink?” A girl with long dark hair, slanted dark eyes and the shortest, tightest cutoffs Frank had ever seen, held up bottles, two in each hand, smiling invitingly.

Frank was pretty sure he had smelled beer on a few of the kids, and hesitated.

“It’s just fruit juice,” Quint chuckled, seeing his indecision. “The cops come out here often enough that we’ve learned to be careful. We’re too smart to bring booze to this beach. The juice is a local product.”

Frank took a cautious taste, just in case this ‘fruit juice’ had a kicker of alcohol added, but after a few sips decided that it was exactly what Quint had said it was: fruit juice. And quite good, too!

Another volleyball game was started, with the team which had lost previously clamoring for a rematch. Frank and Joe were invited to play, while Megan and Vanessa moved to join some of the girls seated by the bonfire and get better acquainted. They seemed friendly, once the Hardy group had been vouched for by Jarrod and Quint, and more than one of the islanders commented on Joe or Frank’s good looks, teasing Vanessa and Megan about their good fortune.

Smoke from cigarettes mingled with the smoke from the fire – and although there was a certain distinctive pungency to some of those cigarettes, the girls from Bayport chose to disregard it, and merely shook their heads ‘no’ when offered to share. They weren’t about to indulge, but knew better than to create bad feelings with their hosts.

The volleyball game was as heated as the prior ones, points hard-earned and hard-won, until finally, once again, Frank’s team – thanks to one of Quint’s colossal spikes – emerged the victors. The boys, laughing and congratulating the winners, returned to the rustic picnic table where they had left their drinks, and swigged them down, thirsty after all the exertion.

“Man, you are something else with that spike!” Joe marveled to Quint. “Can you show me how you do it?”

Quint hesitated. “Not sure, brah. I could try, but…I’m not real sure how I do it, myself. I just…do it!”

“He’s a Nike ad,” one of the other boys snickered, and ducked as Quint lazily batted at his head.

“If we throw the ball up for you and watch…?” Frank suggested.

“I’ve tried that,” Jarrod said, shaking his head. “I can’t figure out what he does. I throw, he jumps…SMACK! I’m on the sand with the ball, and he’s got another point.”

“Ever thought about trying out for the Olympic beach volleyball team?” Frank asked. “You guys are good enough, I bet.”

“Thought about it...” Quint admitted, sounding a little dreamy. “but you have to have contacts and sponsors and all that stuff, to even get to try. And we don’t have that. But...” he let his words trail off with a wistful sigh.

“We should probably go,” Joe said regretfully, looking at his watch. “Frank and I and the girls all have to work tomorrow morning. This was fun, though!”

Frank added his thanks as they headed for the Hummer, gathering up Megan and Vanessa as they went. Quint got behind the wheel again, but this time Jarrod and the other boy decided to stay at the beach party while the visitors were dropped at their hotel. The Bayporters clambered into the Hummer, glad to have a little more room this time.

Just as they were ready to pull out, one of the girls – the exotic-looking one in the short cutoffs – ran up to them, bottles again clanking in her hands.

“One more for the road,” she said, and distributed them to the Hardys and their girls. “Enjoy it! Aloha!” She waved and backed away from the car.

Quint chuckled. “That’s Aolani. She’s always like that – trying to fatten people up, or something!”

“I don’t mind, I like the juice,” Megan said. “But I’m full right now; I’ll save it for later.” Vanessa nodded her agreement and tucked the little bottle into the bag she carried.

Quint delivered them safely to the hotel and took off again for the beach, calling back ‘Aloha’ as he departed.

“Guess we should head for bed,” Joe said reluctantly. “That was fun, though.”

“Yeah, it was.” Vanessa yawned openly. “But I’m tired. Let’s go.”

The four parted in the hallway outside their rooms, both couples lingering over goodnight kisses for a time, but eventually conceding that they were too sleepy to remain longer. The girls disappeared into their room, and Joe and Frank went into theirs.

Unable to resist the temptation to stay up just a little longer, Frank switched on the television to the local late newscast, and sat down on his bed to watch while he drank the bottle of juice Aolani had given him. Joe joined him.

“I think I’ll take a shower; I’ve got sand in a lot of really awful places,” Frank said at last, and got to his feet.

It hit him as he crossed the room – instant dizziness. He blinked and staggered, putting out a hand to catch himself, but hitting the wall, instead. Something in that juice…!

“Frank? What’s wrong?” Joe frowned and got up, intending to go over to his brother – but the room swirled about him crazily and he stumbled, barely managing to drop across the foot of his bed instead of landing on the floor. “What the…?”

Unable to get to his feet, Frank crawled across the floor, suddenly very, very tired. He pulled himself up onto the bed with difficulty, keeping his eyes closed to avoid the disorientation as the world seemed to be spinning and tilting sideways and upside down….

Television left on, lights still burning…neither Hardy was aware of it, as both fell into dark oblivion.

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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.