Ducking down, he crab-walked forward until he was underneath the window ledge, then slowly raised himself until his eyes were level with the lower panes of the dirty glass. Taking a good look inside the shadowy room, he saw it was nothing more than a small office space, strewn with boxes and an old rug, rotten and mangy-looking. Frank subconsciously noted that the carpet had been recently moved; there was a clean patch on the floor where something square had been sitting. There was evidence of rats or mice too, as tiny damp footprints could be seen where something had scurried across the concrete flooring. Yuck, why here? Why rats?

Frank held his breath and listened intently for a few seconds. As much as he wanted to get inside the building and not leave Joe in there alone, the thought of entering only to watch as the suspect ran away at the sight of him, or worse still, being attacked, was enough to make the elder Hardy bide his time. I don’t enjoy near-death experiences enough to rush into another one! he thought, his hand straying up to his throat.

All was silent, no footsteps, rustlings, coughs, or any other sort of human-like sounds. Satisfied, Frank stood erect and ran his fingers across the half-open window, preparing to open it more fully. He wrapped one hand around the latch and, while supporting the rest of the window with the other, slowly prized it open. Pushing his head in, he boosted himself up over the sill and into the room, then silently closed the pane behind him.

Still wanting to be secretive, Frank stood motionless, making sure he hadn’t been overheard – still all was quiet. It suddenly occurred to him that the door might not be open into the main part of the building, and his heart skipped a beat at the thought. He tiptoed to the door, and to his relief, found that the lock was defective and the door couldn’t be shut anyway; it had only been pushed nearly closed.

Frank quietly opened the door a little farther and applied an eye to the crack. Not surprisingly, his frustratingly impetuous brother was standing in the middle of the vast main room, hands braced on hips, looking around. Joe’s figure was highlighted by the twilight trailing in through the skylight, his shadow casting an eerie outline on the flooring. The bill of his cap and his bent arms gave him the appearance of a deranged duck, and Frank had to choke back a snicker at the sight. A sitting duck, he thought, wryly.

His brother’s total lack of concern went a long way toward convincing Frank their quarry had eluded them again. He opened the door wider to step through.

Joe turned suddenly at the sound of his brother’s arrival. "You took your time, buddy," he teased. "No one seems to be here; there are only a couple of abandoned offices, but no one’s there – although there is a sleeping bag and some stuff in the furthest one."

"Hmmm," Frank muttered. "Where did he go, then? Out the back window?" Not wanting to believe the man could have possibly escaped them again, he looked about the room. However, he was forced to admit there didn’t seem to be anywhere else a man of that size could hide. Like the office he’d just exited, the room was half-filled with stacks of shabby old boxes.

Joe’s shadow moved behind him. At least, the top of the shadow moved, only Joe himself hadn’t moved at all! Suddenly alert, Frank looked from the silhouette to the top of Joe’s head, toward the ceiling and finally along to a steel beam that ran across the width of the warehouse roof. A man was crouched on the top, his back to him – still wearing his cap!

Before Frank had time to react, the stranger dropped off the beam, his hands gripping the overhang of the metal strut. His body swung down into space, momentum ensuring a swing that was sure to pack quite a punch. Frank opened his mouth to shout "DUCK!" – an ironic choice of warning – but before any sound left his lips, Joe had already been kicked and was flying through the air. He landed in a pile of cardboard boxes with a resounding crunch. The stranger dropped lightly, landed squarely, and started striding toward where Joe had fallen, apparently ready to finish him off.

Brotherly protectiveness pre-empted caution. "Hey!" Frank yelled, the sudden effort causing pain to flare in his throat, and making his voice waver and croak. He ran across the concrete toward the man who’d been dogging their footsteps for days, and positioned himself, ready to launch a powerful front kick into the small of his back – Two can play at that game!

Inexplicably and without warning, everything started spinning in front of the elder Hardy’s eyes. The kick, which should have been of a textbook delivery, went completely awry. What’s going on? Frank thought in confusion, as he felt his balance going completely and his body tipping.

The stranger, obviously trained in martial arts himself, had easily stepped away, and had caught Frank’s leg by the knee joint under his arm. Not even needing to turn and face his assailant, he bought his other arm swiftly around and elbowed Frank sharply in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs – and then released his grip.

Frank dropped like a stone to the cold floor, and his head came into painful contact with the concrete, right on the tender spot where he had been hit a few days earlier. His vision continued to swim and his lungs protested painfully about the lack of available oxygen. Something’s wrong – Not again! I’m not passing out again! ran through his stubborn mind, as he curled onto his side to make himself a smaller target.

Although stunned, Frank was aware that he’d created enough of a distraction for his brother to claw his way free of the boxes. The man was now standing over Frank, his attention focused on the elder Hardy, and away from Joe. This gave the Joe the opportunity he needed to slam his foot into the back of their attacker’s knee.

"Oh, no you don’t!" he snarled.

Through his visual haze, Frank noted the trickle of blood oozing from his brother’s mouth and down his chin. He also recognized the glint in Joe’s eyes – rising, boiling anger. He seemed to have grown two feet taller, and immeasurably more threatening.

At the contact, the man partially collapsed, his knees buckling. Taking immediate advantage of this opportunity, Frank forced enough energy into his exhausted body to sweep his leg around and flick the stalker off his feet.

As he went down, the stranger’s elbow connected hard with the floor, and he yelped in pain and clutched at it, drawing his arm into his side. Maybe he’s broken it! Frank thought in elation. But at any rate, he’s out of the picture now!

Frank’s delight was premature; the man suddenly jackknifed his body straight onto his feet, taking both Hardys by surprise. Despite his own problems, Frank was impressed. He pushed himself up onto his forearms, but the movement made lights dance in front of his eyes. I gotta get up! he thought frantically.

Joe took a couple of long steps forward to position himself protectively between his still-dazed brother and the attacker – effectively obscuring Frank’s view of the man.

Although the stranger’s arm had to be either numb or horribly painful at this time, he still let off a series of difficult and technically advanced kicks at Joe, forcing him to draw on his wide fighting experience to block the blows and avoid being struck!

Due to the length of the man’s legs, it appeared the younger Hardy wasn’t getting any sort of decent punch or kick in himself; he was effectively out of range. The truth was, Joe was intentionally moving the fight away from Frank by allowing their assailant to believe he was gaining a tactical advantage.

One kick after another rained down, and struck with bruising force, one finally hitting the younger Hardy squarely in the shoulder and knocking him back a few steps. With an ‘enough is enough’ expresssion on his face, Joe turned quickly and fired off a hammer blow into the man’s calf muscle, which caused him to stagger off balance. The man threw a punch in response, but Joe easily avoided it.

Finally moving inside his opponent’s leg-length, Joe curled his hand into a fist and punched the man in the stomach, and then delivered an uppercut to the jaw. Their worthy adversary went crashing to the deck.

Meanwhile, Frank had managed to climb to his feet. Not wishing to allow recovery time, both brothers leaped forward to pin him down. Joe got there first and knelt, straddling the man’s chest. Frank could tell his brother’s temper was at the explosive stage, for he grabbed their assailant’s shirt front with one hand, and had the other clenched into a tight fist, ready to strike.

"Hold his arms down," Joe hissed through his teeth, then paused to clear his throat and spit out a mouthful of blood. "This guy’s mine – it’s payback time!"

He yanked at the collar sharply. There was a tearing noise, and a button flew off, narrowly missing Frank’s eye as he crouched above the stranger’s head, vainly attempting to grasp their opponent’s flailing arms.

A pathetic gasping, whining sound emanated from the man, which might have been interpreted as fear. But there’s no way this guy could be scared, after the way he just fought and the punishment he’s taken! Frank thought, finally catching the forearms in a strong grip.

Joe pulled the stranger’s head up by his ripped shirt and readied himself for the final strike. For an instant something at the man’s throat glinted golden-orange in the waning light. Joe’s eyes lighted on it and for a second he frowned, then focused again on his victim’s face. He hesitated, holding back his blow.

"What are you waiting for?" Frank snapped. "Finish him off before he finishes us off! I….oh…." Frank voice trailed off in surprise as he suddenly saw what Joe had seen.

"NO!" The man yelled in a panicked, accented voice and yanked one wrist free of Frank’s grasp. He swung it with all his might and slugged Joe straight in the side of his head knocking him away. The man jumped up onto his haunches and readied himself for another leap at Frank, frantically babbling:

"I don’t want to fight you, mate, but I swear to God, if you don’t bugger off, I’m going to….blimey!"

Frank and the stranger stared at one another silently for a long, incredulous moment.

Finally the man spoke. "What the bloomin’ heck are you doing here?"

"What the blooming heck am I doing here? I live here – what’s your excuse?" A smile spread slowly across Frank’s lean features. "And where did you learn to fight like that? I thought you were a lover, not a fighter!"

"Self-preservation, dude – time moves on."

"You cut your hair…and kinda – filled out…." Frank shook his head and began to chuckle. "I don’t believe this! If we hadn’t have noticed that…" he pointed to the battered bronze crucifix, hanging from the man’s neck and gleaming in the dim light.

"Believe it!" The man dropped exhausted to his knees again, and proceeded to rub his elbow frantically. "I’d give you a hug, but I’m just too knackered and hurting – oh, and I think I killed Joe – sorry."

Joe groaned theatrically, and rolled over with one hand pressed to his temple. "No you didn’t, but it really hurt. Hiya, Kiwi…long time no see!"