Joe opened his mouth and howled "KIWI!" at the top of his lungs, but he needn’t have bothered, for at that same instant there came the sound of a door bouncing off the supporting wall to the left of him, followed by what he assumed to be his friend’s fast-moving form streaking across the front of his tiny prison.

Kiwi hit hard. The strange man made a surprised grunting noise at the impact of the body, and then they both flew out of view – How he can call himself a self-confessed coward is beyond me! Joe thought mirthlessly.

Now that Kiwi had taken up the fight, Joe’s mind turned immediately to Frank who seemed to have disappeared completely. There had been no sign of him when the man entered the room, and there was no sign of him now. Joe pushed his face to the slats and yelled as loudly as possible: "Frank!? Where are you, bro?" He waited a couple of seconds, but no answering call came.  Be okay, Frank, be okay! he urged under his breath.

Wriggling and lifting his weight again by one arm, Joe attempted to position himself so he could give the door a good kick, but it was impossible in his cramped surroundings to get any sort of thrust. He therefore pressed his shoulders against the back wall, and proceeded to use his fist to try and punch his way through, but this merely resulted in skinned knuckles, and small, ineffectual dents in the metal work. Frustrated, he growled and pounded both fists against the door, the sound of reverberating metal bouncing around the tiny interior. Panting, he stopped his punching, and instead decided to feel around the lock to see if he could open it that way.

The sound of the fighting men outside was coming nearer; he could hear their grunts and occasional shouts growing louder as he pressed his face against the lattice work to get as close as possible to the lock. Suddenly, with an impact that sent a shockwave through his system, a body was hurled straight into the door, deafening him, and sending him smashing back down again.

Joe lay there in a heap with his hands over his head, waiting for the door to come crashing in on top of him, such was the force of the collision. Something did land on him, but only a small something. Lowering his arms, he saw it was one of the slats, the breakage causing a letterbox-sized gap and allowing precious light to come streaming in.

He stayed huddled; waiting to see which man it was that had been thrown into the locker. Silence met his patience, so he pulled himself up again and looked out of the widened gap, just as the sounds of footsteps were heard, shuffling across the tiled floor. An unidentifiable figure limped slowly past, the resulting shadow playing across Joe’s features.

A hand came out and rested against the bent and broken slats; it was large and hairy – definitely not Kiwi’s. Joe screwed his eyes tightly shut in disappointment and hit the door where the hand was resting. The man’s face hove into view and looked back at Joe – and then without a word, was gone again.

Now there came a groaning noise from somewhere below, which Joe finally recognized as his friend Kiwi, followed by what sounded like three hard kicks being administered, a rush of escaping air and whimpers.

"STOP IT!" Joe yelled, "You’ve had your fun!"

The face appeared again and looked back at him, studying him as someone would a specimen in a zoo.  

"So, you’re Fenton Hardy’s younger son." The man said at last, running the back of his hand over his bleeding eye and then bringing it down to look at the blood. "Funny, you don’t look like him – unlike your brother. I suppose you look like your mom?"

"Where’s Frank?" Joe demanded, ignoring the comment on his looks.

"Safe – for now." was the answer, and then the man moved away again. 

Joe pressed his face sideways so he could watch the man’s progress as far as possible. He could just see him at the edges of the latticework, as he bent down, then started dragging something, which was slowly hauled into view. That something was Kiwi, limp and lifeless, his body forging a path through the ‘harvested’ mementos, which were now scattered about following their energetic fight. The man had him by the back of the collar and was pulling him one-armed to the other side of the room. Eventually, he propped him up against the lockers opposite and reached into his pocket for something.

"Actually," he said conversationally, as he drew the revolver forth. "This works out far better than I’d planned."

Joe glared through the gap, his eyes like laser pointers. Just five minutes with this guy – that’s all I ask – just five minutes… he offered up as a silent, vengeful prayer.

"You see, I was going to stage an elaborate ruse," he continued, releasing the weapon’s magazine into his palm. "I was going to claim I came across you and your brother breaking into the lockers and that you attacked me – of course, I was in fear for my life, so I had to act in self-defense in order to protect myself!"  

Still gripping the magazine, he paused and put his hand to his heart. Making his voice sound full of innocent contrition, he said: "I’m sorry judge, but the gun was necessary – it was them, or me!" 

He snickered, and began loading the magazine with bullets. 

"And now just look! Not only have I caught you two breaking into lockers, but I’ve been beaten black and blue by an escaped murder suspect, who was being harbored by the sons of a soon-to-be-convicted killer – God! I’ll be a god-damn hero!"

"No one will believe you!" Joe commented. "Our father is a respected detective; we’ve got friends on the force—" 

"—Correction: was a respected detective," the man interrupted. "And had friends on the force. You’ll be surprised how quickly your allies will shrink into the background when it comes to standing by your dad. No one wants to be associated with a murderer – especially one who kills wheel-chair bound old men."   He snapped the magazine home, into the pistol grip.

In order to distract him further, and buy them more time, Joe decided to push the argument up a notch. "Just because your father’s associates turned their back on him, doesn’t mean my father’s friends will."

The man paused and turned his full attention on Joe. "So, you found out about my father’s history, huh?" he remarked, sounding impressed. He started moving forward towards the door, inquisitiveness playing across his features.  

"Of course we did – Mr. James Albright," Joe sneered. "You’re not that clever. You made plenty of mistakes, the cigarette lighter being the biggest of them!" His eyes flickered across towards Kiwi who appeared to be stirring; his hand twitched and flopped up and down uselessly, but his eyes were still shut tight. 

Joe’s remark had obviously hit a raw nerve. The man stomped across the room, and pushed his face to within an inch of Joe’s. His eyes bored through the bars at him. "You have the lighter?"

Joe said nothing. He simply shrank to the back of the locker, raised a cocky eyebrow in response, and patted his jacket pocket – Come and get it!

The ruse didn’t work; Albright simply emulated Joe’s expression and shrugged his shoulders. "I’ll get it later." he said, waving the gun pointedly.

Joe changed tack. "I don’t know how you can do this to your brother and sister…think how they’ll feel when they find out their brother is a murderer."

"Those ingrates?" Albright scoffed. "I haven’t set eyes on either of them in many a year; they grew up and moved on. They cared little that I had to give up my plans for a medical career, so why should I be concerned with what they think? They can rot as far as I’m concerned – my parents are all I care about right now." His attention returned once more to the gun; he pulled back the slide and jacked a round into the chamber as he turned and made his way towards Kiwi.

"Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it." Joe continued to prod his adversary, and was rewarded by the sight of Albright tensing and slowly turning back. "Your father – a fair and just man, unlike you – must be rolling in his grave. And your mother – she must be so proud!"

Albright’s lips drew back from his teeth, and he took all of two strides to get back across the floor to the locker door. The hand that wasn’t holding the gun slammed down onto the lattice and then went for the lock. 

Joe braced himself and tensed, ready to leap into action.

But Albright suddenly stopped and then looked back at him. He narrowed his gaze reflectively and eventually broke into a huge grin. "Oh, nice try, Joe Hardy." he congratulated, nodding his head. "You’re good! Almost had me then." 

Joe smiled gleefully back. "Still might!" he said cheerfully. 

And at that moment, Albright was grabbed by the back of the head and neck, rocked back on his heels and slammed face first into the locker door. Albright dropped to his knees, revealing Frank Hardy standing there, his lean features tightened in anger.

"Frank – open the door!" Joe demanded, for he realized that with Frank’s head injury, Albright would probably be too much for his brother to handle on his own, even with the guy in a weakened state himself. "Open the door, Frank!" he repeated, louder and more urgently this time. He couldn’t see what was happening again, but he could certainly hear the noises at the foot of the door. 

Suddenly both men came rolling into view. Albright was coming out on top, his nose bleeding and obviously broken – the widening of his stance ensuring Frank couldn’t roll them back over again to regain the upper hand. Joe could see his brother’s hand wrapped around Albright’s gun, his other around his foe’s other wrist, which was gripping Frank’s neck, the knuckles bone-white. 

"KIWI! KIWI, WAKE UP….WAKE UP, PAL!" Joe bellowed, smacking his palms against the metal door, but Kiwi was still incapacitated. Glancing desperately around the interior of the locker for something to pry the door open, the younger Hardy brother’s eyes fell on the door again and he realized the two collisions had caused a big dent. Could it have weakened the lock? he wondered.

He leaned against the back wall again, but this time he pulled his fingers away into a more robust palm heel. Closing his eyes, he emptied and centered his mind, took a deep cleansing breath and concentrated all his energy into striking forward. With a roar he hit the door and punched through. He felt nothing – but when he opened his eyes, he saw the door was standing gloriously open! 

Frank and Albright were still lying in the same position, but now Kiwi was up on his hands and knees, crawling towards them. Paying no heed, Joe dived forward and dragged Albright off his brother, knocking Kiwi aside as they went. Frank sat up, coughing and spluttering.

"Just you and me now, Albright! Just you and me!" Joe shouted triumphantly and dealt the first punch straight into Albright’s cheek, sending his head ricocheting backwards. His next hit was a chopping action to the man’s wrist, which sent the gun skittering away across the cement floor. Then he lifted Albright up by the scruff of the neck and delivered a third blow – a stunning backhander straight across the other cheek. Joe had never been so angry, and again he lifted his hand…lifted high…higher to strike a cleansing blow again….

"Okay Joe, okay – that’s enough. I think you got him good, bro." A voice finally penetrated his consciousness. Turning his head, he saw Frank beside him, his hand gripping Joe’s arm, looking extremely worried. Joe blinked a couple of times, then looked the other way, and saw Kiwi, wobbly but standing upright with the gun in his hands, the barrel pointing straight at Albright’s head. Joe took a shaky breath. He hadn’t even seen his friend go for the gun, let alone realized Frank was at his side!

"Come on guys, be cool, it’s finished now." Kiwi said soothingly. "Can someone take this gun off me, I’m pretty much—"

Kiwi never finished his request, for the door he had been guarding earlier inexplicably burst open, and a number of men streamed in. Kiwi immediately turned the gun in the direction of the doorway, and the Hardys both sank automatically into their karate fight stances.

Joe and Frank immediately recognized the man in the lead as being their friend Con Riley. Apparently, so did Kiwi, for he lifted the pistol up out of harm’s way, his palm forward. A uniformed officer accompanying Riley – it was Officer Terry Bearden – had gone for his weapon also, and now started screaming instructions at him.

"POLICE! PLACE THE WEAPON DOWN IN FRONT OF YOU, AND STEP AWAY FROM THE GUN!"

This all happened so quickly that no one had chance to react – until Kiwi was being manhandled. Joe physically came to his aid, as did Con Riley, both noisily objecting and trying to explain who Kiwi was, and why he was in possession of a firearm. Frank was simply too tired to help. He leaned wearily against the lockers and watched as they argued.

More people came streaming into the room and Frank glanced in their direction, then lost interest in what was happening with Kiwi…and a broad smile lit up his face.

Chief Collig was standing there, bewildered at the scene of confusion being played out in front of him. There were three people with him, two of whom obviously were either plainclothes police officers or FBI agents. The third was Captain Lee. However, that wasn’t the reason why Frank was grinning so broadly – for standing in back of them, looking over everyone’s heads, was his own father, Fenton Hardy! He looked tired, a little haggard and a little thinner, but healthy – and he was smiling back, his face a mask of relief.

"Hello son," he silently mouthed through the din and winked.

Frank shoved himself away from the lockers and stumbled forward, pushing his way clumsily between Collig and Lee. As he reached Fenton, he staggered, and nearly fell into his father’s supportive grasp.

Apparently, Captain Lee had had enough of the disorder and din because he put a finger of each hand into his mouth and emitted a shill, ear-piercing whistle. Everyone instantly froze, except Kiwi, who took the opportunity to slip slowly out from beneath Terry Beardon’s grasp, step over Albright’s still unconscious body, and stand swaying behind Con – the pair of cuffs still swinging from his wrist.

That was when Joe finally saw his father with Frank. The younger Hardy emitted a war whoop of overwhelming joy at the top of his voice, before running madly across the locker room to give his father a long, hard hug. Their three voices rose in the small room to an intense clamor of volume once again.