“You’ll both go hungry for that!” he snarled grabbing Joe’s sore wrist and squeezing.

“Aaieee!” Joe screamed in pain before he could prevent himself.

Footsteps were heard coming hastily down the steps. “What’s going on down here?” demanded Kent, coming to a standstill and looking at the scene before him.

“Blondie here thought he could escape,” Ralph stated grimly.

“Fix it tighter,” Kent ordered, looking at Joe as if he were no more than an annoying bug.

Ralph put Joe’s hand back in the manacle. “It’s as tight as it’s going to get,” he said with disgust.

“Stay with him,” Kent ordered. “I have an idea.” He ran back upstairs and returned with a glass of water and something clutched in his left hand. He handed Joe the water and opened his hand to reveal three white tablets. “Take them,” he ordered.

“Forget it,” Joe told him.

“What are they?” Ralph asked curiously.

“Sleeping pills,” Kent answered. “Three times my regular dosage,” he added. “I figure this should keep him out for awhile.” He looked back at Joe. “Now take them.”

“No way!” Joe said defiantly.

Ralph removed a gun from the holster beneath his shoulder and walked over to Robert Shaw. “Your choice, Kid,” he said, grabbing Mr. Shaw and pulling him as close as his bonds would allow. He put the gun to Mr. Shaw’s temple.

“One more time, Blondie,” Kent said, waving the hand with the pills under Joe’s nose. “Take them.”

With a glare of pure hatred at Kent, Joe took the pills and popped them into his mouth and chased them down with the water. “Good choice,” Ralph said, pushing Mr. Shaw away from him.

The two men left the basement. “Joe,” Mr. Shaw said, looking at the youth with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“Not...not your fault,” Joe replied, his voice fading into a whisper as he slumped down and fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

At seven am the next morning the phone rang at the Hardy household. On the second ring Frank hit the button on the tracer and Fenton lifted the receiver. Although both had showered and shaved it was easy to see neither had slept. Fenton put the receiver to his ear and greeted the caller in a tired voice. “Hardy residence.”

“Soon to be Hardy Funeral Home if you don’t have what I want,” the voice on the phone said.

“We’ve got it,” Fenton stated, grasping the phone tightly and trying to control his temper. “I want to speak with Joe,” he said.

“Hmm, let me think,” the voice said in an amused tone. “No,” the voice hardened. “Put the coin in a long envelope and leave it at 494 Todd Avenue no later than two p.m.,” the caller instructed. “And no cops or we kill the kid.”

“I’ll have the coin there,” promised Fenton. “Just bring my son.”

“No,” Fenton was denied. “Once we have the coin then, and only then, will you be informed of where to find Blondie.”

“No,” this time it was Fenton who objected to the arrangement. “I won’t give you the coin unless I get my son.”

“You forget who is holding all the cards,” the caller stated calmly. “Have the coin in the envelope at the specified place by two this afternoon or the next time you see your son it will be at the morgue.” With these words, the line was disconnected.

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.