“I had better start at the beginning,” said Tom, sitting back down.

“An excellent idea,” agreed Frank sitting down on the arm of his father’s chair as he sat back down.

“I used to work for a man named Cash Morrison,” Tom began.

“One of the FBI’s most wanted,” Frank noted, his eyes narrowing. “Continue.”

“Morrison runs a gambling operation here on the East Coast,” Tom explained. “Not only that, but he has been fixing races and games to ensure he comes out the big winner.”

“What was your role in Morrison’s operation?” asked Mr. Hardy.

Tom’s eyes fell. “I helped fix some of the games,” he confessed. “A lot of people got hurt but it wasn’t until one kid, a twelve year old, got killed that I decided to get out.”

“What did you do to the twelve-year-old?” demanded Mr. Hardy.

“I arranged an accident for one of the Dolphins,” Tom stated, his blue eyes filled with remorse. “Something went wrong and a set of bleachers collapsed. A little girl died.”

“You should be talking to the authorities,” Mr. Hardy told the man. “We do not accept felons as clients.”

“I have,” Tom replied. “To the FBI anyway. They are putting me in the witness protection program for giving testimony against Morrison.”

“Then why are you here?” asked Frank.

“Two agents were supposed to have picked me up after class today,” Tom told him. “Instead, some of Morrison’s men showed up.”

“Someone at the FBI is on Morrison’s payroll,” Mr. Hardy deduced accurately. “Unfortunately, this happens all too frequently.”

“Must be,” Tom agreed. “I can go into hiding until the trial or I may try a different agent to talk to, but what worries me is Joe.”

“You mentioned that before,” Mr. Hardy said. “What does he have to do with this?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Joe bears a strong resemblance to me. Some of the students in my class even tease Joe because of it,” Tom answered.

“It is pretty noticeable,” Frank put in looking at his father. “Especially when the two of them are together.”

“Like we were when he came to my rescue this afternoon,” Tom stated. “On occasion, to get people to cooperate, we kidnapped members of a player’s family. If the player did as he was told, the family member would be returned unharmed.”

“And if not, you would kill them,” Frank said grimly.

“It never came to that,” Tom said sharply, looking Frank in the eyes.

“But it could have,” Frank pointed out in a tone filled with disgust.

“Yes,” Tom admitted, his eyes falling to the floor.

“I will be blunt, Mr. Leland,” Mr. Hardy said rising from his chair once again. “You make me sick. You are a despicable lowlife who, more than likely, will get off scot free because of a deal you’re making with our government. Fifteen minutes ago, if I had known your history I would have had you cuffed and ready for the police. But,” he added, his expression softening. “But you came to me in order to help my son and for that, I thank you.”

Tom nodded and stood up to leave but Mr. Hardy held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t know whom you talked with at the FBI but I will call a friend of mine, Agent Boone. He’s with the Bayport branch and I’ll see if he can come over here now.”

“You’re going to help me?” Tom asked in disbelief. “Even after I told you what I had done?”

“Anyone who wants to look out for Joe has to have some redeeming quality,” Frank told him. He frowned. “That didn’t come out quite how I planned but you know what I mean.”

Mr. Hardy smiled. “You two wait here,” he said. “I’ll go make that call.”

***

Joe was on the third book of mug shots when he recognized one of the men involved in the attack. He jotted down the corresponding number on a slip of paper and kept looking. Almost an hour later, Joe returned to Con’s desk with the case numbers of the three men.

Con pulled up their files and printed copies for Joe. “These are rough customers,” he said, handing the printout to Joe. “If your friend is involved with them, he does need help. Or a good lawyer,” he added.

“Yeah,” agreed Joe scanning the top sheet. “Thanks, Con,” he said turning to leave. He and Frank would go over them later.

Joe left the station and got back in the van. He pulled out into traffic and headed toward home. When he got there he was surprised to see Tom’s green Saab parked in the driveway. Not wanting to block him in, Joe pulled around to the back and got out of the van.

As he reached the back door, a figure stepped from behind one of the elm trees that gave the street its name and ordered in a low voice, “Hold real still.”