Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Chapter Title: A Hidden Pocket

Jason charged at John and got one blow in, but John had twisted his head. Jason’s fist struck John’s helmet rather than his face. Ivana shoved herself between the two men. John realized that despite his violent behavior, Jason had not indicated he knew who John was.

John put a deliberate slur into his voice, "I’m looking at...hiccup...my leather coat. It disappeared from my locker in high school. I want it back. You can have this cloth coat instead."

Ivana snapped, "Jason, what’d you think you’re doing?"

"He deserves to be clobbered just for looking at us the way he did. Beyond that, he called me a thief! That gives me the right to teach him a painful lesson! I love fights when I have a good reason to beat the other guy up!"

John tried walking around Ivana as if trying to get to Jason, but then pretended to stumble and barely stay on his feet. He managed not to drop the two bags he still held. John wondered if Jason would read the marker-inscribed "Hardly Fingerprint Kit" on the briefcase. It had seemed cute many years ago when he and Fritz had made the kit to put the name there, but he’d never foreseen a situation like this. John forced himself not to look down at the briefcase to see how obvious the writing really was, because that would prompt Jason to look too.

Ivana told John, with a wink thrown in that Jason couldn’t see, "Hey, kid, it’s not your coat. It’s a common design. Even his girlfriend has one like it. Sorry you lost yours, but this isn’t it. Why don’t you go get a room and sleep off whatever you’ve been doing?"

"That’s not my coat?" John said stupidly, "Are you sure?"

Jason tried getting around Ivana, but she tripped him and he fell to the floor.

“Karen, quit stopping me! Do you want to fight me too? Where will the world be if guys like this aren’t put in their place?”

Addressing Jason, who was still on the floor, Ivana said, "He’s just a worthless teenager. What if you fight him..."

"I’d win," Jason smirked as he stood back up.

Ivana continued, "And the cops come? This is exactly why Joyce refused to let you come along tonight! Just because you’re mad at her for leaving you behind is no excuse for this kind of behavior. No wonder Tomlin doesn’t trust you."

John broke in, "Hey, that coat has snaps on the pockets. Mine had buttons. It isn’t mine after all. I’m really sorry!"

John felt tears in his eyes because it was so overwhelming seeing Ivana again, then having to play this ridiculous game. Fortunately, Jason took those tears as the emotional excess some drunks display, laughing giddily one minute, raging the next, and crying after that.

"That kid deserves a beating," Jason insisted.

Ivana said, "He’s not worth the trouble. Not if you want people like Joyce and Tomlin...and me...to start trusting you. Do you think Tomlin acts like this?"

"Kid, you just got the biggest break of your life! Karen, let’s go wait in the room."

"That’s a good idea," Ivana said sweetly.

Ivana pulled out her key. It wasn’t a plastic card with a magnetic strip like most modern motels use, but a metal key attached to a big plastic tab with the room number it. She held it in such a way that John could clearly read that the room number was 304. Ivana then led Jason to the elevator. They stood waiting. Jason slowly flexed and unflexed the hand with which he’d hit the helmet. John walked with a stagger and deliberateness, mimicking how he’d seen drunks walk, up to the main desk. A clerk had one hand resting on a telephone. John figured that if there had been a fight, he would have called the cops.

"I’d like a room," John said.

"Certainly, sir. For how long?"

"One night. I’m here for...hiccup...a friend's wedding. We had the bachelor party tonight."

Over by the elevator, John heard Jason say to Ivana, "Karen, what that drunk kid just said reminds me of the last bachelor party I attended. It was great. I stole a fancy car to use for the evening. We took the groom to..."

There was a ping noise as the elevator doors opened. Ivana and Jason stepped in and the doors slid closed, so John never heard the rest. John let out a deep sigh. He dropped the two bags he still held, then yanked off his helmet. He leaned over the counter as if he were going to faint. His back, where the cut was, throbbed. He was stone cold sober, but the day’s traumatic events had him feeling wiped out.

The clerk said, "Hey, you can stay if you have money, but you can pass out only in your room, not out here."

John glanced up at the clerk. John was emotionally drained, but not at all about to pass out. He briefly entertained the idea of shocking the clerk by responding in a sober, reasoned fashion, revealing his true state, but decided to stick with the role.

"I’m not sure how much I spent, but I think I still have some money left after...hiccup...the bachelor party. I’ve still got my credit card, at least," John said without making any move to get out money or credit card. "You should have a room I’d like. From the first floor, I’d clearly see my motorcycle, which would be comforting."

"We have several rooms open on the first floor, sir."

"Wait, last time I did that, some friends woke me by banging on the window early in the morning. These same guys were at the party tonight, you see."

The clerk nodded as if he understood, although he was merely being polite.

John claimed, "They might do that again. It wouldn’t be good to have them pounding on the window."

"No, it wouldn’t, sir," the clerk agreed.

"The second floor would be better. They couldn’t reach the window then."

The clerk tapped some computer keys and said, "Room 201 is open, sir. How about that?"

"It’s an odd room," John insisted.

"No, it’s a nice room. All our rooms are nice."

"It’s an odd number. I don’t trust odd numbers, because they are so very odd. I like even numbers as they are more trustworthy. How about...say...room 204?"

The clerk frowned, but tapped the keys, "Room 204 is open."

"I'll take it for two nights," John decided.

"Very good. You mentioned a credit card. Is that Visa, MasterCard, or something else?"

John's features momentarily seemed too thoughtful for the drunk role he had adopted, then he appeared dazed again, "Neither. I think I'll do cash, after all. Turn away a moment."

The clerk half turned, but his eyes pivoted so he could still see John. John acted like this was sufficient and the clerk couldn't see him. John took off his cloth coat and yanked at the lining. It parted, but rather than torn stitches, it was a Velcro fastener coming apart. From the hidden pocket, John pulled out two bills and set them on the counter. He then put his coat back on.

"You can look again," John said.

The clerk turned back, even though he had missed none of this. Both bills were hundred dollar bills. John hadn’t liked revealing where he hid extra cash in his coat, but he liked even less pulling out a credit card with the name John Hardly stamped on it. He didn’t habitually carry credit cards under false names. He wouldn’t have had the hidden cash either, but Fritz had done that after a previous case where he’d needed money after his wallet was stolen. Fritz had used Aunt Grace’s sewing machine to modify his coat and John’s as well. John had been reluctant to turn over his coat, but he had to admit his brother had done a good job. Aunt Grace had figured out Fritz had been messing with her sewing machine and he got in trouble for that. She never even suspected John. She was right because John had not thought this hidden pocket was worth doing, until now. After this, John thought maybe he’d find out how to use the sewing machine himself.

John smiled, "I had some money left after all."

"I guess so, sir. What name shall I put down?"

"I don’t want my friends waking me early in the morning, so I don’t want them looking me up," John commented, then blanked out on convincing fake names before finally saying, "How about the name John Doe?"

Although as obviously phony as it was for a name to be, the clerk eyed the hard cash and said, "That’ll be fine, Mr. Doe. We’ve often had other John Does stay here too. Probably relatives of yours."

"I doubt I’m related. It’s...hiccup...a very common name."

"That it is, sir. However, the room is a hundred and five for each night and you wanted two nights."

John sighed and pulled out his regular wallet. He forked over the rest of the cash from that, then placed his wallet back in his pocket. The clerk handed over a key. John then went up to room 204, carrying his two bags and helmet.

The clerk handed over the change. John put that in his regular wallet. The clerk handed over a key. John then went up to room 204, carrying his two bags and helmet.

In the privacy of the room, he put down both bags and his helmet. He removed his jacket, then took off his shirt. He then took some facial tissues and dabbed at his back, looking in the mirror to see what he was doing. He was relieved to see it was only a tiny drop of blood that had seeped under the bandage. It had felt worse than it was. John then went to the phone in the room. He picked it up and dialed Fritz’s cell phone number. Rather than ringing, the cell phone went straight to voice mail. John knew that meant the cell phone was in use. Voice mail was a nice feature since it prevented losing calls.

While unlikely that the phone in a random motel room was being listened to, John still made his message vague, as the clerk could possibly listen in. John left out his and his brother's name, "Hey, this is your brother! I left my wedding present at Mom and Dad’s house. It’s in a brown box on the shelf of the closet in the den. Can you bring it by tomorrow? Also, please, pick up my prescription that I left at home or least bring some aspirin. I think I’ll be hurting in the morning. It was that kind of party!"

Since John was not drunk, he would have no hangover to require aspirin, but his back had a throb to it. By morning, he would probably want some relief. Fritz would understand which room John meant.

John continued, "I’m staying in room 204."

John then gave the name and address of the hotel, then said goodbye. John then looked up at the ceiling. It had hanging foam panels. John secured the door with the deadbolt and then stood on the chair by the desk. Reaching up, he popped up a foam panel, but then couldn’t get high enough on the chair. He stepped from the chair over onto the top of a desk. The actual physical ceiling above the hanging ceiling, which was the floor of room 304, was solidly build. He heard voices, one female and one male, but couldn’t make out what they said.

He hopped down, a little gingerly as his back twinged. He then put his shirt back on. He picked up his helmet and looked at it thoughtfully. He put it on, then looked at himself in the mirror. He frowned at how much it made him stand out. He took it back off and set it down. He undid the deadbolt and left the room. In the hallway, he noted all the odd numbered rooms were on one side of the hallway and the even numbered on the other. He hadn’t been sure of that at the main desk, as some places ran the rooms sequentially. If he had known how it was done in this building, he would have asked for room 302 or 306. It was easier to listen through a wall than a ceiling.

John walked to the elevator, then went up to the third floor. Nobody was in the hallway. He walked toward room 304. Voices shouted from inside that room. One was Ivana’s voice, but she was still too muddled to understand. John crept closer. He knew once he got an ear to the door, he’d understand what was being said.

He was almost at the door when he stopped as he distinctly but softly heard the name, "Hardly."

It is easier for people to hear their own names than most things, which was the only reason he’d heard it. He turned away from room 304 and went to 302, where he had heard his last name. He pressed an ear to that door. It was Fritz being discussed, not him. As he listened, a smile formed. He was soon grinning from ear to ear.

He tapped sharply on the door, "Room service."

From inside, John heard a male voice, "Just a second."

John heard a faint click that he took to be a gun being cocked. John’s face betrayed no concern as he took some steps back from the door. He wasn’t hiding. The door had a peephole so he placed himself to where he would be clearly visible to the man inside. John composed himself, putting on the most innocent expression he could manage. It was the kind of expression he’d had as a kid after Aunt Grace caught him in the cookie jar and he pretended she was mistaken.

The door opened. An ordinary appearing man, his head partly bald, stood there. What hair he had was mussed. He wore a rumpled gray suit. On his face was an expression of total astonishment. The man wasn’t as harmless as he might seem because he held a small semi-automatic pistol. John could see a cell phone, antenna up, laying on the bed. Through his earlier listening at the door, John knew who was on the other end of that phone conversation. It was why Fritz’s cell phone had been busy. John could barely contain breaking into a laugh, but he managed not to do it. He thought that after all this time, this was a sweet revenge for all the times this man had sneaked up on him and Fritz.

The man asked, "How on Earth?"

"Because I’m a good detective, Dr. Ruby," John commented. John’s voice was clear, reasoned, and sober, much different from how he’d spoken earlier to the clerk. "Won’t you invite me in? We have much to discuss."

John's deliberately calm manner as though this was a normal state of affairs left Dr. Ruby momentarily speechless, but he gestured him inside.