hardy boys fan fiction
HOLE IN THE WORLD
hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by
Medieval Liz
Chapter 7
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
Tuesday, March 26, 7:35am
The coffee tasted like sludge, but it was keeping Fenton on his feet after almost twenty-seven hours without sleep. At forty-two, he wasn’t exactly old, but he definitely wasn’t young enough to pull all-nighters any more. He would have tried to get a few hours of sleep around dawn, but the stake-out had finally paid off and he had spent the past several hours with the Atlantic City police department.
Pulling his sedan into the parking lot of his hotel he was looking forward to sleeping and then heading back to Bayport. Joe’s birthday was only four days away and he had promised his boy he would be there. After everything that had happened in the last six months, Fenton was pleased that he would be able to celebrate with his youngest son.
He was surprised by the amount of messages waiting for him at the front desk, but the one from Detective Younger back in New York definitely caught his attention over the ones from his wife. Exhausted as he was, he had no thoughts of sleep as he started to dial the number that had been left.
It was answered on the third ring. [Missing Persons, Detective Younger speaking.]
“Detective, Fenton Hardy returning your call.”
[Glad you could get back to me, Mr Hardy.]
“It would have been sooner, but I’ve been on a case.” Fenton’s heart had started to race at the sound of the other man’s voice.
[Yes, your wife told me you were in Atlantic City.] There was a small pause before Brian Younger continued forcefully. [Mr Hardy, there’s been a development in your son’s case.]
“What kind of development?” Reluctant to get his hopes up, Fenton listened quietly as the detective explained the events of the past twenty-hours. The breath caught in his throat as he realized the implications of what he was being told. “Frank-”
[Nothing yet, Mr Hardy, but both my Father and I believe that we should hear something in the next day or two.]
“I’ll be there in three hours,” Fenton said eagerly. Frank was coming home!
[Mr Hardy, perhaps it would be best if you went home to your family. There’s nothing you can do at the moment. Nothing any of us can do but wait and see.]
“You are not cutting me out this time, Detective Younger!” Fenton growled. “Frank is my son and I’ll be damned if I just do nothing! I want to go over the reports on the other kids. Maybe I can spot something that you’ve over looked. Can another pair of eyes really hurt at this point?”
There was a pause on the line before Brian spoke again. [All right, Mr Hardy.]
“Three hours, Detective. I’ll be there then.”
~~HBHBHB~~
Tuesday, March 26, 8:45am
It happened an hour later.
Melanie Simone was not a well educated woman, but she was proud enough to know when she was getting the raw end of a deal. Nineteen years old, and a prostitute by profession, she was use to the rough stuff her John’s could be in to. But being ganged up on by some douche-bags was drawing the line.
The five story, white brick building, housing the 78th Precinct of the NYPD, was a building she was well acquainted with. Several nights she spent cooling in their holding cells, but this early March morning saw her walking up the front steps of her own free well. Something she thought would never happen.
The desk cop, a young rookie not much older than Melanie, looked up at her when she walked to the desk. Her nose broken, two black eyes, split lip and a distinctively hand shape bruise on her throat left little to the imagination as to why she was there.
“Miss-”
“I need to see Rodriguez,” she interrupted in a hoarse voice. It hurt to speak, but she knew what she had to do. Sergeant Sandra Rodriguez was the only cop Melanie trusted. Perhaps it was because she was a woman, or because she had been in Melanie’s shoes as a teen, but something about the Sergeant had most of the girls working the streets of Brooklyn trusting her. She would know what to do with this information.
“If you’re here to report an assault-”
“Rodriguez,” Melanie snapped, “no one else, got it?”
The hooker walked away from the desk and sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting room. Her fingers dabbed at the dried blood on her lips. She wasn’t an easy woman to intimidate, and a heavy hand usually had the opposite effect. Yes, she had been scared for her life when the men in the clown masks started beating her. Even more scared when they threatened her and started to strangle her.
Most things she just turned and looked away. On the mean streets of New York City you knew how to keep your mouth shut. But there was an unwritten rule about where you drew the line. What it would take for you to break that silence. For Melanie Simone, it was killing kids.
~~HBHBHB~~
Tuesday, March 26, 11:20am
The interrogation room was brightly lit, the glare of the lights making the white painted walls seem even whiter. The table was occupied by a woman who had been beaten black and blue. The surface of the table was littered with cigarette butts and old coffee cups. Inside the room hidden behind a two way mirror, Brian Younger watched the woman intently.
By her own admission, she was a hooker, and though that may make it hard to accept her story as credible, one look at the bruises and marks on her beautiful face was enough to convince the seasoned detective. Beside him, Fenton Hardy fidgeted anxiously. The constant movement of a jerky hand running over his dark hair was the only thing that spoilt the calm exterior that the private investigator tried to project.
The door to the interrogation room opened and Sergeant Rodriguez entered the room with Detective Cameron.
“Mel,” the Sergeant let Cameron take the only other chair, “this is Detective Terrance Cameron from the 6th Precinct over on the Island. I need you to tell him exactly what you told me earlier, all right?”
Melanie took a last drag on her cigarette and extinguished it in the ash tray. “He cool?”
Rodriguez smiled at the street weary teen. “Yea, he’s cool.”
“Cool.”
“Miss Simone,” Cameron’s voice was steady as he leaned forward in his chair, “Will you please tell me what happened?”
“So I get a call this morning, little after two AM maybe,” She began, her voice scratchier after hours of talking. “The beginning of the week is slow for me, so I could use the dough. I hook up with this guy, he’s one of my regulars. Always has me calling him Bruce though he doesn’t look like no Bruce if you ask me.”
“Any idea what his real name is?”
“Not my business.” She shrugged. “I get paid to do what they want. If he wanted me to call him St. Jude I would.”
“Fair enough,” Cameron smiled reassuringly. “So what happened when you got together with ‘Bruce’?”
“Bruce likes to party. Booze, coke, speed, most the time he’s so high by the time I get there I can charge him for a few hours with maybe twenty minutes of work. This time, he was stone cold sober. Ain’t never seen that before. But hey, maybe he’s been going to AA or something.”
Melanie stopped while she reached into her bag and retrieved another cigarette. Lighting it casually she took a slow, long drag before continuing. “So I get there, and he’s sober. It ain’t our regular spot and he tells me he’s moving up in the world. There’s this music playing in the back of the place really loud. Heavy metal shit that’s more noise than music. Whatever, right?
“We go back to a bedroom, past this door that I can hear the music coming from behind. It’s got a peephole drilled through it and a dead bolt on the outside. I start getting this really weird vibe, and when I ask Bruce about it he gets all excited. Has me look through the peep hole and tells me he’s hit the big time, making a name for himself. Got paid fifty grand to baby-sit some cop’s kid. And sure enough, there’s this kid inside this room, chained up to some piece of shit bed.”
Obviously nervous, she lit another cigarette with the still glowing end of the previous one. “I’m cool with a lot of stuff, but I ain’t kidding when I say nearly lost it. I got little sisters back home. I mean, I get it, you know, wanting to get back as some Pigman – no offence - but to go after a kid? That shit is beyond messed up.”
Cameron managed to keep his face expressionless. “Could you see what the kid looked like?”
“Yea, kinda. Bruce had this black light in the room, the kind that make it really dark and white stuff glow really brightly? It was dark, and messed up through the peep hole, but I could tell the kid was a boy. Dark hair, looked like he was sleeping.”
“What happened next, Miss Simone?”
“Bruce’s all fired up,” The cigarette crackled as she inhaled deeply on the filter. “We get to the bedroom and the guy won’t shut up. He’s going on about the guys that paying him are at the top of the food chain. Big wigs tossing the little guy a bone, I guess, making Bruce feel all kinds the big man. He tells me that he’ll get a Quarter Mil to ice the kid if word comes down from Atlantic City. He told me that to impress me, but shit! Turning tricks is one thing, but I know enough legal to know the kid bites it after I know about it? I go away as an accessory! Ain’t no way I’m going down for that sicko’s payday! I even told him as much and went to get the hell outta Dodge.”
“He do that to you?” Cameron nodded to her face.
“Doesn’t have the balls, trust me,” She sneered, her hand shaking so bad she couldn’t keep her cigarette steady. “No, the Big Boys had come to check on him. Guess they didn’t trust their little patsy, and can’t say as I blame them.”
“Did you get a look at them?”
She shook her head. “One was huge, easily six six, maybe six seven. The other, six two. Never saw their faces. They had on these masks. Clowns, like the one from that Steven King movie. The full head ones that cover all of it, not just the face. But they sure as hell saw me. Did this to me while telling me to keep my mouth shut. That I’d end up dead in some dumpster if I breathe a word. Next thing I know the big one’s got his hand around my throat and choking me. I pass out and when I come to I’m where they said I’d be. A couple blocks away in a dumpster. I came straight here. Sandy always said if us girls got into trouble we were to come see her.”
The interrogation room was quiet for a moment as Cameron digested what he was hearing. In the room beyond the mirror, Fenton was now visibly shaking and Brian was wondering if he’d have to keep the father from going through the mirror to get at the woman. There was so much circumstantial information. But they still didn’t have that one piece that would confirm their hunch.
“Mel,” Sergeant Rodriguez rest her hands on the edge of the table, staring down at the young girl. “Did you hear any names? The cop’s name perhaps? Or why they had his kid?”
Putting out the cigarette, Melanie nodded. “Yea. Not exactly sure on the name, but as I was blacking out I heard one of the clowns say something. Something like Marty.”
“Marty,” Cameron asked. “You’re sure about that?”
“I thought I was dying,” She rolled her eyes. “Course I’m not sure. It’s a name I’ve heard before, I know that. Marty, or something that sounds like that.”
“Hardy?” Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. “Could it have been Hardy?”
“That’s it!” Melanie exclaimed, eyes wide with recognition. “That’s what they said! ‘Hardy’s moving on Atlantic City. Kid’s as good as dead.’”
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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.