Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Fenton Hardy sat back in his desk chair and studied his sons. Frank still looked flushed from his confrontation with the new homicide detective, while Joe, like always, seemed oblivious to the problem. But from the way Joe was shifting in his seat and sneaking glances at Frank, Fenton knew his younger boy was just as upset as the older one. "Boys, I'm not ignoring your...impressions of the man. But I think you need to give him the benefit of the doubt."

Frank gave a start. "Dad—”

"Obviously the man has had a bad experience with teenagers. Or maybe he doesn't do well making new friends, I don't know. Perhaps he wants to skew the truth, I don't know." Fenton cleared his throat. "But confronting this Sheridan is probably what he wants to prove he's right."

Frank stood up, started pacing. "I know that, Dad. I get the manipulation, but why? We've never met him before last night – and he ran into us."

Fenton nodded. "All right. I think I can do a background search on the man. Until I get the information, I want the both of you to steer clear of him. Just go on about your plans for the break but stay clear of him."

Joe got to his feet. "Sure, Dad, I still have comics to read."

Frank gave his brother a hard look, and then turned to his father. "All right, Dad. You'll let us know what you find out?"

"Of course."

Joe started for the door only to notice Frank hadn't budged. Joe reached back to grab his older brother's arm. "We're leaving now, Dad, let you get on with it." Joe tugged on Frank's arm until his brother followed him out of their father's study. "What's with you? You're acting like the dude insulted your sister. Just for the record, you know you don't have one, right?"

"He insulted our honor."

Joe arched an eyebrow. "Honor?" He grunted. "Does that mean you're gonna go out back with a sword?"

It took a long moment for it to register with Frank what his brother had said. "Do what?" Then he blinked and shook his head. "I can't believe you remembered that. But it wasn't a sword and it was hardly seppuku. The old man had a dagger and was quoting Hamlet."

"Seppa-what?"

"It's also called hara-kiri." Frank rolled his eyes and felt the anger fade away somewhat. "And where out of left field did that come from?"

"You said honor. We both saw that movie about the samurai." Joe shrugged. "Whatever."

Frank thought about it a moment longer. "I don't remember telling you about that old actor."

"Callie told Vanessa as a warning."

"Warning?" Frank was puzzled now, and thoroughly distracted. A sneaking suspicion snaked through his mind that his brother was doing it on purpose. "Warning of what?"

Joe smirked. "She told Vanessa so Van would realize that we never stop being detectives whether we're on a nice quiet intimate picnic or spending a day at the mall."

Frank grunted. "Ha, ha." He started for the stairs.

"Frank, why does that guy push your buttons so quick? It's usually me blowing up."

"You heard me tell Dad. He thinks we're troublemakers, he thinks we're bilking people, making them think we're detectives but nothing but petty thieves."

"Well...you know, in some places it is illegal to own lock picks unless you’re a locksmith." Joe followed Frank up the stairs and toward their bedrooms.

Frank turned around to give his brother the evil eye. "You're not helping."

"Was I supposed to?" Joe stood there in the hall, waited until Frank was halfway into his room. "Let's go to the mall."

Frank gave his brother a look. "You think that's the remedy for everything."

"No, the remedy for everything is a pizza loaded with everything. We can have that too."

Frank arched an eyebrow. "Why'd you wait until we came up here? Why not suggest it when we were closer to the door?"

Before Joe could answer, the telephone rang. He walked toward the small table when the ringing stopped. A few minutes later, they heard footsteps in the foyer. "Frank, Joe, I have something I need to tend to. Stay here," came their father's voice.

Startled by the order, Frank and Joe bolted back down the stairs. Frank stared at his father. "What?"

Fenton shook his head, grabbed his coat and keys. "Stay here," he said rather brusquely and walked out the front door, shutting it behind him.

Joe shared a look with his brother. "What was that all about?"

"I intend to find out," Frank stated. But instead of heading back up the stairs, he started for his father's study.

"Whoa, bro, what are you planning to do? Hack into Dad's computer?"

Remembering the detective's accusations, Frank turned to look at his brother. He glanced at the half-open door of his father's study, then back at his brother. "This has been a really lousy day," snapped Frank and turned to the stairs.

Joe heard his brother run up the stairs and frowned. What the hell was going on, he wondered.

***

Fenton Hardy strode through the police department hallway, thinking that every building seemed to have that same smell – stale sweat, old cigarette smoke and rusted metal. He shook his head and walked into Collig's office. "Ezra."

"Fenton, that was fast."

"This is important. Why'd my background search set off alarms?"

Ezra studied the man for a long time; long enough to make Fenton think the police chief wasn't going to answer him. Finally, Ezra Collig heaved a sigh. "I can't really tell you."

Fenton frowned. "Excuse me?"

"It's Sheridan, isn't it? Con told me about the fender bender Sunday night. He's from Los Angeles, Fenton, excellent reputation. Only reason he's not there anymore is he wanted to move."

Fenton sighed and sat down across from Collig. "All I know is that Frank is the least volatile of my sons, and yet he was seething this afternoon after encountering Sheridan in front of a drug store."

Ezra was quiet for a while. Finally he said, "I'm not sure what you're fishing for, Fenton. I don't know the man personally. He hasn't talked to any of the force, save for telling them he prefers his solitude and his coffee black. I haven't even tried to assign him a partner, although I know I'll have to – eventually."

Fenton sat there, hoping for more, but knew instinctively that Ezra wouldn't say anything else. "Where's Sheridan staying?"

"Bayport Inn. He's looking for an apartment, trying to arrange to get his stuff sent from Los Angeles. Fenton—”

"I don't care what L.A. precinct he's from, I don't care if he's had to deal with ten-year-old pickpockets and fifteen-year-old drug users on a regular basis out there; I don't want him assuming things about my sons."

Collig nodded. "They're good boys, Fenton. They tend to get into the thick of things a little too often for my peace of mind but—” Collig gave an eloquent shrug. "I'll talk to Sheridan."

"Why?" came a new voice.

Fenton turned to see a tall man, clad in a sweater and black jeans, standing in the doorway. His black hair was shaggy, brushing the neckline of the sweater. His green eyes were narrowed and unfriendly at the moment. His eyes shifted from Collig to Fenton. "Oh, it's you."

"Do I know you?" Fenton found himself bristling at the man's attitude.

"No, but I know you – Fenton Hardy, ex-NYPD, resident gumshoe of Bayport. I know you."

Fenton stood up and arched an eyebrow. "So, you don't like private investigators."

"Not particularly." He turned to Collig, summarily dismissing Fenton. "You wanted to talk to me."

"Lay off the Hardy boys, Sheridan. They're good kids."

Sheridan slid a glance at Fenton. "How sweet, daddy comes to pinch hit for his boys." Sheridan shook his head. "There are no good kids, just kids who haven't had the guts or inclination to rob or shoot up."

"Do you have children?" asked Fenton, finding it hard to keep a rein on his temper. He was beginning to understand why Frank had been so angry.

"Nope. Don't want any." Sheridan turned to the doorway. "You two keep deluding yourselves. I've got work to do."

Fenton stared after him. After a moment, he took a deep breath. "Goodbye, Ezra; I got the answer I wanted," he snapped, and left the office.

Ezra sighed and fiddled with a pencil for a long moment, before throwing it down on the cluttered surface of his desk. He heard a noise at the door and looked up. His expression turned stormy and he motioned for the man to leave.

The man stared at him and grunted. "Remember, no one finds out why I'm here."

Ezra grunted and watched Sheridan leave again. Damn it. He didn't like this. But there was nothing he could do.

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Disclaimer

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.