Dylan Bradford followed the other three men into the small, rundown house. As the door closed behind them, Dylan grabbed the arm of the man in front of him and whirled him around.

“A broken bottle? What the hell were you thinking?!” he demanded, anger, fear and adrenaline pouring off him.

The man’s face showed surprise for a split second and then annoyance. “I was thinking I had to save our asses!” he snapped.

“No one is supposed to get hurt!” Dylan cried out taking a step closer.

“That didn’t seem to bother you a couple nights ago when you clocked that guy in the restaurant!”

Dylan felt his cheeks grow hot with both embarrassment and shame. “I made sure I only hit him hard enough to stun him! What if you’d caught that guy in the neck? You could’ve killed him, Jake!” he yelled now in the man’s face.

Jake let out a soft growl and came towards him. Dylan stared at him, challenging and defiant, refusing to back down or be intimidated when a third man stepped between them. He placed a hand firmly on each of their chests and pushed them apart. “Enough.” He held Dylan’s gaze for a moment then turned and looked at Jake, satisfied they wouldn’t start throwing punches.

“Look, stealing money from people who can afford to lose it is one thing,” Dylan said. “But I didn’t sign on for assault – or attempted murder!”

“None of us did,” the man said evenly as he walked across the room to a rickety table and sat down. “We do everything we can to avoid hurting anyone, but we do what needs to be done. You did,” he reminded Dylan. “And we stick together.” He stared at Dylan for a moment and then let his gaze sweep the other men in the room. “Understood?”

Jake and the fourth man muttered agreement and Dylan gave one curt nod. He walked over to the couch and dropped down on it, watching as the others emptied the money bags and began to count. Dylan wasn’t sure why but there had been no mention of the stolen engagement ring in the press. He’d counted his lucky stars about that and reminded himself that he really needed to get control of his habit of acting first and worrying about the consequences later. He’d dodged a bullet and was grateful the others still didn’t know about the ring. They were still under the impression he’d had to hit the guy in the restaurant, which he’d thought was a good thing until tonight…

Dylan had been the one behind the wheel and did his best not to hit the guy in the alley as they made their escape, waiting until he rolled one way before veering the car in the other direction. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally run over the guy and kill him! But watching so closely meant he got a good long view of the guy in the mirror. Dylan knew head wounds bled a lot even if they weren’t serious but still there had been a lot of blood.

‘How badly was he hurt?’ Dylan wondered, the guilt already starting to eat away at him. ‘And what the hell was he doing there anyway? He jumped Jake. He wasn’t just some alcoholic or homeless bum looking for a place to sleep. He knew what he was doing…’

“Well, aren’t you going to help?” one of the men called out to him.

Slowly rising from the couch, Dylan walked to the table and pulled out a chair debating if he should say anything. Had he been there, watching and waiting for them? If so, how did he know where and when their next hit would be? And if he turned up again, would his ‘partners’ be willing to kill to get away the next time? Sitting down he eyed the other three, wondering just how far they’d go to steal a few thousand dollars and thought better of voicing his thoughts aloud. He also began to wonder if maybe it was time for him to get out…

*****

Joe heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft “Oh my God,” prompting him to open one eye. Through blurred vision obscured by blood streaming from the cut, Joe saw Sam drop down next to him.

“M’okay, Sam,” Joe muttered, trying to push himself up. “Looks worse than it is.”

“What are you doing?!” Sam demanded. “Stay there,” he ordered.

“I’m okay,” Joe insisted, then hissed in pain as Sam’s hand pressed firmly on the cut on his forehead. “OW! Warn a guy, would ya?!”

“So much for fine,” Sam said dryly, starting to sound more relieved than worried. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked and Joe held up his right arm in reply. “Geez, Joe what happened?!”

Before he could reply he heard Sam talking on his cell phone, requesting an ambulance.

“Guy clocked me with a broken beer bottle,” Joe replied. He reached up and tried to clear the sticky blood from his eyes, succeeding only in smearing it more. Giving up, Joe lay on the asphalt and listened as Sam relayed the information to a 911 dispatcher, gave their location and then hung up. “Come on, help me up,” Joe demanded when he was done and tried to leverage himself to a more upright position.

“What? No!” Sam replied, keeping one hand on the cut on Joe’s forehead and using the other to hold him down. “You’re bleeding all over the place. Are you sure you weren’t cut anywhere else?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Joe snapped. “Now help me up,” he insisted swatting at Sam’s hand.

“Joe, I don’t think that’s a good—” Sam began.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself,” Joe said obstinately. Sam arriving first, before Frank or his father, gave him a bit of a reprieve and he was determined to take advantage of it. Wanting to appear as minimally injured as possible when Fenton did get there, Joe attempted to sit up, managing to get as far as his left elbow before hissing in pain.

“God, you’re as stubborn as your father,” Sam muttered, but Joe felt him shifting slightly.

“It’s in the DNA,” Joe tried to joke as Sam squatted behind him and grasped him under the arms, hauling him up.

Now sitting with his back against the brick wall, Joe sucked in a breath, waited for the pain to pass and opened one eye. “Thanks, Sam. If Dad thinks I’m hurt too bad he’ll try and bench me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the fact that half your face, not to mention your shirt, is covered in blood won’t bother him in the least since you’re sitting up and all,” Sam said dryly, once more applying pressure to Joe’s forehead. “Try and look less… bloody.”

“I’ll do my best,” Joe quipped, dragging the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes. ‘Okay, that’s a little better…’ Now at least he could make out light and dark and the shapes of cars and people.

Seconds later a car came skidding to a stop with tires squealing. A single door opened and slammed shut. “Heads up, your dad’s here,” Sam murmured, then called out over his shoulder, “It’s not as bad as it looks, Fenton.”

“JOE!” Almost immediately Fenton was kneeling by Joe’s side, his hand gripping Joe’s shoulder tightly, fear permeating his voice. “Joe! My God, what happened?”

“I’m fine.” Joe tried to sound fine as he gave his father what he hoped was a smile and not a grimace. “It’s just a little cut. Scalp wounds bleed a lot. Looks worse than it is…” Joe listened to himself rambling and wondered if he were making things better or worse. “I didn’t even pass out. I’m fine, really! Just a couple of cuts, that’s all.”

“A couple?!” Fenton exclaimed and then demanded, “Where else are you hurt?”

Joe could only assume his father had been so taken aback by the ‘looks worse than it is’ cut on his forehead that Fenton hadn’t even noticed that his arm was bleeding too. An oversight that was quickly corrected when Fenton swore under his breath and clamped down on the laceration on Joe’s right arm.

“OW! Dad!!” Joe cried out.

“Just a little cut, huh?” Fenton said sarcastically but then his voice softened almost immediately. “What happened, Joe?”

“I got up close and personal with a broken beer bottle.”

“They saw you?” Fenton exclaimed.

Joe shifted his gaze to the other side of the alley, not wanting to look his father in the eye as he stretched the truth. “Uh… yeah… they saw me,” he mumbled, not ready to admit he’d let himself be seen. Truthfully, if it hadn’t been Vanessa’s ring he’d been trying to find, if it had been just another client, Joe wouldn’t have done what he did. He would’ve stayed hidden and been happy with whatever he could see, knowing they’d get another chance in a few days time. But it was Vanessa, and that changed everything, at least for him. Though he wasn’t quite sure his father would see it that way. So he wasn’t ready to fess up just yet.

“Damn it,” Fenton hissed under his breath. “How?”

Joe quickly tried to come up with a believable scenario that didn’t require actual lying, when he was saved by the sounds of approaching sirens. They got progressively louder and then stopped abruptly at the end of the alley. Joe glanced to his left and thought how ironic it was that he’d never been so happy to see the arrival of police and paramedics on his behalf before in his life. He assumed the other siren was from a police car, which was confirmed when two officers side-stepped the EMT’s getting the necessary equipment out of the ambulance and hurried towards Joe, Sam and Fenton.

“What happened?” The Southport cop crouched down in front of the small group, doing a double take when he saw Fenton. “Mr. Hardy!” he exclaimed surprised. “Are you working on something?”

Joe squinted, trying to see if he knew the officer. The man didn’t look familiar at all but it didn’t surprise Joe that he would know Fenton. While most law enforcement agencies held a rather low opinion of private investigators in general, Fenton had gone out of his way to cultivate a good working relationship with the police departments not only in Bayport, but the surrounding towns as well. It certainly hadn’t hurt his credibility that he’d had a very successful career with the NYPD and prior to that in the military, before retiring to open his own business.

“Those end of business day robberies,” Fenton replied.

“One of the business owners hired you?” Admittedly, this was the kind of case that was clearly a police matter, but his tone was curious rather than proprietary, a testament to the amount of respect he held for Fenton Hardy.

“The robbery at Prito’s in Bayport – that one got personal,” Fenton replied.

“Bastards stole my fiancée’s engagement ring,” Joe said darkly and saw the officer glance at him.

“My son, Joe,” Fenton said then continued with great diplomacy, Joe thought, “We understand cases have to be prioritized and more serious crimes, obviously, have to take precedence. But his fiancée is just devastated so we thought we’d see if we could do a little legwork for you and hopefully get something you can use to catch these guys.”

“And we appreciate that, sir,” the officer replied. “So, can you tell me exactly what happened here?”

Joe froze for a second and then cursed silently. He was the one who’d have to give a statement explaining what happened and he didn’t relish the thought of getting chewed out in front of a bunch of strangers once Fenton found out he hadn’t followed the agreed upon plan.

“I take it this is our patient?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

Joe looked up to see two EMT’s standing behind the Southport officer. ‘Thank you,’ he thought silently, grateful for their perfectly timed arrival. He knew he would have to explain his spur of the moment change in plans eventually, and his father would not be happy, but for now he was just thankful for the reprieve.

Immediately the officer moved back and stood next to another officer that Joe had just now noticed – one who seemed very young…and nervous. Joe idly wondered if this was his first night on the job, barely noticing the transition when Sam stood up and one of the EMT’s took his place, pressing a wad of clean, sterile gauze against Joe’s forehead.

“Sir?” the second paramedic said, looking at Fenton expectantly.

Fenton eyed the man for a moment, then grunted his displeasure and, squeezing Joe’s shoulder supportively, stood up. Joe tried not to laugh when his father took only two or three steps back and then stood and hovered closely, watching every move the two EMT’s made.

Closing his eyes, Joe settled back against the wall and answered the medics’ questions as they began to assess him. Knowing his father could hear every word, he gave them a brief and glossed over explanation of how he’d been injured, assuring them he had not lost consciousness at all. He hissed softly when the cuts on his forehead and arm were cleaned and bandaged, hoping the EMT’s were blocking his father’s view.

“Can you lie down for a minute?” one of them asked.

“Huh? Why?” Puzzled, Joe tried to open his eyes when it became apparent - the residual blood in and around his eyes had now dried, effectively sealing his eyes shut. “Ewww! That’s gross,” he muttered. He heard someone chuckle softly as the EMT’s helped him lie flat on his back.

“Try not to move,” one of them murmured.

Joe found that was easier said than done when a stream of cold liquid abruptly hit his closed eyes. He yelped and instinctively tried to pull his head away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and seconds later felt a hand come to rest gently on his leg. He didn’t need to see to know it was his father. Focusing on the comforting touch he apologized again adding, “Go ahead.”

Despite bracing himself, Joe still flinched a little when the saline washed over his eyelids. He wasn’t sure how long it took, though it seemed like forever to Joe, when the annoying stream finally stopped.

“All done,” the EMT said and Joe felt a soft towel pressed into his hands. He gently patted his eyes and face dry and the paramedic helped him sit up. Joe blinked rapidly and when his blurred vision finally dissipated he was shocked to see Frank kneeling less than two feet in front of him, staring, his face etched with worry and concern.

“Frank!” Joe said, surprised.

Immediately Frank shot forward closing the distance between him and Joe, oblivious to the annoyed look from the EMT he’d pushed out of the way. “Are you okay?” he demanded, grabbing Joe by the arm. His eyes moved from the bandage on Joe’s head, now tinged red, to his bloodstained shirt and similar bandage on his right forearm.

Frank swallowed hard, his grip on Joe’s arm tightening. He was so close Joe could feel him shaking and Joe was immediately hit with a pang of remorse. “I’m fine,” Joe tried to reassure him. “Really, just a couple of cuts, that’s all.”

“You’re covered in blood,” Frank snapped, obviously still shaken by his initial view of Joe when he arrived. “How is that fine?”

“I’m sorry,” Joe blurted out and Frank’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ooops!’

“Sorry? For what?” Frank asked, his voice now wary.

‘Crap!’ Joe thought. He did not want to have to confess what he’d done here in front of all these strangers but Frank could see through him like no one else could and now his brother was suspicious. For a fleeting moment he almost wished his injuries had been more serious knowing that would have deflected all questions about exactly what had happened, at least temporarily.

“Sorry that you were worried,” Joe hedged. “It looks a lot worse than it is…honest,” he smiled.

Frank stared at him a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Joe forced himself to hold Frank’s gaze, knowing if he looked away even for a second it would be a red flag that he wasn’t being totally honest.

“Okay,” Frank finally nodded then turned to the EMT. “Can he go now?”

“Afraid not,” the man replied. He closed the lid on the kit in front of him and looked at Joe. “You still need stitches to close those lacerations,” he nodded towards Joe’s arm and head.

“Can’t you just slap a couple of butterfly bandages on them and be done with it?” Joe asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” Fenton said before the man could even open his mouth.

“Sorry,” the man smiled and shrugged. “You want the gurney or can you make it to the ambulance?”

“No, I can walk,” Joe replied, dejectedly.

Frank stood and offered Joe a hand, pulling him to his feet and surreptitiously keeping a hand on Joe’s back to steady him. “Any dizziness?” Frank asked. “Blurry vision? Nausea?”

“Actually… no,” Joe said relieved.

“At least something went right tonight,” Fenton muttered, now standing on Joe’s other side and gently nudging him forward.

Frank and Fenton stuck close as he walked to the back of the ambulance and climbed inside. Once he was seated he turned to his father, hoping he didn’t sound like he was trying to get rid of Fenton although that was his intention. The longer he could put off explaining what he’d done, the better and if he did have to fess up tonight, he’d rather do it to Frank, whom he considered the lesser of two evils.

“Hey, Dad. Can you make sure my car gets back home?” Joe asked. Without waiting for an answer he dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, tossing them to Fenton. “It’s in the parking lot,” he said, then held his breath.

Just as Joe hoped, Fenton had been caught by surprise. “What? Uh… Well, I guess…”

“Great! Thanks, Dad! See you tomorrow!” Joe smiled as one of the EMT’s pushed between Frank and Fenton and into the ambulance.

“Southport Memorial,” he said to the two elder Hardys and then unceremoniously pulled the door shut.

Joe leaned back and let out a long sigh of relief as the vehicle lurched forward. ‘One down, one to go,’ he thought.

As the vehicle made its way through downtown Southport heading for the hospital, Joe hoped he could come up with something to tell Frank on the drive home that would appease his brother without actually confessing to anything.

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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.