Hardy Boys Fan Fiction at the HDA - With This Ring

Joe lay on the gurney in one of the curtained rooms of the Southport Memorial emergency room and stared at the ceiling tiles. Ten rows of five across. Fifty tiles. He’d lost count of how many times he’d counted them waiting to be seen by someone. He let out a deep sigh and gave serious thought to rifling through the cabinets for some butterfly bandages so he could patch himself up and leave when the curtain that passed for a door swished aside.

“Man, I coulda bled to death waiting for someone to get here,” Joe griped at the nurse who walked in reading the chart in her hand. ‘Hmm… she’s cute,’ he thought, checking her out while her eyes were still on the chart.

Looking up, she raised one eyebrow. “Broken beer bottle, huh?” she said, ignoring his comment. “Let me guess – bar fight.”

“Back alley fight,” Joe corrected.

“Oh, well that makes all the difference,” she said sarcastically as she walked towards him. “Okay, let’s take a look.” Slipping on a pair of latex gloves she removed the bandage from his forehead and looked at it critically.

“That EMT said I needed stitches but he was wrong… right?” Joe asked hopefully.

“Wrong,” she answered, moving on to check his arm. “On both counts.”

“Aw, man,” Joe whined as she started getting the necessary supplies out of drawers and cabinets. “Are you sure?”

“ ‘Fraid so,” she answered, throwing a sympathetic grin over her shoulder.

The curtain swished again and a man in his early fifties with graying hair and glasses walked in. “Dr. Underhill,” he smiled as he shook Joe’s hand.

“Joe Hardy,” Joe said, as the doctor picked up the chart and looked at it.

“Bar fight?” he asked.

Joe rolled his eyes.

“Back alley,” the nurse replied helpfully.

When she turned around Joe saw she had a syringe in her hand. “That’s not for me is it?” he asked, his eyes huge.

The nurse stopped mid-stride and looked at him skeptically. “Getting sliced open with a broken beer bottle didn’t bother you but this does?” she asked, holding the syringe up slightly.

“Yes,” Joe snapped, sinking further into the gurney as if it could offer him some protection.

“It’s a local anesthetic so you won’t feel it when I stitch you up,” Dr. Underhill said, taking the needle from her and approaching Joe.

“But I’m gonna feel that!” Joe said, wincing in anticipation.

“Well, yes, unfortunately you will. It’ll sting going in but then it’ll quickly go numb. Ready?”

Before Joe could reply, the doctor placed a steadying hand on his cheek and the needle pierced his skin. Joe hissed and grabbed the handrail squeezing tightly as the syringe slowly emptied of liquid.

“OW!” Joe cried out. “Jeez, that hurts!” he glared at the doctor. “How long does it take to go numb?!” He automatically reached for his forehead but the nurse slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch it! You could transfer dirt and germs from your hands to the open wound,” she admonished.

“Did you lose consciousness at all?” Underhill asked. As he waited for the nurse to fill another syringe he pulled out a penlight and began checking Joe’s eyes.

“No,” Joe replied adding, “and no nausea, no lightheadedness, no blurred vision.”

“I see you’ve had a concussion or two in your time,” Underhill chuckled, as he took the syringe. Before he could inject the liquid into Joe’s arm, a head poked around the curtain.

“Excuse me,” the man began nervously looking first at Joe, then Dr. Underhill. “I’m Officer Chad Stone, Southport P.D. Is it okay if I ask him a few questions?”

“Fine with me if it’s okay with him,” the doctor shrugged.

“Come on in,” Joe invited, recognizing the very young and nervous cop from the alley. “It’ll keep my mind off him and his instruments of torture,” he glared malevolently at the doctor and the tray holding the needle and sutures.

“Great, thanks,” the cop said walking in. He pulled a small note pad and pen from his pocket and leaned against a wall near the head of the gurney. “I saw your brother in the waiting room and he explained why you were there. So if you could just pick up from what happened when the thieves first arrived…” Stone’s voice trailed off questioningly.

For the next several minutes, while Dr. Underhill stitched up the wounds on his forehead and arm, Joe told Chad everything that had happened in the alley. He began from when the thieves’ car first turned into the alley and had just finished telling him about seeing the sticker on the bumper of the car as it came towards him.

“Okay, all done,” Underhill interrupted Joe’s story.

“Thank God,” Joe muttered, raising his arm and looking at the stitches intently. “Is that gonna leave a scar?” he demanded.

“Maybe a little one,” the doctor replied, peeling off his gloves. “But it’ll fade in time.”

“So anything else?” Chad asked of Joe.

“Uh…” Joe hesitated. He hadn’t yet mentioned the partial plate he got and suddenly he wasn’t so sure he wanted to. The police would probably be able to track it down quickly but their priority was catching the thieves. If they were caught but none of them copped to taking Vanessa’s ring, the police wouldn’t waste too much time pursuing it as long as they had enough evidence to prosecute for the robberies. They might never get the ring back. Joe didn’t want to lie but he didn’t want to be shut out when they were so close either. He was warring with his conscience when suddenly the cop spoke again.

“Nothing, huh?” Officer Stone said, apparently interpreting Joe’s silence as a negative answer. “Okay, well if you think of anything else give me a call,” he said, digging out a business card and handing it to Joe.

Joe stared at it momentarily speechless at his dumb luck. Chad Stone obviously didn’t have a lot of experience under his belt. Joe thought back to one of the first rules Fenton had taught him and Frank – when questioning someone, be it a victim, a witness or a suspect, always let them answer, no matter how long it took. Don’t interrupt and never assume you knew what they were going to say. Joe almost felt bad for the young man as he broke both those rules, not waiting until Joe had actually answered his question and then assuming he knew what Joe was going to say. But he didn’t feel bad enough not to take advantage of the situation.

“Yeah… I will,” Joe said, shoving the card in his pocket.

“Great. Hope you feel better soon,” Chad said, pointing towards Joe’s head, then nodded at him, the doctor and the nurse. “Thank you,” he said, encompassing all of them as he backed out of the small room.

“Okay,” Dr. Underhill said, “Sherry here is going to finish up, putting a couple of small bandages over the sutures. Change the bandages daily and keep the wound sites clean but don’t get them wet. You can take an over the counter pain reliever if necessary. If you notice an increase in pain or any signs or symptoms of infection, call your doctor immediately.”

“Right, got it,” Joe sighed as he watched Sherry bandage his arm, thinking he pretty much knew these instructions by heart.

Minutes later, Sherry escorted Joe to the receptionist, waited while he signed himself out and then walked out to the waiting room with him, wanting to make certain he had transportation. As they approached, Frank glanced up from the magazine he was reading. Dropping it on the small table he got up and met them halfway.

“How is he?” Frank asked the nurse point blank.

“Four stitches in his head, six in his arm,” she replied. “He’ll be fine.”

“See?” Joe said to Frank, jutting his chin out slightly. “I told you I was fine.”

Frank rolled his eyes, again addressing Sherry. “So he can go? No follow up instructions or anything?”

“Just watch for signs of infection and take an over the counter pain killer as needed. Other than that, he’s free to go,” she answered then turned to Joe. “Take care. Hope we don’t see you in here again any time soon,” she smiled, patted his arm and then hurried back to the emergency room.

“Me, too!” Joe called out after her and then looked at his brother. “Can we go now or do you want to interrogate the doctor, too?” Without waiting for Frank to respond, Joe turned and headed for the door.

Frank quickly followed and they walked to the car in silence. Once inside, Joe leaned his head back and closed his eyes, hoping Frank would take the hint and not ask any questions – a hope that was dashed relatively quickly.

“So,” Frank said as he pulled onto the Interstate and headed for Bayport, “what happened?”

‘Man I just can’t catch a break tonight,’ Joe whined silently. “I got stitched up and they sent me on my way,” he shrugged planning to play dumb as long as possible. He heard Frank let out a heavy sigh and could almost feel the caustic look thrown his way.

“I meant what happened to cause you to need to get stitched up in the first place,” Frank clarified.

“Oh… that,” Joe said but didn’t elaborate.

When he remained silent Frank let out another sigh. “Yeah, that.”

“I got whacked with a beer bottle,” Joe replied, wondering how far he could push it.

“I know that,” Frank said, sounding like he was talking through clenched teeth. “HOW did you get whacked with a beer bottle?”

“Well,” Joe began slowly, wondering how best to give Frank enough information to pacify him without admitting to anything just yet. “I wanted to get something we could use, ya know? A glimpse of one of them, a plate on the car… something to help us nail them.”

“And…” Frank prompted when Joe fell silent.

“Aaaaand,” Joe drew the word out as long as possible, “the last guy saw me.”

“He saw you,” Frank repeated skeptically.

“Yeah. Soooooooooo I thought maybe if I took him down the others would take off and at least we’d have one of them,” Joe explained, staring straight ahead. He could feel Frank looking at him and decided to keep talking before Frank could ask for details. “So I tackled him. We went down, he grabbed a bottle, smashed it on the ground and swung at me. I didn’t get out of the way in time.” Joe shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”

Frank didn’t say anything for several minutes and Joe breathed a sigh of relief thinking he was home free…

“So that’s your story and you’re sticking to it, huh?” Frank said derisively.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe asked, defensively. “It’s the truth!” And it was, Joe thought. Just not quite in the order it happened.

“Yeah,” Frank snorted as he pulled up in front of Joe’s apartment building. “I’m sure it is.”

“It is!” Joe insisted.

“Whatever,” Frank rolled his eyes. “Listen, I told Dad to just drive your car back to the office. I’ll pick you up in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Joe agreed quickly, realizing Frank had done him a favor and now he wouldn’t have to face his father until the morning.

Joe watched as Frank pulled away, the taillights disappearing in the distance and headed for the front door of the building.

Automatically Joe stuck a hand in his pocket fishing for his keys and groaned when he realized he was essentially locked out. Without his keys, he’d have to buzz Vanessa and ask her to let him in, something that was sure to arouse her suspicions. With a heavy sigh, Joe stopped at the entrance and pressed the buzzer for their apartment. A moment later Vanessa’s voice floated out of the speaker.

“Yes?”

“Hey Babe, it’s me. Can you buzz me in?”

“Joe?” she said, surprised but unlocked the door without asking for further explanation.

Joe climbed the stairs, suddenly feeling very weary. As he approached the door to their apartment he heard the click of the deadbolt being unlocked. Grasping the knob, he took a deep breath, opened the door and walked in.

Vanessa was just hanging up the phone in the kitchen when she turned to face him. “Why didn’t you-” She stopped dead, stunned at his appearance. “Joe! Oh my God!” She started towards him but stopped again, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Oh my God!” she repeated her eyes now glued to his blood-stained shirt. “Are you alright?! What happened?!” This time she moved with amazing speed and stopped short in front of him. Tentatively she reached out and gently touched his forehead with two fingers. He winced.

“Yeah,” he finally replied. “I’m fine.”

“But… but…” she stammered her eyes moving from the blood on his shirt and in his hair to his arm, where she finally noticed the second bandage. “Oh my God,” she whispered again, then suddenly threw herself on him, hugging him tightly.

‘Ow, ow…OW!’ Joe thought, not daring to express his pain aloud. Wincing he put his arms around her. “I’m okay, Van, really. I’m fine. Just a few stitches, that’s all. It’s nothing.”

Vanessa pulled back and glared at him. “Stitches are not nothing! What happened?” she asked again.

“The thieves showed up at the place I had under surveillance. I got into it with one of them and he hit me with a broken beer bottle,” Joe replied, knowing Vanessa would be more worried about his injuries than in exactly how he got them.

“WHAT?!” she cried out, staring at him, shocked.

“Baby, I’m fine,” Joe tried again. “I went to the E.R., got a few stitches and they sent me on my way.”

“You went to the emergency room?” She pounced on that piece of information. “What did the doctor say? Do you have a concussion? Did they give you antibiotics? What did they say?” she demanded, having gone from speechless to rapid-fire interrogation in seconds, not allowing Joe to get a word in anywhere.

He sank down on the couch tiredly, laid his head back and closed his eyes. “I’m fine,” he repeated. He listened as Vanessa huffed and paced and… picked up the phone? He cracked one eye open to see her punching the buttons savagely. “Who’re you calling?”

Glaring, she replied, “Someone who will give me a straight answer.”

“I told you,” Joe said, both eyes now open, “I’m fine!”

Vanessa snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah so you sa- Frank, it’s me,” she said, all attention now on the phone call.

‘Great,’ Joe thought. ‘They’re ganging up on me.’ He flopped his head back, immediately regretting it, and listened to Vanessa’s side of the conversation.

“Yeah, he says he’s fine,” she said, her voice dripping cynicism and Joe could feel her eyes boring through him. “But he could be right in front of me, missing all four limbs and he’d tell me he was fine!”

‘Sarcastic much, Babe?’

“Uh-huh… Uh-huh… So no concussion? Not even a minor one?”

‘She sounds almost disappointed!’ he thought, chuckling softly.

“Yeah, okay… thanks… bye.”

“Satisfied?” Joe asked, still not opening his eyes. He felt the couch shift as she sat down next to him.

“For now,” she said grudgingly. There was silence for a few moments and then, “You look like crap, ya know.”

Joe opened his eyes a crack and looked at her. “Gee, thanks.”

“They didn’t even wash the blood out of your hair.” Vanessa stood and tugged on his hand. “Come on, let me get it out for you.”

Fifteen minutes later, with the residual dried blood gone and wearing clean sweatpants and a t-shirt, Joe felt somewhat better. After assuring Vanessa several more times that he was fine, she had curled up and gone to sleep. Joe sat on top of the covers, leaning up against the headboard a sketchpad balanced on his knees.

Few people outside his family knew that Joe was quite a good artist, good enough to be Hardy and Sons resident sketch artist. By the dim light of the bedside lamp, Joe began sketching the parking sticker he’d seen on the car’s bumper. For the next several minutes the pencil flew over the page, with Joe intent on getting every detail just right. Only when he was satisfied he’d accomplished that did he close the pad and drop it to the floor next to the bed.

Turning off the light he slipped under the covers and snuggled up behind Vanessa wrapping his arms around her. Drifting off to sleep he knew that in the morning he’d have to tell Fenton what really happened and wondered why it was only in hindsight that he saw how flawed his plan really was.

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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.