(Frank notes: SHE wanted to name it 'Being Frank', but I refused, on the grounds that I get enough puns on my name as it is, thank you kindly...)

Chapter One: Joe's Bluff

"Hold it right there!" the man's hoarse voice barked.

He's behind me! I froze, feeling icy fear flash down my spine, followed by a jolt of anger at myself for my own carelessness.

"Turn around. Hands up. Slowly." The last word came out as a threat and a metallic click-click killed any thought I'd had of disobeying. He had a gun. I don't argue with armed men; I slowly lifted my hands to shoulder height and turned cautiously to face him.

He was looming over me, pointing a sawed-off shotgun at my chest. Fear tingled along my nerves and sweat prickled my skin as my pulse sped up. I couldn't see his face clearly- the fluorescent light overhead was nearly burned out and the tall crates on either side of me threw shadows over him- but I knew who he was.

Harry Slocum, nickname 'Slicer', was huge: six and a half feet tall, easily three hundred pounds, and proportionately muscular. He looked like a body-builder, which wasn't too far off the mark: he was an ex-convict and had spent a good deal of his jail time pumping iron. His long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, his black tee-shirt was stained with what I hoped was ketchup- we'd trailed him from a fast-food place- and his faded, ripped jeans were spattered with oil and grease. Indications of his trade; he was a professional car thief. The old warehouse where he'd just cornered me was his chop-shop. That was how he'd earned his nickname, slicing up the cars he stole and selling the parts.

"So, one of Hardy's boys, eh? Where's the other one?" he growled, and I barely managed not to wince as the shotgun moved to aim directly at my face. I've never gotten used to staring down a gun barrel. I forced my voice to remain calm as I answered.

"I don't really know. We split up-"

"I saw you both come in," he cut me off. "So he's in here- probably trying to get the drop on me. Hey!" he bellowed suddenly and I barely managed not to jump. The last thing I wanted to do was make some sudden move that would provoke him into shooting, but I hadn't expected the sudden noise. "Blondie! Get your ass out here, or your brother eats lead!"

Silence, except for the soft buzzing of the dying light bulb over my head. I wasn't surprised at the lack of reply; Joe knew better than to reveal himself without some genuine proof that the guy wasn't bluffing. I just wished I didn't have the feeling that Slicer's proof would consist of putting a bullet in me. Sure, it might be nonfatal, at first...

"I ain't foolin', boy! Tell him," he ordered, stepping closer to me. I winced again, but complied.

"He's telling the truth," I called out steadily. I hated what I was doing- being used as bait never sits well with me- but I knew Joe would rather take his chances on getting out of a trap than hear me get shot.

There was a brief silence, just long enough for my prickles of sweat to get bigger, and then I heard the scuff of a footstep behind me. Joe, letting me know he was there so I wouldn't startle when he spoke. "So I see," he answered me coolly. The big man shifted, but kept the gun trained on me.

"Move closer."

I didn't hear Joe's footsteps, but I knew he had obeyed- I could feel it even though he wasn't touching me. In our business, you learn to know where your partner is even when you can't see them. I'd known he was nearby when Slicer stopped me, but had hoped that he'd slip out of the building and contact the police while Slicer was busy with me. Hoped, but not very hard. My brother's mile-wide loyal streak gets him into almost as much trouble as his regular risk-taking does.

It's a weird feeling, being grateful that someone's with you but simultaneously feeling guilty about it.

"So you brats thought you could get the drop on Slicer, huh?" The man's face was one big gloat. "Thought I didn't know I was being tailed, hmmm? Spotted you two about five minutes in, figured it'd be no big deal to lure you out here and settle you for good."

At any other time, I would have been humiliated to hear how badly we'd messed up, but just then my attention was on how to get out of the mess. Time enough to worry about our mistake later. That's if there is a later; learning from experience does imply living long enough to get through the lesson.

"Settle us?" Joe repeated, sounding a lot calmer than I felt. "Poor thinking, Slicer. As it stands now, it's just cars you're chopping up. You really want to add two homicides to your sheet?"

"So who's going to know? Your Pop?" Slicer retorted. "Not after I dump you in the Bay."

It finally registered on me: he'd called me 'Hardy's boy' and referred to Joe as my brother, so he knew who we were and why we were there. I was suddenly grateful that we hadn't tried our 'innocent kids stumble on a situation by accident' act. That only works when they don't know your Dad is a top-notch investigator. It's amazing how many criminals get mad about being lied to; they take it as an insult to their intelligence. I had no doubt Slicer would have reacted violently to any attempts to fool him.

"But they'll come looking for us, and you're already under suspicion," I pointed out. "They know you're out of jail and they know cars have been disappearing lately. When they hear you're on Speed again- it's an expensive habit, needs funds." I tilted my head at the crates of automobile parts. "Funds you get by chopping cars. Pretty simple deduction." I didn't really think appealing to his common sense would change his mind, but you never know.

Slicer glared at me, his eyes narrowing as I mentioned the drug. "Who told you that?" he demanded furiously.

"A source," I replied, wondering if that had been another mistake. Up to your ears in 'em tonight, Frank...

"Clancy. Damn it- never can trust a pothead," the ex-con growled. "Always babble their empty heads off!

"Must be the drugs," Joe muttered.

"He's the one who pointed you at me, ain't he?" Slicer asked savagely. "Gotta tend to him, too, when I'm done with you brats."

"Oh, c'mon, Clancy's not that observant," Joe snorted. "I mean, yeah, you do stand out in a crowd, but Clancy couldn't tell night from day without a flashlight. Result of long-term pot use, is my guess- I hear it leaves holes in the brain."

"You hear right," I agreed. "I wonder what Speed does to the brain?" Playing the stalling game, trying to get the guy to lower his defenses long enough for us to either charge him or scoot. It was our only chance, but I was starting to feel the strain. Being threatened with a gun is never what I'd call a relaxing experience. My hands were shaking, I was starting to sweat in earnest, and I felt a little lightheaded from the amount of adrenaline racing through me.

"Enough," the ex-con said coldly. "You two smart-mouths have got to go. I'll pin you on someone else. The cops'll have to check it out, which'll give me plenty of time to split town." He raised the gun to his eye, squinting, and I felt my pulse-rate double, at least. "Say bye-bye."

"Aren't you even going to introduce us to her?" Joe asked, and I could hear the quiver in his voice.

"Huh?" The big man looked baffled.

"Her," my brother repeated, and I wondered what the heck he thought he was doing now. "Your accomplice, the doll- I should say, the lovely lady there," Joe added in explanation. He must have nodded or gestured, for Slicer, his _expression still one of puzzlement, turned to look over his shoulder.

Now!

I dove for the floor, felt the concrete floor smack my body, rolled and crashed into Slicer's legs even as he whipped around again with a shout of fury. The force of my impact made him stagger back a step or two and I scrambled to one knee before he could kick me. I reached up; my fingers touched the gun but he wrenched it away and swung the barrel at my face. I saw it coming, but there was no time to react. Pain crashed through the side of my cheek and the warehouse went dizzyingly black around me. My shoulder struck something hard and prickles of pain stabbed through my shirt.

For a moment, all I could do was lie where I'd fallen, half-stunned, fierce pain throbbing in my face. Then I tried to open my eyes. The right one wouldn't cooperate, but when the haze cleared from my left eye, I saw that I was slumped against one of the crates, the splintery wood poking my arm and back. I sat up dizzily, only then becoming aware of the noise: shouted curses, gasps, and the blunt sound of fists hitting flesh. I focused, and urgency streamed through me. Joe was in trouble. Slicer had forced him to the floor and was pinning him there with one hand, the shotgun still clutched in his other fist. Joe was still struggling valiantly, but in seconds he'd be completely overpowered. Even as I scrambled to my feet, Slicer backhanded my brother hard enough to take most of the fight out of him, then lifted the gun. Not to shoot- to club.

Sheer rage burst through me, wiping out dizziness and pain. I moved without even thinking: lunging forward, feeling the smooth metal under my fingers, twisting, wrenching the gun from those meat-hook hands. Slicer shouted something, I couldn't tell what. I could have stepped back and turned the weapon on him, but the thought didn't even occur to me. Instead, I whipped around in a complete circle, swinging the gun as I went, and the butt cracked hard against the back of Slicer's skull. There was a noise like an axe hitting a tree and Slicer swayed, lifting one hand in a vague motion.

Head as hard as a rock-! I was ready to clout him a second time when Joe suddenly surged up and swung his fist, connecting with the man's slack jaw. Slicer gave a peculiar grunt, and then his eyes rolled back and he toppled sideways to land hard on the floor.

"Whew...." Joe let out a long breath and slumped flat on his back, panting. "Guy's a- blasted- elephant!" he gasped after a moment. I dropped to my knees beside him, still clutching the gun in both hands.

"Are you all right?" If that big ox hurt you, little brother, I'll-

"Oh, I'll- live, no problem," my brother answered breathlessly, shoving Slicer's legs away and sitting up. He braced himself on his left arm and rubbed his ribs gently with his right, then shook his head. "Nothing cracked or broken, just bruised a bit." He turned to me, double-took, then stared. "Are you all right, Frank?"

At that, I suddenly became aware again of the hot, pounding pain in my face. I unclenched one hand from the gun barrel and reached up. Then I hesitated, knowing it would hurt more if I touched it. "Is it bleeding?"

"No, the skin's not broken," Joe assured me, frowning. "But you're gonna have a heck of a black eye, from the looks of it. Can you see okay?"

"It was fuzzy at first, but it seems to be all right now," I decided, blinking around the dark warehouse. Then I turned to the prone man. "We'd better tie him up and call the police. If you'll find some rope, I'll stay here and make the call-" I patted my pocket. "-and keep an eye on him, in case he's got a harder head than we think."

"Sure thing." Joe got up easily, rested his hand on my shoulder for a moment, then looked around.

"I saw an office or something- a clear space- over that way." I pointed in the direction I'd been moving before I got ambushed.

The warehouse setup was a bit odd, to my eyes; the crates- some empty, some containing car and truck parts- were arranged in rows from the warehouse doors to about halfway down the floor. Then there were the stolen cars, waiting to be dismantled, and then behind them, the equipment- saws and so forth. I'd caught a glimpse of a brighter area and what looked like a table, somewhere beyond the machinery. When I thought about it a bit more, though, it made sense. The crates made a minor maze that anyone coming in had to navigate, and they provided lots of cover in case the visitors- like us- were 'snooping'. It would pass a casual inspection, too, for most warehouses had plenty of crates sitting around. They also shielded most of the stolen cars and machinery from sight. And, as it turned out, had shielded Slicer from my sight as I'd walked down a cleared 'aisle', the tall crates looming up on either side of me.

He must've seen me coming and waited till I went past... stupid, Frank; why didn't you see him hiding down there? I had been looking into the dark space between the boxes as I passed them, but had seen nothing in the deep shadow. Maybe he was on top of the crates, not between them.

That wasn't much consolation, though. I'm supposed to be more observant than that

"We may have to use wire." Joe's voice brought me out of my musings. "He probably doesn't have much rope around, it wouldn't be much help with such heavy stuff."

"Whatever works. And speaking of what worked, that was an excellent bluff of yours," I told him.

Joe turned to give me a small, rather weak smile and said, "Thanks," in a quiet voice before moving away. I dug in my pocket for our cell-phone, still gripping the shotgun in my other hand, and managed to flick the power on and press auto-dial without dropping anything.

Slicer didn't move as I talked with the desk sergeant at police headquarters, but I didn't let that lull me into complacency. I don't like guns at all, but I wasn't foolish enough to put the shotgun down and risk him waking up and grabbing for it. Joe soon returned with a coil of fine wire, pliable and strong. "Good choice," I remarked.

"Thanks," Joe answered with a slightly more confident smile. I let him wrap the first coils around Slicer's thick wrists and secure them before putting down the weapon and coming over to help. The man was so much deadweight, totally out of it, and that was reassuring.

When we finished tying him, we sat down against one of the crates to wait for the police and it was then that the quivery feeling in my bones started making its way to the surface. Before ten minutes had passed, I was trembling, feeling the dreadful cold that intense fear always stirs in me. Joe, well aware of my stress and shaking a little himself, started to put an arm around my shoulders and I suddenly rediscovered the splinters in my arm and back. "Rotten crate," I muttered as my brother pulled my shirt up and plucked gently at the little needles of wood.

"Better splinters than nails." Joe's face was still pale and his fingers were chilly, but he mustered an encouraging glance and a gentle pat. "Always worse that could happen, bro."

I nodded, too jittery to say anything more. It takes a lot to get me that shook up, but tonight qualified.

 

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.