Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

An hour and a half later, we finally finished giving our statements to the police and filling out the arrest paperwork. Every time we work with the police, I remember why we want to be private detectives and not policemen. Dealing with police paperwork is a lot like being buried in an avalanche, only less fun.

Slicer had been booked on quite a few counts of grand theft auto, several drug charges, and two counts of assault with intent to murder. Ironically, he did have a license for the gun. He’d been coming to as the cops arrived and was too dazed to make much fuss as they escorted him out. It wasn’t until he saw the two patrol cars that he started resisting, and his language as he was dragged into it was some of the worst I’ve ever heard. I noticed my brother’s face in the streetlights as we were ushered into the other car; Joe looked very interested, and I suspected that he was taking notes. He caught me looking at him, grinned, and said simply, “Creative, isn’t he?”

“That’s one word for it,” I muttered as I closed the car door, and I didn’t talk again till we got to headquarters. I still sounded about as shaky as I felt and didn’t particularly care to advertise that to the policemen.

As soon as we got to headquarters, we gave our statements and then were taken to one of the interrogation rooms to write out the witness forms. We had just finished handing everything over to one of the arresting officers- Thompson- when Chief Collig came into the room. Thompson left in a hurry and the chief closed the door behind him; I traded a resigned glance with Joe. We both knew what was coming, and were not looking forward to it. “Well, I suppose I have to give you some credit,” he began, sitting down in the chair opposite us. “We’ve been after this man for about a week and a half, but none of our street sources with could give us much information. I did ask your father if he could lend a hand when he had time; didn’t expect him to delegate it to you two, and certainly didn’t expect you boys to end up collaring him.”

From Collig, that was less grudging praise than usual and I wondered if that meant he’d skip the lecture this time around.

“However, that doesn’t mean I’m condoning your actions tonight. I’ve warned you often enough not to get mixed up in police business. You two are not only private citizens, you’re both underage. I know you feel you can handle it, because your father lets you get involved with his work, but you two are constantly putting yourselves into far more danger than any teenager has a right to get involved with. Tonight’s a case in point. Slocum’s a dangerous, cunning man- especially when he’s high, which he is-”

I winced; we hadn’t realized that Slicer was stoned. If I had known that, I would’ve vetoed the idea of following him. No wonder he’d been so alert and jumpy- and violent.

“-both could have been killed. One of these days you’re going to tangle with the wrong criminal and end up seriously hurt, or worse. You don’t have the training to do policemen’s jobs, boys. Nor the authority. Lots of times, what you do could be considered interfering with police business, you know. Now, I’m not going to say your father’s not a good trainer, but you’re both young and it takes a lot more than a year or two to become expert at this business. Every time you mix in a case, there’s a better than average chance that you’ll make an amateur mistake. I can’t have that, not when citizens’ safety and perhaps lives are at stake.”

The chief paused for a moment, and I casually put my hand on Joe’s arm. I could feel the tension of his muscles and knew he was trying very hard to keep quiet. I was, too; there was a lot I would have liked to retaliate to- most especially the part about us making an amateur mistake. But I knew that would be unwise. It would only make the chief more irritable than he was already. ‘He’s just peeved because we solved another one and his men didn’t,’ I told myself. ‘And it’s hard for him to swallow, having his force shown up by two ‘amateur’ teenagers.’

“Now, I’m not going to suggest that you tell your dad you won’t help him anymore, but I am going to insist that you stop getting mixed up with things my department is supposed to handle. And if you don’t, I’ll speak to your parents and ask them to insist on it. Clear?”

I nodded, squeezing Joe’s arm, and he reluctantly nodded as well.

At least he’s not threatening to lock us up for interfering with police business…but he can’t, since Dad put us on it after Collig’s own request for assistance.

“All right. Get on home and try to stay out of my hair for a while,” he concluded, rising to lean on the table with both hands and stare from me to Joe. That’s his standard dismissal and I really don’t know why he bothers with it. He’s got to know that we don’t go around deliberately thinking of ways to irritate him. Still, we didn’t argue, since arguing would just get us another earful. We meekly promised not to go looking for trouble and got out of there before he could think of anything else to say.

“Well, wasn’t that pleasant,” I muttered ironically to Joe as we got outside. “As always.” It wasn’t just Collig’s long-windedness that bothered me; I didn’t like being discounted as too young and inexperienced to be anything useful. And I really didn’t like the suggestion that our achievements were the result of mere good luck, as opposed to hard work. Of course there was some luck involved, there always is, but we don’t rely on it.

Joe, who had scooted out ahead of me, waited at the bottom of the steps. It was a little after midnight, but the June air was muggy-humid and very warm. “Oh, ever so pleasant,” he agreed sarcastically. “I mean, yeah, it was supposed to be a simple, straightforward, don’t-get-involved assignment, and maybe it did go kinda wrong, but it turned out okay. There’s no need for him to go on at us like that.”

“Yeah. Though I do think I’d rather take the Chief’s lectures than Mom’s,” I replied, considering that wrinkle as I joined him. “We’re going to catch it when we get home.”

“Not our fault filling out arrest paperwork takes an hour-plus,” he grumbled, glancing around the silent neighborhood. The streetlights cast pools on the black road and gray sidewalk. “Maybe we should take a taxi,” he added. “It’ll be faster, and safer.”

I wasn’t surprised that he put the ‘safer’ in there. Joe doesn’t think about safety as often as I do, but getting a bad scare does tend to make him more cautious- at least for a little while. “Yeah, but by the time we call the cab company, wait for it to arrive, get picked up, and get back to the car, we could just as easily have walked there,” I pointed out. Besides, the walk would uncramp my legs and hopefully reduce my residual reaction. I was still shaking a bit, despite how much time had gone by.

It takes quite a bit of stress to get me that agitated, but by the same token, it takes me quite a while to calm down afterwards, too. Joe gets tense very fast, but he cools down almost as quickly- unless he’s really furious or very badly frightened. The former happens more often than the latter; he’s got a temper and a half, where I have a moderate temper. Never have been too sure where that came from- the moderate part, that is. Mom’s temper is flashfire- like Joe’s- but Dad has a fair talent for getting riled himself. You’d think I lived in a family of redheads.

Joe agreed with my assessment of the taxi situation and started walking again, and I fell in beside him. My cheek still ached something fierce, despite the ice-pack one of the officers had given me to ease the swelling. I hoped the ice had been enough to reduce the black eye that would be sure to follow, then wondered how many days it would take for the pain to fade out. The walk helped take my mind off it a bit; I have a fairly high pain threshold, but nowhere near Joe’s. I figure that’s part of why he takes so many risks and gets so banged up all the time; he can shrug off things that would have me reaching for a couple Motrin’s.

At least he didn’t get hurt this time. After Joe had picked the splinters out of me, I’d insisted on checking his ribs for cracks or breaks. It would be just like him to break a bone and fail to mention it. He’d been luckier than I, though; we decided he might end up with a bruise or two, but nothing worse. All to the good. Mom goes ballistic when he gets hurt.

We didn’t talk as we walked, just enjoyed the quiet after the close, loud atmosphere of the police station. The air conditioning had made little difference to the heat of the room where we’d sat to fill out the forms; even the muggy summer night air was a distinct improvement. And there’d been constant, distracting background noise all around us. I still don’t understand why so many police officers and detectives have to have their ‘workstations’ all in one room. Seems to me that separate rooms, or at least cubicles, would be more efficient. If only because it’d be less noisy.

A low grumble of thunder from the east caught my attention. Another storm rolling in from Barmet Bay. Joe and I traded a glance and sped up, not caring to end up doused. We reached the parking meter where we’d left the car a few minutes later and I tossed Joe the keys, knowing I needed to calm down some more before I got behind the wheel. He unlocked the doors and as we got in, I regarded him in surprise. “Maybe you should stand out in the rain after all,” I suggested, leaving my door open so that the overhead light was on.

“Why?” he asked, settling into the driver’s seat.

I pointed at him. He looked down at himself and groaned, “Aw, man!”, making a disgusted face at the thick, black grease spots decorating him. Arms, legs, shirt, shorts...he was a mess. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed before; the warehouse had been dark, but the police station had no shortage of light.

“I think you could put those in the garage-work category now,” I suggested.

“I just got this shirt last week, too!” Then he sat up straight and half-turned, asking, “What about the back?” in an anxious tone.

“Worse than the front, which figures.” I recognized the logo across the back despite the stains and couldn’t help needling him. “At least they’re not a great band.” He’d attended a concert the week before with a couple friends, all of whom were into heavy metal. They’d all been disappointed by the show, but not too disappointed to buy a t-shirt apiece.

“Yeah, I guess. What about the seat?” Joe answered gloomily, not rising to the bait.

“Oh...yeah, we’ve got smudges, big-time. Never mind, we have upholstery cleaner for that.” I paused as thunder rumbled again and closed the door. “Home, James,” I ordered, and got a quick, retaliatory punch on my arm. I complained about that as Joe started the car, but he ignored me and pulled smoothly away from the curb. I had to remind him to put the headlights on, though. He’s a very good driver for fifteen-and-a-half, just inexperienced. He loves to drive; I keep letting him, figuring he’ll gradually get tired of it, but it’s not working so far.

As the streetlights sped by, my mind- anticipating Mom’s reaction to our evening- drifted to the simple, easy assignment Dad had given us. All he’d wanted us to do was ask around after Slicer, try to find out where his chop-shop was operating. Trust us to contort that into the most complicated possible outcome. The problem with carrying out Dad’s request was that the source who’d given us directions- Clancy- had been very vague. He’d insisted Slicer had been around buying Speed and had no problem describing him, but had suggested three or four places where the car thief might be working. It had seemed only good sense to narrow it down a bit, so we’d tried to do that. And we’d gotten what we’d thought was a stroke of luck: Slicer, marching into a Burger Buffet.

Common sense had suggested that we should tail him, glance around the place- wherever it happened to be- and take the information home for Dad to wrap up. Common sense hadn’t counted on Slicer seeing us and leaving the warehouse door open for us to come in and check things out. Common sense had been lured into a trap and seriously ambushed.

Scary, dangerous, nearly fatal. But we’d pulled it off. At least now, Dad wouldn’t need to wrap up. That was worth the lectures, I decided silently.

We were halfway home, watching the lightning play silently across the sky and waiting for a stoplight to change, when Joe glanced over at me. “Doing okay now?”

“Yeah, mostly,” I answered. He knows how long it takes me to calm down after a scare and does his best to help. “I’m still a little- wound up,” I offered after a moment. “But the shaking quit.”

“Good.” He tossed me a friendly smile. The streetlights turned his blue eyes almost purple and haloed his blond hair with a layer of silver. I smiled back at him, then gestured at the light, which had just changed back to green.

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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.

hardy boys fan fiction