Hardy Boys: The Wailing Siren Mystery
Last Christmas I was given the complete first-edition hardcover Hardy Boys series, the same one I enjoyed as a child at our cabin during those long summers in Twain Harte. Until now it sat, beautifully aligned and untouched, on our living room bookshelf.
Tonight I finally had a quiet evening in which to crack open The Wailing Siren Mystery. As a lad of seven I'd never noticed how incompetent the other crimefighters like Smuff were written, nor how thickly the ethical lessons were spread via Frank and Joe. Good Christ, if some anonymous helicopter had dropped a wallet containing two thousand bucks into my speedboat at the onset of my mystery novel, the last thing I'd do is turn it in at the police station. I think the first thing I'd do is yell "Fuck, man! Fuck YEAH! Fuckin' A, Frank! Did you see this?! Two-fuckin'-thousand! Ha ha! Man, I am finally gonna...Iola...what the hell are you lookin' at me like that for? What? RETURN it? To who?! What?! The POLICE didn't lose this money, dude! Man, the pilot didn't drop this on accident! This is yeyo shit! Oh, Jesus. Stop it with your 'Dad this, Dad that.' Do me a favor, I think I just dropped a copy of Robert's Rules of Order off the side of the boat by the...yeah, right about...OH I JUST HIT YOU WITH THE THING WE STUN THE MARLIN WITH BYE FRANK"
And then it's all me, Iola Morton, chocolate fondue, bellybuttons, and two grand. Plus a new Hudson, which probably costs like $12.50, and a pound of weed, which doesn't exist yet, so I'm out zero on that action.