Prologue:
In the 1920's the Alger phenomena of the dime-novel had mated with the `school days' books and spawned a much larger industry of contract-written `boys adventure' series. These came in various `flavors' ( ranch boys, railroad boys etc ) but only so far as there are varieties of vanilla. The heroes were always whiter than mayonnaise, the villains were never more then conventionally villainous, violence was minimal, and twenty-some short chapters would see evil thwarted and progressive American capitalism upheld. Again. Until the next book.
There was always a next book. The publishers were capitalists too.
I believe that the Hardy Boys may still be under active copyright, while Tom Swift and other titles created by Victor Appleton have lapsed into public domain. Others, such as the Radio Boys, the Railroad Boys, the Motion Picture Boys, the Don Studly (oops - I mean Don Sturdy!) series, and numberless more have vanished below the legal horizon. To what extent any active claims still exist to the characters used, all intent at infringement is hereby disclaimed. To what extent any original characters are created, or novel situations are created for characters in public domain, the rights to that creation is retained by the author.
As this work is officially one of satire, I consider all such references to characters under copyright to fall within the
doctrine of `fair use'.
Chapter 1: Queer Encounter
"Get your hands off my cock."
Such were the opening words in what would prove to be one of the queerest adventures that Frank and Joe Hardon would ever set out upon, and likewise one of the most twisted criminal conspiracies they would ever uncover. But at the time Frank Hardon was so addressed, all consideration of an unlawful nature was absent from his mind.
Frank Hardon and his younger brother Joe had driven down to the Gayport train station to pick up some handcuffs and similar restraints ordered by their father, the famous detective and crime buster Futter Hardon. Normally the senior Hardon would have waited on the regular parcel post, but the combination of their recent graduation and the departure of their usual gang of boy friends to their various summer employments had left the two energetic lads itching for any diversion. A good hard felony would have been their preference, but in the absence of criminal conspiracy even a simple errand might be called on to break the tedium.
`That's my cock, I tell you!" A middle aged man in a shabby plaid shirt grabbed the wooden crate that pressed into Futter Hardon's package. His voice was as rough as his ill shaven face, which in turn echoed his ragged overalls and unpolished boots. A farmer, Frank deduced, and not one of the more prosperous sort. "You have no business touching it!"
The whole pile rocked forward, nearly knocking Frank off his feet.
"Then perhaps you should keep it out of my bottom." Frank turned, cautiously trying to unhook his natty tweed jacket from the crate. In the press, on rough slat had caught on the tailor-creased hem. Franks jacket was new, and cut in the latest Collegiate style. He had no wish to see it damaged before he even got to collage.
"Rude boys." The shabby man jerked off the crate.
"Wait!" Frank could feel a trouser button give way.
The man ignored him, stomping off and leaving Frank clutching his fly.
"Sorry." A young man sprinted up from the loading platform. He was dressed much as the other man, and had something of his coloration, but the denim trousers were much snugger, revealing the young man's lithe and athletic form to it's best advantage. His blue and red plaid shirt was worn open, showing much of the thin undershirt below, which in turn gave evidence of his hairless but muscular chest.
The newcomer pulled from his shirt pocket a simple mending kit. "Let me take care of it."
He undid Franks belt, slid his palm behind the trouser band, and in a few stitches repaired the damage. "Good as new."
"Thank you." Frank meant every word. He had purchased the outfit in New York just a week before. The brown of the pattern perfectly matched his brown hair, and set off his coffee colored eyes. In it, he felt quite the dapper dude.
"Sorry about that." The young man rebuckled Franks belt. "Uncle Roger has been nervous all day. His new business partners
were supposed to meet him, but their train was delayed down south. "He looked around, as if by fortune he might spot the absent figures. "I suppose we will have to wait here for them. That or... are you local boys?
"Most of our lives." Frank held out his hand. "I am Frank Hardon, and this is my brother Joe."
Joe likewise held out his hand at the introduction.
"I'm Randy Tush." The newcomer took it, clasping Joe's palm firmly but with attractive grace. "I'm afraid I'm not `in' with the locals yet, but if you are?"
"We live a few miles out," Joe answered distantly, "but I dare say we are as up on things as any."
"Do you know where we might rent a car?"
Unfortunately, Joe did not. There were a few taxi's and truck haulers, but as the train had just come in most of them were occupied upon their regular business. Still, it seemed a shabby trick to leave a fellow stranded, especially one as attractive and friendly as Randy seemed to be.
"Where are you headed?"
"Tyte Tush Chicken Ranch." Randy answered.
Joe frowned. He had never heard to the place, which he would have remarked save that to do so would have put paid to his earlier claims of general wisdom. Joe was normally an honest and modest young man, never given to pushing himself forward, but or some reason he felt the need to rise up in this new boys opinion.
Randy must have read the expression. "It used to be the old Buggerall place.
"Oh yes." Joe smiled. "I remember Mr. Toss mentioning that."
And indeed he did. The shopkeeper had been pleased when the old farm down by Sod's Creek had been reoccupied, as quite a substantial order for goods and furnishings had been placed though his establishment.
Futter Hardon had not debated Mr. Toss, but from their father's silence Frank and Joe had concluded that their father had a somewhat different opinion of the new enterprise. This had lead Frank to comment that their might well be some dirty business involved. If so, he had hoped that Futter Hardon might include his oldest son in any investigation. Frank was headed for college in the fall, and he generally had a good will towards his further education, but he had made no pretense the he would not prefer to apprentice as a detective instead.
Joe also had been less delighted. He knew he would not be working with his father yet, for being the younger by a full year he was still in high school, but that in no way made him the less eager to be `on the trail'. Also, Sod's Creek fed some of the counties best fishing spots and swimming holes. He and his good friends Buff and Phil had spent many a hot afternoon in such secluded pleasures, and as an energetic boy he was disinclined to any industry that might impinge on those distractions.
Still? He checked over the red-haired lad before him. This Randy lad seemed a cheerful fellow, and given that one might expect to exchange accommodation for accommodation? Joe felt a rising desire to get on the handsome young man's `good side'.
Joe glanced at Frank, who nodded. Their father had been in no special need. The various bits of bondage could wait until tonight.
Joe smiled at Randy Tush. "My brother and I can give you a ride."
"Could you?" Randy's smile was as bright as his blue eyes. "That would be swell."
Hitching up his trousers, he ran off to collect his Uncle.
Frank and Joe watched until Randy's backside vanished into the rail station crowd.
Frank nudged his brother. "You just want to get him in the back seat."
"Who wouldn't?" Joe hoisted the box onto his shoulder. "But I was also thinking that this will give us an excuse to get a closer look at this new `Chicken Ranch' ."
*********************************
"Got to stop here."
Roger Tush grunted, one thick middle finger aimed at Mr. Toss's mercantile establishment.
"We don't have room." Frank answered tightly.
Not to mention that Frank had no desire to spoil the roadsters fresh interior with bags of rough burlap. The crate on the old farmers lap was burden enough, although ( and for this Frank was grateful ) it did not seem to stink as much as chickens did generally.
"Can't turn out the product without it." Tush eliminated the older Hardon boy's denial.
Frank Hardon applied the breaks, but it was with a certain hesitation.
At the rail station, Franks first encounter with Roger Tush had been less then ideal. Left there, as Frank would have preferred the man to be, he might happily never have spoken to a Tush again.
Unfortunately, it had proved impractical too leave them there.
While Roger Tush had impressed Frank only in the negative, the younger Randy Tush had pressed upon Joe Hardon in quite the opposite way. This Frank understood. Randy Tush was a clean and handsome young man whose vigorous and athletic slimness lived of to every promise of his name.
When he had agreed to drive the pair, it was to forward his brothers acquaintance with the entirely agreeable Randy Tush. For that reason, and for simple courtesy, the two younger men had piled together into the roadster's rumble seat, leaving the front seat to Roger Tush and the scarce pleasures of his companionship to Frank.
The older Tush had not improved upon acquaintance.
"You shall have to have it delivered, then." Frank answered proffered.
The farmer looked from the store front, to Randy, and back at the store. "Best just leave the boy here. He can wait for the partners, while I get home and take care of my cock."
"Randy can sit on my lap." Joe inserted. "Then we can take a few bags." He reached under the seat. "Here, Randy. Help me spread this blanket. If you sit on my lap, the corn can have the rest of the rumble seat. That is, of you don't mind closer quarters."
"Not at all." Randy quickly grasped the two ends of the blanket, tucking it carefully over the tufted seat back and around the passenger before settling himself between Joe's knees.
"You go and get the bags, Mr. Tush." Joe urged. "Randy and I will just stay here and talk about..."
Randy smiled over his shoulder. "...whatever comes up."
******************************
Thus the voyage was continued with Joe and Randy pressed together. Still, the two took it in good spirits, laughing each time the rutted country road jolted the roadster and sent the two boys tumbling under their blanket.
Mr. Roger Tush, however, enjoyed no such cheer. He took every jerk of the car as a personal affront, or rather as an assault on his cherished cock, and hissed harshly if Frank took a sharp corner.
All told, Frank decided that his brother had picked the more comfortable ride. Still, as all things good or ill must sometime end, so it was with this. After a space of thirty minutes or so Frank steered the roadster up the narrow clay road that lead to the old Buggerall Farm. Now, arching over the old gates, he could read a new sign. Tyte Tush Chicken Ranch, the freshly painted letters read. Below that was the motto. `Fresh, young, juicy, and tender.'
Well, Frank thought, at least the man had pride in his work. Thus proving that even the least pleasant might still have their manly attributes.
The farm house was also freshly painted. It sat in the middle of a grassy field, with a high hedge shielding it on four sides. Only one space was open, giving entrance to the house and yard.
The yard was surprisingly empty of poultry.
Perhaps they were kept in the small barn that broke the hedge to the north side?
Frank steered though the opening and eased up to the steps of the house.
At the sound of the motor, several more young men scrambled down from the porch.
"Hey! Randy!" One handsome blonde boy leapt over the porch rail. "Are these new workers?"
"No." Randy eased out from under the blankets. "Just some nice local boys I meet at the train station."
"Pity." Abandoning further introduction, the blonde boy turned his attention to the corn. "We could use the help." Loading several bags on his companions, he took the rest himself and headed to the barn.
As he passed Roger Tush, he added. "I didn't sign up to work my ass day *and* night."
"No." Tush growled back. "Just to sit on it."
Climbing from the car, he hurried after the working boys.
"Sorry about Dick." Randy said apologetically. "I for one am grateful for the ride."
"My pleasure." Joe held the blanket as Randy readjusted his trousers.
"Not yet." Randy laughed. "But maybe... if there's anything I could do to say thank you?"
"Perhaps we could buy some eggs?" Frank asked from the front seat. "Our mother might bake us a cake if we brought home fresh eggs."
"Sorry again." Randy slid from the car. "We don't have eggs. This is strictly a rooster sort of chicken ranch."
*********************************
"Now that was a queer thing." Frank said to Joe as they motored way from the farm. "I've never heard of a chicken ranch for roosters. Have you?"
Never." Joe answered. "Do you think they just sell their meat?"
"I suppose they must." Frank considered. "Although from what I have heard roosters are tough. I should think that a boy chicken would have to be very young if it was to be desirable."
"Yet the sign promises something tender and juicy." Joe rubbed his chin. "This whole business seems rather queer. Do you think we should discuss it with father?"
"Not just yet." Frank frowned. While eager for any mystery, he did not want to be thought the sort of gay fribble that saw odd angles in every common event. "I think we should keep an eye on Mr. Tush and his boys.
Chapter 2: Train Swotting
Frank Hardon held open the boxcar door as his brother Joe climbed inside.
"Always one for the back door, aren't you Frank?"
"You know Dad's rule, Joe. A good detective gets his man any way he can."
Frank remembered their conversation as they motored away from the Tyte Tush Chicken Ranch. Both Joe and he had been convinced that something suspicious was taking place in the back side of the ranch - and both agreed that they were just the boys to plumb the depths of that mystery.
Frank had said as much as they drove away. "I think we should keep an eye on Mr. Tush and his boys.
"I don't mind keeping an eye on Tush." Joe had answered.
Frank chuckled. "You mean you wish to keep an eye on that Randy fellow."
"As if you weren't at all interested in Dick." Joe teased in return. He and Frank were the best of chums, but that did not mean Joe would not take every opening his brother might offer.
Frank smiled at the memory of the blonde farm hand. He had only just met the lad - hardly had spoken enough to claim more then the lightest acquaintance, but something in him yearned for a deeper contact with the handsome boy. "I must confess, he was striking looking. If Mr. Tyte would permit it, I thought I might invite him to go swimming at the old hole."
Joe bounced in the leather seat, indicating his total agreement. "I bet Randy would like that too." If Frank had shown a partiality to Dick, it was little compared to Joe's inclination to Randy.
Frank chuckled. "I'm not sure my old hole is big enough for all of us."
"You just want the hole all to your self." Joe said. "If you had your way, no one but you and your Dick would share a hole."
"And you want Randy in yours."
Joe did not argue. Frank was right.
"I would never cut off my own brother." Frank signaled right, steering the roadster back onto the county road."I don't deny that a great hole is hard to come by, but even the best is no fun if you have to play with yourself."
"That's why I have a brother." Joe gripped the dashboard as the car swerved. "I never have to pay with myself when I have you to play with me. Still, I'm always glad for the chance to fool around with other boys."
Frank agreed.
"Both Dick and Randy are new in town." Joe continued. "Surely as boys to boys we should offer them some social intercourse."
"It would be fun to play with Dick, but I still say there is something queer at the Chicken Ranch. If they are part of it?"
"Randy seemed like a very fresh lad." A dark cloud passed over Joe's usually sunny expression - an expression unsuited and unnatural to the young Hardon's native optimism. "I do hope they aren't involved in anything wrong."
Frank patted his brothers hand. "Randy seemed a straight sort. I'm sure that whatever is going on out at the Chicken Ranch, it is happening behind his back."
"If this Tush is carrying on his business `under the covers' - so to speak - well, that's his right. No law says you have to come out to your neighbors. " Joe's frown deepened. ."But I for one would sit easier if I knew for sure that that business was."
"There must be some way to uncover Tush."
Frank eased the car to a stop at the crossroads. To the left was Gayport, to the right the road that lead to their home. He looked down both carefully, checking not only for traffic but perhaps for inspiration.
Perhaps inspiration would have come, but Joe ejaculated first. "Why don't we head back to the train station? Randy mentioned that the partners would be coming today."
"Good idea." Frank pulled back his stick. " We can get a look at this Tyte fellow, and judge for ourselves if he is 100% straight."
************************
So they had gone back to the railroad station. The southern train had indeed come. So had any number of men. None of them, however, seemed the one Frank and Joe desired.
"Is that Mr. Tyte?" Frank had asked the station master.
"No." The man had answered, running a thick finger under his silver-studded black leather collar. (Gayport's station master took his title very seriously indeed. Even in the hottest weather he retained his high black boots and wide-strapped leather harness. ) "That's Will Buggerall. Some sort of cousin, I think. He inherited the farm when old man Buggerall died."
"I recognize the man he is with. Bob Bollock. He is a bad sort, I fear. He was arrested last year for annoying sheep. He would have faced a hard sentence, except that ..." Joe smiled at the memory. "The sheep declined to testify."
"Careful!" Frank grabbed Joe's arm. "We don't want to expose ourselves."
He slid behind a barrel as the two men walked by arm and arm, their heads together, whispering intimately.
Joe turned to his brother Frank. "I wonder what they are discussing?"
"I couldn't hear." Frank answered. "Lets wait until they move away from the train. I want to get a look at that boxcar."
"Can we?" Joe adjusted himself cautiously. "Buggerall might not appreciate our penetrating his private matters."
"If he has nothing to hide, he has no reason to protest." Frank fingered the long shaft that locked the boxcar door. "It's not like I'm going to molest anything. I just want to find out if Buggerall is here for Tyte's cock."
Lifting themselves into the box, Frank and Joe carried out a swift survey. It was indeed as the station master had pronounced. Half the car held bags of grain. Most of the rest was piled high with hay.
"Someone was here." Joe picked up a ragged pair of pants. "A man."
Frank dug though the scattered piles of hay. For his labors he was rewarded with a second, and even more tattered, pair of trousers. "Two men." He sniffed the stains on the buttonless fly. "Two very friendly men."
Joe stepped over to inspect the clue. "Do you think either one was Tyte?"
"Maybe at first." Frank laughed knowingly, holding up an empty tub of white lard. "But I don't think either of them were the man we are looking for. These were just two `bums' taking it `on the stroll'. They must have figured this for Sunday - complete with a sweet mouthful of chicken."
Frank gestured to the other side of the boxcar.
Joe followed.
In the farthest end sat several rough crates. From the squawks and clucks carried from within, these were the roosters Randy and his boss had mentioned.
"I guess Tyte really does intend give Tush the bird." Joe bent down until his face was cock-level. "At least to judge by the piece of tail that I just got."
He plucked a feather from his lip.
"I'm glad one of us received *something*" Frank answered. "Help me jerk off this box. I want a better look at Mr. Tyte's package."
Joe did as he was told, then waited patiently while Frank slid his hand into the narrow opening.
"Just regular cocks?" Joe queried.
"On the small side - but if you don't mind skinny and short they look like every other cock I've ever seen."
Living in the country as they did, a curious lad like Frank had certainly seen enough cocks to have garnered a fair knowledge of the varieties on offer. Joe considered the matter. "Do you think they are doing something peculiar with them?"
"I don't know. But the way that Tush kept pulling at his? This case is starting to prick my suspicious side."
Why Frank wondered, did he feel his curiosity swelling even as he looked around this innocuous box car. At least, Frank corrected mentally, a box car that *seemed* innocent. So many of the Hardon boys cases had started thus. One moment they were going gaily about their normal congress, and in the next moment they were thrust into the slam-bang of a criminal conspiracy.
Perhaps, then, Frank should have been prepared for the entry from behind.
"Are you Tyte?"
*END CHAPTER TWO*
cKKR 2004