Oh Lordy, if a bullet hits the gas tank, I’ll be nothing but vapor!

But he had no further time for thought, for the Aztek bumped down sharply into the ditch alongside the highway, and came to an abrupt, shuddering halt. Joe was flung hard against his seatbelt, and felt the belt tighten with unyielding force, cutting into his body – just as the airbag deployed, almost directly in his face!

Turn off the engine…turn it off…. "Oohhhhh…" Joe groaned softly and moved to obey the strident voice screaming at him from inside his head. He reached under the airbag and fumbled for the key; finding it, he managed to kill the motor, then sagged limply against the airbag for another moment, winded and slightly out of it.

Come on, Joe…take stock. What hurts? Well, at the moment, everything did – but really, he didn’t think anything was broken. It hurts to breathe – maybe a rib broken? Does it hurt that much? He tried for another breath, shallower this time, and decided that his ribs were probably still intact. Bruised, maybe, but not broken. Carefully, Joe shifted his legs, and then tried moving his arms, and was relieved to find that everything worked okay, without too much pain. He’d managed not to hit his face on anything, he noted with relief, thinking of Megan’s broken nose and cut lips. Poor Red….OUCH! Gingerly, he felt his shoulder and chest, where the seatbelt had cut in. That’s the worst, right there…going to have a welt there, that’s for sure!

As he sat there doing a mental inventory of his injuries, Joe could faintly hear horns blowing, cars passing, and…people talking? A knocking against the window? He suddenly realized that he had been in traffic, and most certainly someone would have stopped, and perhaps called for rescue vehicles to come to the accident scene. He lifted his head from where it rested on the airbag, and looked out the side window – and was startled to see several people standing beside the car, staring in at him! They seemed to be trying to get his door open – why are they having trouble with it? Oh…door locks….

He shook his head a little, noticing that he had a slight headache and wondering why. I didn’t hit my head, did I? No, he was quite sure he hadn’t hit his head. Maybe his neck? Whiplash? This is too close to Megan’s accident to be funny! he thought ruefully, and cautiously swiveled his head back and forth, ignoring the people standing outside the Aztek. His neck seemed okay; the muscles were just tight and stiff. Whew! Joe was lucky, and he knew it! Again, someone knocked on the window. Realizing that the people OUTSIDE the car probably wanted INSIDE, he reached for the button that unlocked all the doors.

One of the men standing outside the car pulled the door open as soon as he heard the click of the lock release. "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, peering in at Joe.

"I think so," Joe responded vaguely. He blinked at the man, who appeared to be in his 30’s, with brown hair and an extremely worried expression in his blue eyes.

"I was in the next lane over," the fellow continued, "I saw the gun! You’re lucky to be alive, you know?"

"Yeah – I know." Joe summoned a grin, albeit a rather shaky one.

"I called 911; do you think you can get out, or do you want to wait for the paramedics?" The man cocked his head, listening to approaching sirens. "Should be here in just a minute."

"I’m fine, I think. I can get out." Joe shoved the airbag out of the way and unfastened the seatbelt with a sigh of relief. He slid out from under the airbag and turned in the seat, seeking solid ground for his feet. To his surprise, he found his knees were shaking.

"My name’s Ellis – Ellis Perry," the man introduced himself. He put a steadying hand on Joe’s elbow, as the younger Hardy stood up and wavered a little.

"I’m Joe Hardy," Joe replied. He leaned against the Aztek’s warm frame, thankful for the support. "Thanks for stopping." He looked around at the others who had come to his aid, who were now returning to their cars, since Joe seemed to be functioning okay. "Thanks," he repeated a little louder, to them, and received a few waves in return.

"No biggie," Ellis Perry smiled a little. "Anything to help. Say—" he continued, as Joe staggered slightly again, "maybe you’d better sit down again – before you fall down."

"No," Joe braced a hand against the car once more. "I’m okay. Just shaken up…a little winded, maybe." Cautiously, he lifted his shirt to inspect the damage the seatbelt had inflicted; as he had expected, a red welt was already rising, running diagonally across his chest.

Ellis Perry winced when he saw it. "Ouch – that’s got to hurt!" he exclaimed.

Joe let the shirt drop and shrugged slightly. "I’ll live. I’ve been hurt worse playing football."

The sirens’ strident whoops announced the arrival of the rescue squads, and a police car. Somehow, Joe wasn’t surprised when he saw a familiar face and form emerge from that police car.

"I didn’t think detectives answered car-crash calls, Con," he tried to joke as Riley and the medics converged on him. "Aren’t you out of your bailiwick?"

Con tried to glare, but failed miserably; concern was etched all over his face. "When I heard that an Aztek had been involved in a vehicle accident, I had a sneaking hunch it might be you. Are you all right?"

"Yeah—" Joe sighed. "I’m fine." He waved the EMT’s away impatiently, anxious to tell Riley what had occurred. "I came out better than the car did. Con, somebody shot at me! Some joker pulled in front of me, then stuck a pistol out the window and fired! I headed for the ditch—" He stopped, recalling that telltale pinging noise from the rear of the car. "Something hit the back left fender." He pushed himself away from the support of the Aztek’s hood, and went to inspect the damage. He frowned, seeing slight pock-marks and thwacks in the paint, rather than the holes he’d expected. "That’s weird! Did somebody use scattershot?"

Con looked closely at the marks on the fender, then bent down and carefully searched the ground, widening his search as he approached the pavement. After a minute or so, he picked something up and straightened, grinning. "Nope," he said. "Not scattershot. BB’s."

"Huh?" Joe stared at the police detective, dumbfounded. "What do you mean, BB’s?" he demanded.

"Look." Con held out his hand, showing the little round pellet he held. He dropped it into Joe’s hand. "BB. As in BB-gun. Joe, you got shot at with a BB-gun. I’m not surprised you were fooled, though. They make those things now so they look exactly like a real pistol, even close up! Same weight and everything."

Joe gazed down at the BB in his palm, feeling both foolish and relieved.

"Can you tell me anything else?" Con asked. "Make of the car? Person driving it – and shooting at you?"

"Um – black car, I think. Maybe a Toyota."

Ellis Perry had been listening silently to all of this, and now he spoke up. "No, it was a Hyundai Sonata. Dark blue, not black. The guy inside it was wearing a baseball cap of some kind – also dark. But I didn’t see his face – just the gun!"

"Any numbers from the plate?" Con asked, jotting notes.

"No," Joe shook his head. "I was too busy dodging."

"It never occurred to me to look until it was too late," Perry confessed. "It all happened really fast. After Joe here hit the ditch, I was more concerned over him than the other guy. He must have been nuts to do something like that with witnesses all around though!"

"But even witnesses don’t help much in some cases," Con pointed out gently. "I don’t have much to go on, here." He snapped his notebook closed. "Joe, sit down in the back seat and let the medics check you over," he advised. "I’ll radio for a tow truck to get you out of here. Your car’s probably drivable, once it’s out of the ditch."

Joe, with a quick word of thanks to the departing Ellis Perry, sighed and obeyed. He hated to admit it, but it was a relief to sit down again; all the adrenaline rush of anger had ebbed. Now he was feeling more discomfort, and he discovered he must have been smacked harder than he realized by the air bag; he was sporting a bruise on his left cheek that hadn’t been there before.

He patiently endured the medics’ examination, conceding that yes, the seat belt had raised quite a welt, yes, he was bruised, but part of that was from football practice, not the accident; no, he didn’t need to be taken to the hospital for x-rays, and yes, if he started feeling worse, he’d see a doctor. At last the medics gave him an ‘all-clear,’ and left, followed by Con Riley, who assured Joe that he’d be in touch if anything turned up on his assailant.

The tow truck arrived, and pulled the Aztek back onto the road; the mechanic with the truck helped Joe stow the now-deflated airbag out of the way, advising him that he’d need to see the dealer, to have it fixed properly. Thankful that Fenton insisted on a Triple-A Plus membership, Joe displayed his card, signed for the tow, and at last climbed back into his Aztek, sighing and shaking his head.

*****

Frank whistled softly to himself as he finished up his one-handed polish job on April’s plane. He hadn’t needed to polish her plane, he knew – it was really Jason’s or Joe’s task, not his, and if April was feeling persnickety about it, she could always do it herself! Since the newness hadn’t yet worn off for her, she just might, too! But time was hanging heavy on his hands at the moment.

He turned, intending to step away from the craft, and inadvertently banged his left arm against a wing. Ouch! Frank grimaced as pain shot through his arm. Damned cast! He wished he could just tear the dratted thing off right then and there, and be done with it. Of course, it wasn’t the cast that hurt, really, or even the broken bones, any more – it was his upper arm, where the muscles had been damaged. This whole process of trying to heal, since he’d been hurt, had been very painful. Having had at least one broken bone before in his life, Frank knew for a certainty that this time around, it had been much worse! There had been nights, since the rockslide, that he’d fervently wished he could just saw his arm off at the shoulder, it had hurt so much! Luckily, those nights seemed to be over, though….

Because he was getting better; he knew that. For one, because his doctor had said so. For another, it really didn’t hurt all that much any more, most of the time. The bones in his arm had mended cleanly, and the injured muscles were slowly healing too. And everyone – the doctors in Reno, and the ones here in Bayport – said he could get full use of it back, if he was tenacious enough. Well, I am tenacious enough – and I will be! I’ll get back to 100%…eventually.

Frank patted April’s plane. He really wanted to fly again. He was a pilot, after all, not a paper-pusher, and not a custodian! He didn’t want to keep on doing paperwork in the office, even though he knew he was good at it. And most especially, he wanted to NOT polish planes, and NOT dust – for the thousandth time! I hope I never, ever have to dust anything again, in my whole life, he vowed. If there’s any justice in the world, I’ll never dust again. As he mentally repeated his words, a line from an old movie rose in his brain, and he laughingly revised it, misquoting Scarlett O’Hara: "As God is my witness, I’ll never dust anything ever again…"

Fortunately for dusting – or anything else – he was nearly done for the day at Wayne’s World. He’d gotten all of the flight logs inputted into the computer – he’d discovered, through trial-and-error, that if he set the keyboard in his lap, he could manage some left-handed typing. After all, his fingers still worked fine! Even working one-handed, he could do it fairly fast, if he put his mind to it. He’d updated all of the accounting files from the check stubs that Jack had provided. And now, he’d even polished April’s plane, just out of the kindness of his heart! Frank went into the office and sat down in his chair behind the desk, to log his hours into the computer for Jack. And I can always study….

"Hey, Frankenstein!"

Frank raised his head, smiling. He knew that voice – and that nickname. He swiveled the chair to face the doorway, and saw Dani Tanner standing on the threshold…and he wasn’t even remotely surprised to see Jack Wayne standing close beside her! Jack looks almighty proud of himself, being with Dani – well, who can blame him, she’s a dish, after all! Frank’s smile widened to a grin. And Dani – she looks pretty happy, herself. In fact, Ms. Tanner, you look pleased as punch with yourself! Ah, young love….

"Hiya, Dani – Jack." Still grinning, Frank lazily swiveled his chair back and forth, then completely around.

"What’s this, do I pay you to rotate chairs now?" Jack cracked.

"I’ve already done all the work around here," Frank informed him loftily, continuing to swing the chair in half-circles. He enumerated his tasks for his boss: "I’ve done the flight log input, I’ve entered all the checks and deposits, all the inventorying is updated, I’ve put the timesheets for Joe and Jason and me in, and—" he paused for emphasis, "I’ve polished April’s plane."

Jack rubbed a hand across his mouth, trying to hide a smile. "Is that all?" he asked, attempting to sound severe.

"Isn’t it enough? Joe should be here any time now, to finish loading your plane for tonight. You do remember that you have a flight this evening, don’t you?" Frank exaggerated the patience in his voice.

"Yes, I remember." Jack nodded. "But it’s just a short hop, and there’s hardly anything to load; I’ll do it myself. Anyway, that’s why Dani’s here – she wants to go with me for this run."

"Brave woman." Frank exchanged grins with Dani.

"I’ve never had a personal pilot before," Dani said, perching on the corner of the desk. "In fact, I’ve never been up in a small plane before! It sounds like fun!"

"You’ll like it," Frank assured her. "There’s nothing quite like it."

"I hope so….And I had an idea," she continued. "While we’re up there, we’re going to fly over the school campus – just to see what we can see from a birds-eye view. Something that isn’t noticeable from the ground."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a good idea," he said approvingly. "So far there hasn’t seemed to be any other pattern – maybe you’ll see some sort of physical one."

"We’ll both look for a pattern," Jack interposed. "After all, two sets of eyes are better than one."

Dani frowned a little. "I hope one set of eyes is concentrating on flying the plane," she objected.

"Hey, any good pilot can fly with one set of eyes on the instruments, the view, and investigating an arson!" Jack assured her.

"In that case," Frank said dryly, "maybe I should be doing the flight instead of you!" Jack laughed, and playfully pretended to smack the elder Hardy on the back of the head. "On that note, however," Frank continued, rising to his feet, "I have a girlfriend to rescue from school and go car-shopping with. I assume Joe will be here any second for his shift; there’s stuff to go in April’s plane, if you don’t need him for yours….In fact—"

Frank checked his watch again, and frowned. Joe should have been here before now. I suppose something could have delayed him, made him run late, but…what? He was going to see President Mitchell…. Frank relaxed. Maybe Joe was still with Mitchell, and for some reason was being held up – and he was too polite to tell Mitchell he had to leave? Oh, come on, Joe can tell anyone anything! Too shy? Even with the college president? Not a chance!

"Well, I’m sure he’ll be here. See you guys later – have a nice flight." Frank walked out of the building, still frowning slightly as he headed for his own car. He had just tossed his bag into the passenger seat when he heard a familiar motor, and Joe pulled up beside him in the Aztek – a slightly more battered Aztek than Frank remembered from this morning. Joe’s precious vehicle now had a dent on the passenger side fender, and what appeared to be pock marks and dings in the paint, on the back left fender.

Joe got out of the car, looking disgusted. "Hi," he muttered, and slammed the door.

"You’re late – what happened? What happened to your car?" Frank demanded. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, sure, I’m just dandy – for a guy who just got pulled out of a ditch after someone used me for target practice!" Joe snarled.

"TARGET practice!" Frank was highly disturbed, now. He took another look at his brother, and noticed his left cheek was reddened and swollen. "Come on, come here. Sit down." Frank pulled open the back door of the Saturn and ushered Joe to the back seat, his hand firm on his brother’s elbow. He didn’t miss Joe’s grimace of pain as he sank into the soft upholstery. "You’re hurt…?"

"No, I’m fine – just a few bangs, that’s all," Joe insisted. "The EMT’s already checked me over. Now I’m just mad, damn it!" He slumped forward, resting his head on one hand, but careful not to touch his bruised cheek.

"Tell me what happened!" Frank repeated the request with urgency.

"It’s a long story," Joe sighed. "I went to see President Mitchell at his house – oh, and by the way, I found out who else was in that cut-up picture," he interrupted himself to add. "It’s Mitchell’s sister, and his nephew – scrubby-looking little guy by the name of Kirk Moncrief. Sound familiar?"

Frank nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "That guy keeps popping up, doesn’t he? So Kirk Moncrief is the president’s nephew…interesting." Wonder if Megan knows that her ‘friend’ Kirk is Mitchell’s nephew? "Okay, so we know who was in the picture – anything else?"

"President Mitchell didn’t really know much else," Joe conceded. "Or – if he knows anything else, he doesn’t want to say what he knows. He still wants us to figure out who’s framing him, although I don’t believe anything is pointing to him after the art building fire, is there?"

"Not that I know of."

"Mitchell couldn’t think of any particular beef that Students For Earth might have against him," Joe continued his narrative. "But he did mention that one project – the Adirondack one – and he said that it was found not to be any good, just like you said. But he said only one guy was upset about it being cancelled. It wasn’t like the whole group was up in arms about it, or anything."

"Did he say who that one guy was?" Frank asked curiously.

"No." Joe shrugged in apology. "He said he thinks the arsonist must be a deranged student, or faculty member – but that he couldn’t come up with any likely possibilities."

"Well, he’s got the deranged part right, anyway," his brother agreed. "Now, go on – what does all this have to do with the wreck?"

"Well, I was coming from Mitchell’s house – to come here – and some jerk pulled around me on the road, and then pulled a gun on me – and fired it!" Joe’s voice went tight with fury. "I didn’t even think about it, I drove off the road like nobody’s business." He sighed. "Right into a ditch…a good thing, too."

"Did the car get hit?" Frank demanded. "And are you hurt anywhere other than that knock on the cheek?"

"That’s from the airbag, I think," Joe mumbled. "I’ve got a whale of a seatbelt welt, but other than that, I’m fine. It just shook me up, basically. And yeah, the car got hit – in the back."

Frank walked around the Aztek to inspect the damage. "Those are the strangest bullet holes I’ve ever seen!" he commented, squatting down to look more closely at them.

Joe sighed. This was no fun at all. In fact, it was downright embarrassing. "They weren’t bullets," he muttered sheepishly. "They were BB’s."

Frank did a double-take – and tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter. "BB’s?" he asked, when he could control his voice.

"Yeah." Joe nodded glumly. "Isn’t that pathetic? But there you go – a ruined paint job, a dent, MY bruised ribs and cheek – all because of BB’s! You know, Frank, sometimes I think the Aztek’s cursed, I really do! I’ve only had it five months, and twice in three months it’s been damaged!"

Frank returned to Joe’s side and patted his shoulder consolingly, still chuckling a little. "The insurance company’s going to love this one. Well, let’s talk about it later, okay? I need to go rescue Megan, and you have a plane to load. April’s, that is. Jack said he’ll do his own; there’s not much to it."

"Okay." Joe climbed out of the Saturn’s back seat and shut the door. "I’ll see you at home, then. Guess I’d better get to work."

Frank halted him with a gesture and gently tilted his brother’s face to examine the swollen cheek once again. "You SURE you’re okay?"