Frank was pissed off. Seriously ‘kill-my-little-brother’ pissed off and it was – no big shock here – Joe’s fault.

Not bad enough that it was Christmas Eve and he was supposed to be picking their parents up at the airport in less than – Frank glanced at his watch and scowled – five hours, but his kid brother had seen fit to get himself concussed and then, in a freaked out moment of concussion-induced paranoia, clocked Frank and took off.

Now the cause of the head injury was strictly Frank’s fault but when the facts were skewed just so, the nineteen-year old could find a way to blame his tow-headed sibling for that too. It wasn’t fair but neither was sucker-punching your big brother when all he was trying to do was get you into the van and take you home!

(Flashback)

‘It’s flat.’ Joe frowned, looking down at the flat tire. ‘Very flat.’

‘Thank you, Captain Obvious,’ Frank teased as he crouched down beside the wheel and wiped at the snowy treads. ‘Heads you change it, tails I do.’

‘What’s this heads and tails crap?’ Joe challenged. ‘I changed the tire last time.’

‘Last time?’ The dark haired sleuth pursed his lips in thoughtful consideration.

‘Mom’s car—’ the eighteen year old offered helpfully, ‘when I gave your girlfriend a ride home? After you got drunk at graduation…? Any of this ringing a bell?’

‘I didn’t get drunk,’ Frank defended, indignantly. ‘Someone spiked the punch!’

‘Uh-huh,’ Joe nodded his head knowingly, ‘all I know is that Callie called me to come ‘rescue’ her rowdy date after she overheard you and Chet planning your route.’ He chuckled, ‘All I can say is that that was a whole lot more of my big brother than I ever wanted to see! I think I’m scarred for life!’

‘Oh shut up.’ Frank’s head drummed at the mere memory even as his face flushed. He was very thankful that Joe had shown up when he did, even if the younger teen never let him live it down, though in typical Joe fashion he never did bring it up unless it was just the two of them.…To this day Frank couldn’t remember whose alcoholic brilliance thought streaking through the ceremony would ever be a good idea!

Joe laughed and then strode around to the back of the van. He opened the back. ‘Bottom line, Streak, it’s your turn to change the tire.’

Grumbling something that made his little brother’s eyebrows rise in either appreciation or shock, Frank took the crowbar and grumbled his way back to the flat tire. He started prying the hub cap off with vehemence as Joe liberated the spare and started to jack the van up.

Frank grunted as he worked. God, he really hated changing tires…. And that was when it happened.

The hub cap stuck. Frank put his muscle behind the crowbar and yanked back –

The hub cap flew loose, the tire iron thrown back by sheer momentum –

Right into Joe.

(End Flashback)

Frank still felt horrible about it but as he rubbed his aching jaw, his sympathy started to blend into something else… He was so going to kill his brother. Once he found him, of course.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

“Excuse me?” A stranger’s voice wove its way through Joe’s unconsciousness.

“Excuse me?” That voice again, followed this time by the briefest of shakes, “Are you all right?”

Slowly he forced his eyes open, squinting, and instantly regretting his decision to do so as they were assaulted by a bright light. “Ow…” He sounded pathetic, even to himself.

“Oh thank heavens,” the woman – an old woman from the slight wavering as she spoke – gushed. “Can I get someone for you? Do you need an ambulance?”

Ambulance? Could she get someone for him?

Both very good questions. Unfortunately he didn’t have an answer for either. “Uh….” His own voice trailed off. Where was he?

“I think we should call 911, Gladys,” another voice joined the first. Equally wavering, and probably equally old. He really needed to get his eyes open and keep them that way. “He doesn’t look good.”

“Nonsense,” the first voice – Gladys – admonished. “You want to call an ambulance for everything. Heavens to Betsy, Myrtle, sometimes I think you get kickbacks or something!”

“He was unconscious – ” Myrtle pointed out.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Gladys argued. “The poor lad might have just been resting his eyes.” She paused and added. “He could be a homeless person.”

“If he is,” Myrtle grunted, “He’s the cleanest-shaven one I’ve ever seen!”

“And just how many homeless people have you seen?”

Head pounding, Joe finally made his eyes work. He saw two of the oldest women he’d ever seen before in his life, and then promptly passed out.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

“Oh come on Chet, you owe me!” Frank growled into the cell phone as he drove aimlessly around the block looking for his brother. He’d already checked out the hospital to see if Joe had somehow made it back there, with no luck. It was as his brother had just vanished into thin air – the thought made him ill.

“Frank. I want to help, really I do, but we’ve got this thing—”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the worried sibling couldn’t help but snarl – a missing Joe made a cranky Frank. “Everybody’s got ‘this thing’. I’m not asking you to move in or anything. Just go hang out at my house in case Joe shows up there. Everyone else is out of town. You’re it, Chet.”

“Okay, fine. But I think you’re overreacting. Joe’s probably just pissed that you hit him with a tire iron and he’s paying you back.”

“I did NOT hit him with a tire iron,” Frank practically shouted, “it was an accident!”

“Six of one, half-dozen of the other, Frank.”

Sometimes Frank really hated Chet Morton but—

“I’ll be at your house in twenty. Is the key still under the proverbial mat?”

Most times he was just grateful to have him as a friend.

“Yeah. And Chet – thanks, man.”

“No worries. Just find Joe ‘cause if I have to eat cold rum cake—”

Frank didn’t give Chet a chance to finish his threat. Satisfied that home base would be manned, the nineteen year old ended the call and then redialed his brother’s cell. Again.

“Pick up. Pick up. PICK UP!” he muttered but after six rings, it went to Joe’s voicemail. Stopping at a red light, Frank let his head rest against the steering wheel briefly, the ache in his jaw replaced by a growing knot in his stomach.

It was Christmas Eve and his little brother was injured and alone, lost somewhere in the bowels of the city. Could anything be worse?

And then as he started through the intersection, a small compact car ran the red light and slammed into the passenger side of the van.

Shaken, but not hurt, Frank just stared blankly out the front window for a moment and came to the very chilling comprehension that, yes, things could get much, much worse.