Joe hung up the phone after another 20 minutes of speculation from Frank and cautionary words from his Dad. With all the excitement of the fight and seeing fancy cars for the first time, Joe had almost forgotten that Danny Spendlove was still unconscious in the hospital- a coma lasting 4 days thus far. Joe resolved to work harder at discerning his attacker.

Joe walked from the office in Paul's mechanic shop and went down the stairs to the basement. The building consisted of a large garage, with a door to the office where Paul kept his files and met with customers. A bathroom and cleaning closet were adjacent. A narrow flight of stairs led from the garage down to the open basement which held old air compressors, tools, and supplies. One corner had been cleaned and spruced up, and now held a refrigerator, a pool table, and some couches where Ron, Elijah Crowther, Adam Biggs, and Randy DiAngelo were sitting and talking.

Upon his arrival downstairs, Ron turned to Joe and asked, "How's the investigation going for your Dad?"

Joe responded seriously, "We need to know more about Paul. His past, why he changed his name, all that."

Elijah, a lanky black boy who seemed to be the most forthcoming of the bunch piped up, "Well we know Paul did time, but it was terrible. He don't like to talk about it."

The other boys murmured with assent. This time Adam Biggs spoke. Adam lived up to his last name in every way except his voice, which was surprisingly soft. "The only time he brings it up is when one of us toes the line. Last year Danny and I broke a few windows. Paul was furious, and he kept going on about how terrible prison was. He was shaken. None of us have done anything illegal since then."

Joe frowned. "What about your drunk driving, Ron?"

Ron brushed the question aside, "That was a special occasion, Hardy. The point is, we don't know of nobody who'd have it out for Paul. You should just ask him yourself."

"Well, where is he?" Joe asked.

"Where do you think? He's been at the hospital with Danny since he got attacked. The only time he left was to go talk to your old man."

That made sense to Joe, except- "What about the shop? Surely it hasn't been closed all that time?"

The boys laughed. Elijah explained, "We wouldn't leave Paul high and dry like that. We've been taking turns, two at a time, running the place."

Randy spoke, he was the quietest and smallest of the bunch. "Good thing too. There've been a lot of customers."

Joe was just about to comment on how impressed he was with this arrangement when he was interrupted by the telephone ringing from the upstairs office.

Eli stood up and went to answer it. "Speaking of…"

The boys continued their conversation, talking again about cars, while Joe sat and thought.

A sharp blast of noise reverberated from the upstairs; a noise Joe knew quite well. Gunshots.

Joe bolted up the stairs while the rest of the boys cried out in surprise and fear. Ducking low he made his way to the office. A window was shattered, more shots echoed through the night. Dashing into the office, Joe saw Eli supine on the floor, clutching his shoulder and gasping. He had been shot through the window. The bright office must have made it quite easy for anyone outside to see Elijah standing at the phone.

Joe ran to the boy and checked the wound. It was not serious, the biggest danger was Eli going into shock. And of course the additional shots going above their heads. It seemed the shooter was unloading an entire magazine from a semi-automatic gun. Perhaps an FG42 or the like.

Joe crawled to fetch some clean shop towels from a nearby shelf and talked low and reassuringly to Eli. He pressed the towels over the bullet wound. Joe noticed for the first time that Ron had followed him up the stairs. "Ron," Joe commanded, "put pressure on this, I'm going to check this out."

Leaving both guys behind him, Joe stayed low and ran out the side door. Flashes from the gun's action illuminated a shrouded figure in the driver's seat. He appeared to be alone, and as the magazine reached empty, the driver pulled the gun back into the car and drove off with a squeal and the smell of burning rubber. Joe dashed out after it, and strained to see the license plate.

2B78-90. Finally, a lead.