Joe wasn't quite sure where he had gone wrong. One moment, he was chasing a killer through the wet grass of his front yard, the next he was clinging to a car, watching the pavement fly by underneath him. Specs had run so fast, Joe had lost all sense of logic. When the man got into a sleek, silver car, Joe should have taken the gun in his pocket and fired at the tires, halting the criminal's flight right then.

Instead, his training as Bayport High School's track star had kicked in, and he long jumped onto the running board. Specs immediately put the car in high gear and sped down the street. Joe clung to the side of the car, knowing that if he lost his tenuous hold on the door hinge, he would most certainly die.

It only took Specs a moment to notice that he had a passenger. He swerved down the road. Joe could see his expressionless face in the driver's side mirror.

Specs turned the car violently to the right. In a terrible moment, Joe felt his fingers slip on the hinge. He moved his left hand onto the hinge, and jammed his right elbow through the back window.

It hurt like the dickens, but he broke through. He thought about fumbling for the inside latch, but if the door swung open at this speed, he'd lose his place on the running board. Instead, he grabbed the center pillar of the car, between the two doors. It was a much more effective handhold.

Specs was not happy about his broken window. He cranked his own window down, thrust a pistol out, and fired a shot backwards.

He missed Joe by a mile, but it served as a reminder to Joe. Joe took his own pistol and fired a shot forward. It was dark and rainy, so Joe didn't feel too surprised when the windshield shattered instead of Spec's head. (Not that Joe necessarily wanted that).

While dodging the shot, Specs neglected his driving. They caromed wildly through an intersection, creating a deafening screech. Joe was forced to hold on with two arms just to stay put.

Specs fired another shot- closer this time. Joe flattened himself against the car. He was lucky it was such an awkward angle, otherwise, he'd be gone.

A larger car pulled up behind them. From what Joe could make out through the darkness and flashes of street lights, it was a paddy wagon.

Joe groaned. Of course, it was the police. They'd probably arrest him for a made-up charge, and he'd wind up in the same place as Frank.

But then, there was Frank, practically hanging out of the window of the vehicle. His face had blood on it, and his neck was marred by a vivid red line, but he was there.

"Joe!" Frank called out in a hoarse voice. "Hang on!"

Joe was glad to see him. But he couldn't stop himself from yelling across the rushing pavement, "What a good idea! I was thinking of not doing that!"

Frank opened his mouth to retort, but the driver stuck a gun out again. Frank ducked into the window of the paddy wagon, which retreated slightly.

The gun fired, and a clanging sound rang from the door of the paddy wagon.

Specs pulled the car ahead of the wagon, and cut it off with a sharp left turn. The police car hit the breaks with a sharp squeal. The silver car headed into a dark alley, but the road was so slick, the car couldn't straighten out again. It circled around at such a high speed, Joe felt his hands slip.

In a breathless moment Joe was aware of flying through the air. He had the quick thought to shield his head and neck, and then he hit the pavement.

He rolled to a stop in a puddle beneath a curb. Agony erupted from every part of his body. His wrist felt like it was on fire, and abrasions stung from his knees and forearms. The front of his head in particular ached and throbbed.

For a moment he just lay there, soaking wet and struggling to stay conscious.

There was a street light at the corner of Dixon and 27th street. Because of it, Frank saw the accident in frightening detail. Joe was thrown from the car and the vehicle curled around a lamppost.

Frank opened his mouth to scream, but his damaged voice wouldn't cooperate. When the police car screeched to a halt, Frank jumped out immediately.

He rushed towards his brother's stirring form, but wasn't fast enough. The driver of the silver car had jumped out shockingly fast with a pistol in hand. Specs seemed to suffer no ill effects of the crash. His hair was immaculate and his face was eerily calm.

"Get back!" Specs barked in a sharp command, reaching Joe in a few steps. His gun was pointed directly at his brother. Frank stopped immediately. The other police officers halted beside him.

Specs leaned down without taking his eyes off Frank and the officers. He yanked Joe up to his feet. Joe had scrapes on his forehead and chin. He was covered in abrasions and blood. Worst of all, his eyes were unfocused and he was struggling to stand.

Specs jammed his gun against Joe's temple. "Get back!" Specs spat.

Frank raised his hands in surrender, desperate to placate the man. He stepped back. "Please don't hurt him!"

"Drop your weapons."

Collig growled. "How about you drop your weapon, and we'll see if we can't cut a deal with the DA."

Specs eyes narrowed with cold fury. He cocked the gun. "You put your guns in the passenger side of the wagon there, and I won't kill this boy. How about that?"

Collig said nothing. Specs tightened his grip on Joe's arm, causing Joe to groan. His breathing was rough, and his face was twisted in pain.

"Please, Collig." Frank whispered to him. "Don't let him hurt Joe."

The policeman looked like he was swallowing a bitter pill, but he put his tommy gun through the passenger window of the paddy wagon. The other officers followed suit.

Specs adjusted his gun with a malicious smile. Frank's whole body seemed to tense at the sight of the man's finger on the trigger.

"Now step back," Specs directed. "I'm going to drive away. If you try to stop me, I'll blow his brains out."

Frank and the officers stepped back without a word. Every eye was on the towering man with the gun. Specs half pushed/ half dragged Joe to the paddy wagon.

He opened the door, but Frank spoke up. "Please, he's injured! Take me instead," he begged.

Specs responded only with a sneer. "Get back, or I'll kill him."

Frank didn't retreat, but he didn't advance any further either.

At this point, Joe collapsed completely. His eyes closed and his head lolled to the side. Specs caught him and threw him into the car, shoving him across the front seat. Hardly taking the gun off of Joe, Specs took his place behind the wheel. The car shuddered to life, and then squealed into action.

The paddy wagon drove away leaving Frank and police standing in the rain. Frank felt utterly desolate. His brother was gone.