Fool’s Rush In
 By  Mae Kelly.  Disclaimer, well, what can I say, I don’t own’em, but 
they’re sure fun to play with.  Story dedicated to Shaun, who always wanted 
to be in one of my stories. 8/20/01




	Then there was the video tape, and nobody knew quite exactly what 
to do with it.  His father and Mary Margret wanted to get rid of it, and 
probally would’ve if he hadn’t stuffed it in a drawer.  While on the other 
hand, it was evidence of a crime on trespassing and invasion of privacy.  
If the perp was ever brought to trial, didn’t he mean if he ever caught him 
first, then it might prove crucial. But then, there was another problem of a 
noose without a body which Mary Margret and he had seen the man hanging from.  
Try explaining that one to your captain.
	Peter leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in front of him. It was 
the case file in front of him that had him so vexed.  The tannish-colored 
manila envelope, file name in bold, black lettering, laying upon his desk, 
waiting to be re-solved.  That is, if the man was still alive, or maybe not.  
He’d seen some pretty weird things, but this was past weird, into 
inconceivable madness, and cruelty.  His partners, Jody Powell and Mary 
Margret Skalaney, took a week off.  And even his father still seemed out of 
sorts, he’d been sleeping on Peter’s sofa couch all week. Peter teased him 
about leaving a candle burning all night long, but he really knew that his 
father just didn’t want to be in the dark, or alone.
	Peter ran his hand through his dark brown hair, it still angered him 
how someone could be so vindictive, and how the maniac had been able to hurt 
him so deeply.  
	Rising, he picked up the troublesome file.  Not knowing what to do 
with it, he threw it into a desk drawer.  Pulling his coat on, he left the 
precint and headed home, mind stuck on the stumbling block that made him 
wish he wasn’t a cop.
	The first clue that started the sadistic game began about three 
weeks ago...


*                 *            *         *             *

	Mary Margret snickered.
	"Oh, just because its not you’re car makes it funny?" Peter demanded, 
arms crossed, staring at his blue stealth.
	The brunette detective smiled and nodded, "that and the fact I’ve 
never seen that expression on your face before."
	He stuck his tongue out at her.  His car, his beautiful and 
attractive smoky blue stealth, had been vandalized.  Well, maybe mischiefized 
is a better term, although Peter doubted any of his friends would go through 
the trouble to do it, they had all grown up and stopped doing these pranks 
to one another.  And the area’s youth most often did only the cars they knew, 
and his wasn’t one of them.  Still, someone had to do it, and with a hundred 
witnesses around, he bet no one saw anything happening around his car.  
	Sighing, he began unwrapping the saran wrap that entrapped his car 
like a clear cocoon. 
	"Wait, I think I might have something in here to help us go faster."  
Mary Margret dug through her purse.  Peter had teased her about the tan 
snake-skin imitation bag.  It was a little smaller than her last, he warned 
her that it might not be big enough to carry all that she needed, like the 
kitchen sink. She just cast him evil looks, and he was glad that he was 
driving.
	With a triumphant yell, she pulled out a nail file.  Pointed at the 
end, she easily cut the wrap around the door frame.  Peter tore the wrap off 
and threw it out in a nearby trash can.  Upon coming back, he noticed a note 
taped to the windshield.
	"From what admirer is this from?"  Batting her eyes innocently, 
Mary Margret sidled up to him.
        "I wouldn’t quite call this a love letter, but it does seem that 
I do have an admirer, and mentally disturbed at that."  He handed the letter 
to her.
	After reading it, she shook her head. "You get all the fun ones, 
don’t ya?"
	He shrugged.
	"Shall we go show it to the captain?"
	Peter paused to think, the letter said that the author was going to 
reacquaint himself with Peter, whatever that meant.  Shrugging in a Caine-
like fashion he opened his door to get in.
	"Ah! What the..."  a stream of curses came out of Peter’s mouth as 
he saw that the inside of the car was covered in some sort of white, fluffy, 
creamy, goo.
	Mary Margret shook her head, smile gone. "Now that is some sicko."
  

	Parking his corvere in his usual spot, Kermit got out and pulled 
his seat forward.  "Welcome to chez precint, you’re shouffer has brought you 
with class."
	Giving Kermit a dark look, Peter climbed out of the backseat. With 
the circumstances of his car, he still had to figure out how to clean it.  
A hose kept popping into his mind.
	"Don’t worry Peter, I’m sure you could put a trash bag down and 
drive it to the car wash."  Kermit smiled after giving his advise.
	Smiling back, "now imagine if they did this to the corvere."
	"Ah," the older detective paused, "no one would do this to the 
Kermitmobile, at least if they value their life."
	Fighting the urge to stick out his tongue, Peter followed the two 
into the building.  Crammed and crazy as usual, Peter walked past the 
regulars, petty thieves, people complaining about other people, and the cops 
that had to sort everything out.  And, most importantly, Frank Strenlich 
yelling at them all.  Ah, the luxuries of home, he sourly thought sliding 
behind his desk.
	"Not going to report today’s little incident?" 
	Peter looked over to Mary Margret’s desk.  She was sitting there 
waiting for him to reply.  With long, wavy dark brown hair and a curvy body 
to go with it, he looked past her features and into her eyes, or into her 
soul, as his father might say.  She was concerned, but did she think that 
the culprit will strike again?  Either way, he still didn’t know what his 
father saw in her.   
	"Nah, I figure the guy will leave me be now that he pulled his 
little prank. The note was probally just to keep me on my toes."
	Frowning, Mary Margret shook her head. "Well its your call. But I 
think this might get pretty ugly until we know who it is.  Any suspects yet?"
	"No, but I’m sure he won’t keep quiet about it long."


	Peter was right, and wrong at the same time.  After arriving home, 
he was tired.  He had taken the stealth to the car wash and cleaned all
remnants of what happened earlier away.  While he was at it, he decided to 
wash and wax his car.  Now his baby shined like new, only thing was, it was 
sopping wet on the inside.
	Hanging his coat up in the front closet, he then trudged over to the 
fridge for a beer.  After taking a long swig, he decided he felt better. 
	"Wonder what tomorrow will bring."  he said outloud to his kitchen.  
Finishing his beer, he went to bed.

	The sensation he was flying took over.  It was the cold, swift wind 
on his body, the feeling that nothing was holding him. Peter opened his eyes.  
	"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"  
	He was over-looking the city from alongside his building, hanging 
from something.  
	"What the hell, how did I get here?" His fear of heights slowly 
crept in.  Jerking his head to the side, he drifted alittle.  That brought 
another cry of fear from him.  "Ok, lets try and calm down.  Alright Peter 
is calm, Peter is fine."  Except that I’m hanging from my building!  "No, 
lets not think like that."  Peter took a deep breath.  After calming down 
alittle, he realized that he was being held by a sort of bungie cord, and 
in his boxers.  "Great, someone has a sick sense of humor.  Now how do I get 
down?"  At mentioning down, the fear of heights crept in closer, trying to 
take control.  
	"Lets not think of down.  Wonder how far I am from the roof?"  He 
slowly looked up.  He was dangling only ten feet from the ledge.  "I think 
I can climb that."    
	Slowly, he reached up and grabbed the cord attached to him.  Using 
his strength, he began to climb up.  "Its like climbing the rope in gym 
class."  He said to himself. 
	After a few minutes, Peter pulled himself over the ledge. Collapsing 
against the wall, he stared at where the rope was attached to the building.  
There was a note, with his name on it.  Resting against the building, he 
realized that something bad was only just beginning.

	"And you expect me to just sit back and wait till he strikes again?"  
With a frustrated sigh, Peter ran his hands through his hair.  "How will 
that help anything, cause quite frankly Kermit, I DON’T want to wake up on 
my building ledge again!"
	"No Peter," replied the older detective, "I just want you to think 
back on who this might be.  And make it seem as if there’s no one bothering 
you."
	"But Kermit, I can’t do that.  This guy’s already half scared me to 
death, and he threatens that its going to get worse."
	Kermit sat back and rubbed his eyes.  There was very little in 
his office, a few filing cabinets and his desk, with the omnipresent 
computer on it.  The older detective did not seem to look the type to be a 
computer nerd.  Mid-forties with black hair and a strong body, the computer 
ego was just a front to cover his past.  The former ex-mercenary keeps his 
secrets all behind the green glasses that he wears. 
	"Well kid," he finally replied, "all we can do is wait and see if 
there’s a pattern and hope he makes a mistake. But meanwhile, look through 
all your past cases and see if there’s any connection, a jokester maybe, 
or one who liked to scare people.  I’ll check the recent parolees to see 
who just got released in the past few months."
	Peter nodded.  "Do you think we should tell the captain?"
	Kermit mused on it, "yeah, but not just yet.  Lets have something 
to give her just in case.  You might want to think about sleeping 
arrangements at your father’s house in the meantime."
	 "Nah, I’m a bigboy.  Besides, Jordan’s off nights all week. And so 
am I."  Peter grinned and walked to the door.  Just before leaving he turned.  
"Oh Kermit, thanks."  With that, he left.

	Upon returning to his own desk, Mary Margret was smiling at him.
	"And what exactly are you smiling at?"
	The brown haired female detective smiled wider, "why your car is 
so bright and shiny this morning."
	"Mary Margret, I am not in the mood for this."
	"That’s ok, I made the coffee today.  I’m just letting you know its 
safe to drink for once."
	"Oh, thanks."  With that, he got up to get himself some coffee.  
And then to get the past case files on jokester criminals.

	It didn’t take long until the whole precint found out what had 
happened to Peter the night before. He had casually let it slip when talking 
to his father.  They were outside talking and Caine had asked if Peter was 
having nightmares. Never being able to keep many secrets from his father, 
Peter had told, but he didn’t know that Jody was behind him.
	When his father had left, Mary Margret yelled at him for being 
inconsiderate.  With that, Peter told her too, and Jody, and the captain, 
Karen Simms.
	Then Kermit had gotten an earful from all three of them.  But he 
did have a list of recent parolees.  
	"Of the ten released in the past few months, I highlighted the ones 
I suspect the most likely to seek revenge on Peter." Kermit handed the folder 
to Karen Simms.
	She opened it and studied it quickly before handing it to Mary 
Margret.  "On what basis do you suspect them?"
	"Basically, they all have weird senses of humor and are probally 
hell-bent on retribution."
	"But would they be playing jokes?  The car wasn’t harmed. But 
putting Peter on a rooftop, how would he know that Peter was afraid of 
heights?"  Asked Mary Margret, glancing up from the folder.
	Kermit shrugged. "That’s something I’m working on.  Maybe the perp 
overheard a conversation where he found out."
	"Well, however it was found out, lets end it."  With that final 
comment from the captain, the meeting ended.

	Mary Margret was tired.  After a full day of searching through old 
case files, all she wanted was a glass of cool, sweet wine and a hot bath.  
Turning unto her street, she loved the fact that she lived in a suburb-type 
part of the city. She lived in a townhouse about twenty minutes from the 
precint.  There was half a back yard and a flower garden, taken care of 
mostly by Caine.  What could she say, the man had a penchant for gardening. 
Now if only she could get him into a more private part of her house.
	Slowly coming out of her thoughts, she parked along the street a few 
houses away.  Glancing at the twilight sky, she took a deep breath and 
sighed, and then stopped as her mind boggled at the sight before her.  
	Hundreds of plastic forks decorated her garden and porch. Seeming to 
have no set pattern, the plastic silverware was stuck all through her garden, 
in the flowering bushes, and even in the hanging baskets she had.  
	"I can’t believe this." she moaned.  Who the hell would do something 
like this? She asked herself.  And immediately she knew.  Pulling out her 
cell phone, she immediately dialed.
	"Caine." Peter’s voice said over the phone.
	"Peter, get your ass over here now!" Mary Margret yelled into the 
phone.
	"Mary Margret, what happened?"
	Running her free hand through her hair, she looked at the mess 
before responding. "Lets just say its kinda hard to explain over the phone.  
But please come and see this. I’m at my house."
	"Alright, be there in twenty." With that, he hung up.
	Putting her phone away, Mary Margret surveyed the mess. Now what am 
I gonna do?  Sighing, she ruefully smiled, what I do best.  Heading over to 
a neighbors house, she went to find out if anyone knew anything.

	About fifteen minutes later, a blue stealth pulled up and parked 
across from Mary Margret’s house. She went to greet him as he walked over.  
Without a word, he studied the lawn intruders.  A frown grew as he picked 
one up from where it was stuck.
	"Well?" Mary Margret asked, losing patience.
	With a serious look, he replied. "Mary Margret, you’ve been forked." 
Not being able to hold it in any longer, he burst out laughing. "I wish I 
had a camera."
	"Uh, some help you are. I come home for a nice peaceful evening and 
find hundreds of forks in my yard.  How am I supposed to feel?  Not to 
mention this." She held out a piece of paper.  
	Taking the note, Peter read it outloud.  "Hi ya sweetie, long day? 
I hope this little joke picked you up.  Didn’t hurt the flowers did I? I’ll 
be watching you, and so will everyone else."  Shaking his head, Peter folded 
the letter up.  "What a psycho.  Where are you going to stay tonight?  Want 
me to tell Pop that you’ll be staying with him for a few days?"
	"No, I’ll be fine here.  He’s just trying to scare me and I’m a 
little more pissed off than scared.  I just want to take a nice hot bath 
and go to bed, and then bust his ass tomorrow. And I won’t have to clean any 
forks up because a nice, but sarcastic, detective will pick them up for me."
	"Hey wait a minute," Peter protested. "I don’t care about the forks, 
but he might be dangerous.  I mean I woke up on a ledge, who knows what he 
might do to you."
	Sighing, she replied, "I guess you’re right, but I’m not spending 
the next couple of nights at you father’s place."
	"Fine then, I’ll go bring him here.  I’m sure he’ll enjoy it as 
much as you would." He said the last part quite suggestively.
	Mary Margret folded her arms across her chest. "What are you, my 
pimp?"
	"Just a concerned coworker."
	"You can tell him that the couch is his."
	"Alright, see ya in about an hour." Peter turned and walked to his 
car.  Opening the door he stopped and yelled back. "Hey, what would you 
think if I started calling myself ‘Pimpdaddy Peter’?"
	A handful of plastic forks tossed at him was his response.
 
	Arriving at his father’s place, Peter had stopped for groceries.  
Now in the kitchen, he was explaining the reason why his father needed to 
spend the next few nights at Skalaney’s house.  Putting the groceries away 
was a great way to not have to look at his father while he talked to him.
	"She just might need the protection. I’m not trying to do anything 
else. She already said that you’re on the couch."  He explained while 
putting the fruit in a small dish. Peter carefully watched his father as 
Caine finished his tea.
	"And you do not see this as akward?" 
	Shaking his head, "nope. Do you want a glass of milk? I read it in 
Mens Health Magazine that you should drink at least a glass of milk a day."  
Peter poured two glasses.  "It will help fight osteoporosis, guys can get 
it too."  He set the second glass in front of his father.  
	Caine just looked at the glass. "Since when have you become so 
interested in your health?"
	"Since I had severe heartburn from Mom’s Cajun stew the other day. 
Heres to your health."  Peter drank his milk in one long gulp. Caine mearly 
stared at his.  
	"Whats the matter Pop?  Don’t like milk?"
	"I have tea."
	"So?"
	Shrugging, he stood. "Maybe I will drink it tomorrow.  Let me grab 
a few things then I will be ready to leave."
	Peter drank his father’s glass while he waited.

	Nothing had happened during the night.  Nothing had happened during 
the day either.  Sighing, Mary Margret walked out to her car.  It was 
quitting time, and her case files had kept her on the go all day.  
	With the incident the night before, the whole precint had found out.  
Peter kept teasing her about having a precint picnic where she could bring 
the eating utensils for everyone.  When he went on to ask about how it had 
went with Caine being there during the night, she gave him a dark look and 
told him he was fine, on the couch.  Peter called her a big meanie.
	And now, getting into her car, a large gift bag was setting in the 
passenger seat.  Curious, heart beating, mind immediately going the psycho 
perp, she opened the bag.  Inside were two wine glasses and a nice bottle of 
wine.  Seeing a card with it, she opened it and started laughing.
	"Peter, you’ve out done yourself."  Smiling, rereading the card, 
it read:
	"Hope the wine scares the bad guy away.  Pimpdaddy Peter."
Folding the card back up, she went home.

	Peter dropped Caine off when his shift ended. And now, Mary Margret 
was watching movies with him on the couch.  Maybe it was the late hour, but 
she figured it was the wine, the two were a bit more closer than they usually 
were.  In fact, she was laying on him on the couch. Curled up together, 
Mary Margret was extremely comfortable, if not a little drunk. Thinking of 
all the unpleasantness that had brought Caine to her, she started laughing.
	Noticing, Caine asked what she was laughing about.
	"I don’t know if Peter planned this or not, but I think that bottle 
of wine had a lot of alcohol in it. What do you think?"
	He smiled, "I know, I feel slightly drunk too."
	Mary Margret rolled over onto her stomach so she could see his face.  
"I think you’re more than just a little drunk."
	"So are you."
	She didn’t know if she was the one that put her mouth to his first 
or if he went to kiss her, but soon the two were kissing. And then touching.
	How long had she waited for this?  Mary Margret didn’t know, but it 
seemed like years.  She moaned softly as she felt Caine slide his hands up 
the back of her shirt, then slowly, to the front.  She moved to begin kisses 
on his neck, and then felt a sudden chill shoot through her body. She gasped 
and pulled back.
	Swiftly eyeing the room, instant relief flooded through her as she 
could see that no one was there.
	Concerned, Caine followed to where Mary Margret had gazed. Seeing 
nothing either, he looked questionally back at her.  "Mary Margret, are you 
alright?  Did you hear something?"
	She shook her head, "no, just my imagination.  I’m alright. Goose 
walked over my grave, I guess."  Smiling seductively, she leaned down and 
whispered into his ear.	"Wanna go into the bedroom?"
	

	Peter got the call later that night.  Asleep in his own bed, Jordan 
sleeping next to him, hearing Kermit’s gruff voice was not his idea of a 
great awakening.  And neither was what the older detective had to tell him.
	"Oh god Kermit, are you sure?"
	"I tried calling her on both her cell and house phone.  House is 
disconnected and cell is unavailable too.  I’m trying to break through that 
though."
	Peter ran is hands through his hair, a nervous gesture he picked 
up from somewhere.  "Alright, who’s closer, you or me?"
	"You are definitely.  You might want to hurry, its being broadcast 
on every computer at the station. Thankfully, most are empty at the moment, 
but Blake and Stenlich are agreeing its alot like the spice channel."
	"Oh no," Peter moaned again. "I’m on my way, try to get them to stop 
watching.  And Kermit, get them to swear that no word of this gets out. Or 
else I’ll kill them. Understand?"
	"Comprende. Now get your ass moving."
	With that, the connection died and Peter was out the door.

	It only took Peter ten minutes to do a normally twenty minute drive. 
Having a flashing red light helped, but so did very little traffic.  Peter 
parked in the middle of the street. Jumping out, he ran over to Mary 
Margret’s house.  All seemed dark and quiet, but he pulled his gun anyway.  
On the ride over, Kermit had called again informing him that the two were 
not alone.  
	Deciding not to go into the house, he silently crept around the 
house, looking into each of the windows.  Finally, he came upon the dreaded 
bedroom window.  The window wasn’t high, the ledge came just above his waist.  
Carefully he peeked in between the half drawn curtains. The room was mostly 
dark, but the curtains were open enough to see.  As human’s curiosity is, 
he looked first toward the bed.  Jaw dropping, he jerkingly pulled back.
	"Damn" he said to himself, what child really wanted to watch their 
parent have sex?  Pushing the images of the coupling out of his mind, he 
forced himself to focus on the task at hand, finding this peeping tom 
pervert.
	Taking a deep breath, Peter looked back into the window, avoiding 
the bed and the sounds he heard from them.  He studied the dresser, then 
his eyes roamed to the closet. There it was, the unmistakable red dot of a 
video recorder.  The perp was in the closet!  Now what was he going to do?
	Going back around the house, he let himself in.  Silently creeping 
to the bedroom door, his plan was simple: burst in scaring everybody inside, 
nailing the perp-knocking him out, and hoping his father doesn’t kick his 
ass for disturbing such an intimate moment.  Wonder if they’ve ever done 
this together before?  The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it.  
Stop it Peter, he told himself, lets just get this over.  With that, he 
broke the door in.
	"Police. Freeze!" He yelled, running over to the closet.  He heard 
Mary Margret scream, his father yell, and then something large flew out of 
the closet knocking him down. The perp kicked him in the head and was gone 
before he could grab any part of him.  Peter jumped up and ran back out the 
door.  Racing through the living room, the front door was open.  Once 
outside, it was perfectly calm.  No running perp.  He went out into the 
middle of the street. Nothing.  Not a trace of anything amiss.
	"Damn." he swore out loud, heading back to the house.  This time, 
the lights were on in the house.  Glancing back at the street, he noticed 
something else, his car, like the perp, was gone.
	"Oh, that bastard," Peter swore again.  Tramping heavily into the 
house, Mary Margret and his father were waiting in the living room.  
Mary Margret in her robe, and Caine was wrapped in a blanket.
	"What," he yelled at the two, "I burst in there to save your lives, 
and he steals my car."
	"Peter, what the hell is going on?"  Mary Magret demanded, pissed 
off and confused at the same time.
	Just as Peter was about to explain, Kermit walked through the door.
	"We’re sorry to interrupt this intimate occasion, but there are 
some things you two need to know."  The older detective, glad to have 
glasses on, was able to keep his voice even.  Truth be told, he was enraged 
and sickened at the apparent evil that the tormentor could do.  "You two 
were not alone.  The bastard was filming the evening."
	"Oh no," moaned Mary Margret as she sunk down onto her couch. Caine 
simply stared at the floor.
	"We need to review the tape.  The perp might have left some sort of 
message on it.  Peter, go get the video camera."
	Peter nodded and went back into the bedroom.  A few minutes later, 
he rejoined them, with a camera and a note.  Wordlessly, he handed them to 
Kermit.
	The older detective sighed, what an embarrassing mess. "Alright, 
Caine, why don’t you stay with Peter for the next few days.  And Mary 
Margret, I’ll drop you off at Jody’s."
	Peter sighed, wondering if this situation could get anymore akward 
and if someone would lend him a car.


	Mary Margret had let him borrow her car. There was silence in the 
car as Peter drove his father home. As he figured, Caine opted not to go to 
Peter’s place, but instead his own.  Knowing it was his duty to eventually 
question his father about the nights events, he felt reluctant to intrude 
on something so personal.
	Peter sighed, it was better to get it over and done with, he 
guessed.  "Hey Pop, I don’t really want to ask, but I do need to get a 
statement from you.  Would you like to wait until we reached your place?"
	Caine sat motionless.
	"Someone, needs to ask these questions. I can get another officer 
to do it, if you like."
	Finally, Caine spoke. "No, my son, I will awnser your questions.  
What would you like to know?"
	"Basically, did you sense anything amiss when you were there?"
	"No, but I should have."
	Peter frowned at his father's feelings of guilt. "Can you describe 
the events of the evening?  Starting when I dropped you off around 
eight-thirty."  
	Caine glanced out the window, gathering his thoughts.  "After you 
dropped me off, I went inside.  Mary Margret asked if I was hungry, I said 
no.  We then settled down to watch a movie..."
	"What movie was it?"
	"I think she said it was Titanic."
	Peter smiled. "What did you think of it?"
	"Is my opinion part of police questioning?"
	"Nah, just a curious son question."
	Caine smiled at the slight joke. "I really do not remember much of 
the movie. I was starting to fall asleep.  I think it was the wine on an 
empty stomach."
	"Oh, what kind of wine was it?"
	"You should know, Peter.  Mary Margret said it was a gift from you."
	A gift from me? Peter’s mind went back into cop alert. "No, I never 
gave her any wine."
	"Then who?  She showed me the note. It said it was from, and I quote 
this, ‘Pimpdaddy Peter.’"
	"I can’t believe it. I was joking to Mary Margret the other day 
about that. The perp must have been listening the whole time." 
	"Do you not know who this person is?"
	He shook his head. "No." Pulling into his father’s building, The 
two got out and climbed the stairs to the loft.  Peter quickly examined 
all the rooms, making sure there were no surprises. His father did the same.
  	"Well Pop, looks like everything is in order.  I’ll be by tomorrow 
to check on you."  Peter’s cell phone went off. "I’ll be back in a moment." 
Peter went out on the terrace.  "Caine." he said into the phone.
	"Peter, I found something you should know about." Said Kermit’s 
gruff voice.  "The perp filmed himself."
	"Any idea on who it is?" 
	"I’m still checking the databases. But whats truly sickening, is 
while Caine and Skalaney were in bed, the perp was acting out shooting them.  
Then he waved."
	"I’ll be down in a few minutes."
	"No, Peter, you might want to stay with your father tonight, just 
in case.  The guy was pretending to shoot them with a shotgun or rifle.  
And he looked all to real doing it. And..."
	"And what?" Peter asked, not knowing if he really wanted to hear.
	"And he wrote that next time, someone will be getting hurt."
	Peter sighed, the stakes had just gone in a game that he realized 
was only just starting to unravel.  Looking through the glass doors, he 
could see his father making tea. It was then he realized how vuneralbe they 
all were.  He had to come up with a plan before someone really did get hurt. 
Or worse, dead.