One night in 1986, Lee Stetson was hit with something with such force that
he pulled the Vette to the shoulder of Highway 1. Surely this revelation
deserved bombs bursting in air or fireworks. Lee settled for the normalcy of
watching the holding patterns of the planes waiting to land at National. The
luminous glass structures of Crystal City surely compared in comparison to the
smile of his handsome face. Thanks to years of training, the revelry of his
heartbeat was contrasted by the quiet and calm countenance that was Scarecrow.
When suddenly a rap on the window distracted him from these thoughts, he
lowered the barrier.

"Officer, I can explain. . . ."