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The road trip begins.

" Then his eyes clouded with loathing and his voice hardened in anger. "If this bastard wants a fight then he's got one."

Later that day, after the workshop had closed and they were alone, Joe and Peter examined the car carefully.

"Look at this Peter. Don't you think this is rather odd?"

Grunting at the weight, Joe took the spare wheel from the boot.

"There's no way of pumping up the tire. The nipple hole is filled with putty and the wheel is far too heavy."

"Strange, but look at this, too," Peter answered.

Cradled in his hands was the revolver that had been strapped under the steering column. On one side of the handgrip were the outspread wings of an eagle and the swastika emblem of Nazi Germany. Along the blunt barrel was stamped P38. Its gunmetal grey with the black grips gave it a powerful malevolency.

"I've seen pictures of those. It was German Army issue - a Walter P38." Joe's terse comments were terse. "He's not carrying that around for fun. It would blow a tidy hole in anyone. For God's sake put it back before the damn thing goes off."

"I wonder if he'd miss a few little cartridges." Musing, Peter released the safety catch and opened the breech. "You work on the car while I do some adjustments to this gun."

"Get rid of the damn thing." Joe was worried. "For God's sake put it back and wipe your prints off it."

With his mind elsewhere, Peter didn't reply but wandered across to the workbench where he became engrossed in working on the gun, gripped tightly in a vice.

The glare of a welding flame caught Joe's attention but he turned away to return to the car. He didn't see Peter remove three cartridges from the magazine.

Carefully Peter pulled the bullets from the cartridges and tossed them into the waste bin. He poured the gunpowder from the three cartridges into the now cooled barrel. Next, he deliberately cut the primers from their casings, removed the rims and pushed them up hard against the gunpowder. He worked with such practiced and considerate ease that to an onlooker it would have seemed he had been constructing booby traps all his life.

With the gun in his hand, Peter wandered back to Joe.

"There, that'll give Mr. Toad a surprise when he pulls the trigger. Dad, take the shocked look off your face. Anyone who pulls that trigger will blow his own hand off. Toad will be laughing for weeks at our little joke."

He returned the P38 to its hiding place under the steering column.

Joe had an idea of his own.

"You've prepared a surprise - well I think I will have to add to this lucky dip. I'm convinced we're going to have some trouble with this bloke so I'll add some surprises too."

Without waiting for Peter's approval, Joe strained to release the tire from the rim. Inside were small packets of white powder tightly packed to keep the tire in shape.

"Surely, we have a tube that will fit." Joe paused to think. "No, I believe we have a complete wheel with the same tire in the storeroom." Off Joe went, mumbling quietly to himself then returned, rolling a wheel in front of him. "This should do."

Not knowing what Joe planned, Peter was still willing to follow his lead. This criminal had troubled Peter with his comment about Jennifer. He was angry, determined not to stand back. The Toad would never ride rough shod over Jennifer or over him.

They replaced the spare wheel with the new one and slammed the boot lid shut before Peter realized he had only the key to the ignition. "How did you open the boot, Joe? The interior switch to open the boot doesn't work and we've only the ignition key? Where's the key?"

"That job was just so easy and I didn't even force the lock. I was a bad boy when I was young until my father kicked some sense into me." Joe grinned.

He took the keys from the ignition.

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