Police, fire and F.B.I. vehicles are on the scene at the funeral home. Members of these units’ tactical squads exit the chapel and mill about. Many people still stand around, talking with each other about the incredible news. Dewitt sits surrounded by his four closest students as Jesse comes up to the group. He’s smiling.
“Hey, no bomb,” Jesse announces. “Here, catch,” he says as he tosses the remote device to Dewitt, who grins and puts it in his shirt pocket.
“Jesse,” Dewitt says, nodding to his students, “these are my students: David, who I think you know about for sure; Sylvia and Trey; and Eddie. Guys, this is my big brother, Jesse.”
Everyone exchanges hellos and ad-lib relief and amazement. A smiling Sarge returns to the group pushing a different wheelchair, one with a large shiny metal contraption attached to it. He lifts Dewitt and transfers him into its seat.
“Sarge,” says Dewitt, “you didn’t forget! Wow! A faster contraption. – I hope!”
Sarge is his jovial Southern self again.
“Dewitt Houston,” he says, “your brother just told me you have been goin’ two times the speed of sound to get here. No way I can scoot ya that fast!”
Everyone laughs. Dewitt surveys the whole scene.
“Right,” he says, “let’s get out of here. You would think there was a funeral or something.”
As everyone begins to head toward the few remaining cars on the property, Sarge slows and speaks.
“I’m gonna get on back to the hospital. I may need one of them EKG’s to check my ticker,” he laughs.
He bids them all farewell and departs.
“You came by jet?!” Sylvia asks Dewitt.
“Yes,” he answers, “and I was still ten minutes late, I’ll have you know!”
By now the group has reached Trey and Sylvia’s car, and they and Eddie prepare to get in.
“Guys,” says Dewitt, “why don’t you take Jesse and we’ll meet at O’Brien’s for a cold one? I’ll ride with David.”
“I’ll go get my car, Doctor D.,” announces David.
The others leave, honking the horn and waving to David as he begins walking the long side street to pick up his car. Just before he reaches it, he stops and peers over the side of a small bridge, shaking his head in wonder at what had just happened and taking in the passing traffic far below.
Dewitt takes the remote out of his shirt pocket and looks down the road toward David. He barely notices a pickup truck entering the street at the far end.
“Man,” Dewitt says to the remote, “I’m glad I didn’t have to use you, little fella. – Those bad guys probably couldn’t find a rental car. – Car!”
Suddenly, Dewitt begins pushing himself toward David’s car while yelling at the top of his lungs, as the pickup truck approaches slowly towards the vehicle.
“David! David!” yells Dewitt. “Get away! Get away from your car!”
David has reached his car and is turning the door key. He looks back at Dewitt but opens the door, wondering what is going on.
Dewitt holds the remote device out in front of him and pushes its button, but this slows down his progress. He then remembers his contraption. He pulls its handle – and zooms toward David’s car!
David has frozen as he hears Dewitt yelling at him to get away. But then he understands and begins to run from the car. As he crosses the street he runs right into the path of the pickup. The truck brakes screech but the vehicle cannot fully stop and it hits David. He caroms into the sidewalk, then falls hard onto the roadway, holding his right arm in pain.
Dewitt arrives on the scene, still pressing the button on and off.
“David! Are you all right? – The bomb! I think it may be in your car!”
Before David can respond, there is a screech of car tires. From out of a side street, a dark sedan emerges, powering its engine to gain speed quickly. It aims straight for Dewitt and strikes his wheelchair, throwing him over the edge of the bridge. Dewitt’s wheelchair falls to the pavement below, about sixty feet down. Dewitt has managed to catch hold of the railing of the bridge but is hanging on for dear life.
The sedan burns rubber and heads off into the distance. At the same time a figure exits the pickup truck, which has come to a halt a few dozen yards down the road, and starts to run toward Dewitt and David.
David gets to Dewitt and tries to hold on to him with his left arm, but Dewitt begins to slip, about to fall to his death. The two have their arms locked, forearm-to-forearm.
“I can’t... I can’t hold on Doctor D.!” cries out David. “I can’t save you!”
All of a sudden, another arm reaches out to Dewitt. A powerful arm, it’s shirt sleeve rolled up, grabs Dewitt’s forearm and begins pulling.
David is exhausted and collapses to the roadway.
Dewitt reaches his other arm up, literally clawing for help from this other person trying to pull him to safety.
The other arm of the person helping extends to grasp Dewitt’s outstretched hand. This arm has a distinct tattoo!
Dewitt looks up. He recognizes the tattoo. He recognizes the Trucker!
“You!” Dewitt shouts in absolute astonishment.
The Trucker pulls Dewitt to safety. They both lie on the edge of the bridge, out of breath.
“I was sure it was you,” says the Trucker, panting for breath, “because when I called they said you used a wheelchair. I saw them news stories back in Florida when the wreck happened. – I came to pay my respects. You know, for you saving my life. – But I was running late.”
Dewitt looks at the Trucker in amazement, out of breath, until finally he speaks.
“Running late! Why do I find that so easy to relate to? – Now I owe you my life!”
David comes up, in pain and clutching his arm.
“Doctor D.! You’re okay!”
“Yep!” says Dewitt. “What a day!”
“You know what?” continues David. “Just as I was about to get in my car, I saw a briefcase and... Well, then all hell broke loose! – Who was in that car?!”
“I’ll explain it later,” replies Dewitt. He looks again at the Trucker.
“What say we call 9-1-1,” he tells the Trucker. “We’ve got to quit meeting like this!”
Soon, the siren of an ambulance and the whirling noise of a helicopter fill the air... once more.