"Bueller got away again, and because of him, I've got to pay six thousand dollars in damage for this car," Rooney muttered out loud to Ms. Horgorth as he drove her around the corner of O'Leary Street on the way to dinner. "I almost had him this time, too."

"Don't fret, Ed; he'll slip in the end. All bad eggs do," she reassured him. Rooney had managed to lie his way out of dinner with his mother by telling her he'd come down with leprosy. He didn't want her to see his date yet, especially because the gigantic wart on her cheek was alomst impossible to ignore.

"True, but Bueller's more than just a bad egg, Anita; he's a bad dozen eggs," Rooney said. "I first found that out the moment he walked through the high school door four years ago, and in a few months he'll get away for good, so I've got to stop him before then, or he'll cause a lot of trouble for society."

He turned left onto Poplar Street. "I'm getting tired of chasing after him all the time when he ditches class," he continued. "If I only had some help who could go after him for me, it would be a lot easier, but since Chickilly left last September as truant officer, I've been severely understaffed, and the school board won't approve the creation of any new positions because they think it'll increase the student's tuition."

"It will, won't it?" "Of course it will, Anita!" Rooney snapped. "What I need is somebody who'd be willing to do anything I say, who won't question my authority, and who the school board won't be railing on me about all the time. Someone who I could monitor..."

Just then a gray van skidded around the corner at high speed. Rooney slammed on the brakes, but he wasn't in time. The van crashed head-on into his car, smashing out the headlights. Rooney was jolted into the windshield again.

"What was that all about?" a stunned but OK Ms. Horgorth asked from the passenger seat.

"I don't know, Anita, but this guy's getting a piece of my mind!" Rooney shoved his door open and stormed toward the van. Arguing could be heard inside it. Rooney noticed the insignia on the side: OH-KAY PLUMBING AND HEATING, INC. He frowned: hadn't Oh-Kay gone out of business nine months ago? He put his hand on the van's passenger door handle, intending to drag out the driver by his hair and beat him, but the door opened before he could do so.

"I told ya ya didn't know how ta drive!" Harry yelled at Marv as his partner jumped down to the street.

"How was I supposed to know the turn would be that wide!?" Marv countered.

"If ya didn't wait until it's so late before turnin', maybe you'd be able to control the van better!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Rooney interceded. "Before you kill each other, allow me to kill you first."

Harry took Rooney aside. "I'm sorry, pal, but my colleague here is, uh, mentally retarded. He ain't never driven a car in his life, but he pleaded with me to let him have a go with our van, and when he starts pleadin', I ain't got no choice but to give in, and he took it on a joyride."

"Well make sure he never drives again," Rooney said firmly. "Where were you going anyway?"

"The, uh, mall."

"Isn't it a little late to be shopping?"

"Uh...," Harry thought for an explanation. Marv came up with it for him. "We were looking to get jobs as security guys," he called over from the other side of the van.

"Well be that as it may,..." Rooney started to say, but he stopped as a new thought crossed his mind...and a smile crossed his face. These men were the answer to his solution on how to handle Ferris. "Say, how wouold you two gentlemen like a really high-paying job?" he asked the burglars.

"Who are ya to ask that?" Harry asked him.

"Edward R. Rooney, Dean of Students, Shermer High School," Rooney anounced. "And it so happens I'm looking for a new truant officer. I think you gentlemen would fit the bill perfectly."

"Oh yeah? What's the catch?" a suspicious Harry asked.

"The catch is a base pay of a thousand dollars a week, with bonuses for each job successfully done," Rooney told him.

Both burglars' faces lit up like Christmas trees at the thought of so much money at their grasp. "One moment while we confer," Harry told the teacher. He and Marv went into a huddle.

"Do ya think this guy's undercover?" Marv asked.

"If he was undercover, Marv, he'd've pulled out the cuffs by now," Harry argued. "Just think about what we're bein' offered here for a minute. A thousand bucks ain'tnothin' to laugh at. And besides, kids carry lots of jewels and cash on 'em these days. This is the perfect way to stuff our take this year."

"We're still gonna hit everything we wanted to hit afterwards though, right?" Marv asked.

"Certainly," Harry said with a smile. "We'll save that till after dark though."

He turned back to Rooney. "We'll accept your offer, Eddie," he told the principal.

"Very good," Rooney said. "Be at Shermer High School tomorrow morning at eight to begin work."

"And where's Shermer High?"

"393 Daley Road."

"Right, see you tomorrow morning then," Marv said. He started for the van.

"Marv," Harry said after him.

"Huh?" Marv turned.

"Keys," Harry said, extending his hand.

"Do I have to?" Marv whined.

"Yeah, ya have to!" Harry demanded.

Marv sighed but gave his partner the keys to the van. "Thank you," Harry said with a smug smile. The burglars got into the van and backed up--right into another car going by. "Hey, watch where you're going, you dumb idiot!" yelled the irate driver.

"Stiff it and watch where you're goin', pal!" Harry yelled out the window at him. He drove forward down the street and out of sight, with heavy damage to the back of his van visible.

"Ed, do you really think those two gentlemen are a good choice for truants?" Ms. Horgorth asked Rooney. "They seem like rather uncouth characters to me."

"That's just the type of person I need to deal with Ferris, Anita," Rooney said with a wry smile. "Uncouth and emotionally dead. Let's see how Ferris holds up against people like them."

"And Miles netted another goal later on in the second period," Buck told Chanice as the waiter at the Chez Quiz brought out their dinner rolls. "You should have seen the look of accomplishment on his face; I think he's finally developing some confidence as a player."

"That's really good," Chanice said, smiling. She had always had a special fondness for children, perhaps because her own childhood had come to an abrupt end with her parents' death in a car crash at age nine. Since she had first met Buck's family back in February, she'd become strongly attached to his nieces and nephews and had joined her fiance in taking them to special places in the Chicago area, eventually overcoming Cindy's initial negative opinion of her.

"So how'd the game turn out?" she now asked Buck.

"Uh, they came back with three goals in the third to tie us," Buck admitted.

"We kind of got a bit overconfident, and they made us pay. But I liked what I saw out there today, and I think we've got a good season ahead of us."

"Great," Chanice said. "You know, I think it's good how you're helping out with these kids, Buck. At this time last year, I wouldn't have thought it possible for you to do anything as challenging as coaching hockey for a long period of time."

"Well, sometimes I even surprise myself," Buck said with a small laugh.

The waiter came by with their meals. "One fried duck a la carte," he said, holding a plate high.

"Over here," Chanice said. He laid it down in front of her. "And your roast chicken platter, sir," he said, handing Buck his plate, which also contained mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and applesauce. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"More champagne, please," Buck said, handing the waiter his empty wine glass.

"Certainly, sir," the waiter said, taking the glass.

"You know, Chanice, it's hard to believe it's been eight years since we first met," Buck said as his glass was taken away.

"I'm surprised you remembered the date, knowing how you were drunk at the time," Chanice told him.

"How could I ever forget you whaling away at me with that tire iron yelling, "Take that, you damn dirty drunk!" Buck said with a laugh.

"Well your thoughtlessness in drinking and driving cost me eight hundred dollars worth of repairs to my shop," Chanice said sternly. "It took me three months to rebuild the front part."

"But at least I came back to help you clean up," Buck reminded her. "Not many drunks would have done that."

"True," Chanice admitted. "You know, I've been looking over some designs for the cake, and I've come to like one that's got a tire pattern to it. It would help if you could come with me after you finished work tomorrow so I could get your approval on it."

"I'll see what I can do," Buck said, still remembering what Roger had told him about the big racehorse at the track tomorrow.

"Knowing your history, Buck, I'd prefer a yes or no answer," Chanice said firmly. "Okay, yes then."

"Good," Chanice smiled, then changed the subject. "So how was counseling today?"

"Decent," Buck told her. "Three kids wanting college forms signed out, one guy who needed to transfer classes for next semester, and an emotionally saddened girl."

"Was she all right?" Chanice asked with some concern.

"Yeah, she was OK in the end. She gave me her phone number, and I'll be getting in touch with her family over Christmas break."

The waiter came back with Buck's champagne and the bill. "Your check, Miss Kobaloski," he said, handing Chanice the bill.

The man at the booth behind them turned around at the mention of Chanice's name. "Chanice Kobaloski?" he implored after a momentary look of surprise. Chanice spun around and appeared surprised herself. "Mark!?" she said in shock. "I thought you'd gone to New York!?"

"I came back a couple of year's ago," the man explained. "How have you been doing?"

"Excuse me, sir," Buck interrupted. "You are...?"

"Oh, um, Mark Tarquin, President and CEO, Tarquin Automotive," the man said.

"And who are you to be with Chanice?"

"Buck Russell, Guidance Counselor, Shermer High School, and Chanice's Fiance," Buck told him.

Mark Tarquin burst into huge laughter. "And what's so funny?" Buck demanded.

"A guidance counselor?" Tarquin said between guffaws. "How can a guidance counselor earn enough money to come here?" He clutches his sides and rolled onto the floor in hysterics.

"Oh and I suppose uptight rich stiffs like you can afford to laugh at jobs you consider stupid," Buck said sarcastically, adding a few laughs of his own.

"Buck, please," Chanice scolded him. Turning back to Tarquin, she asked him, "What are you doing here this evening?"

"I'm taking my son Cutter out for his sixteenth birthday," Tarquin said, jerking his hand over at a tall, handsome boy sitting across from him who waved back in a bored manner. Leaning close to Chanice, he whispered, "Ordinarily, I wouldn't bother taking him out, but he insisted, said he wanted something special for sweet sixteen."

"Well it's not everyday you turn sixteen," Chanice said.

"Whatever," Tarquin now leaned closer to Chanice. "How about you and I get together for lunch tomorrow and remenise about old times?" His hand came close to touching her shoulder. Buck jumped up before he could touch her. "Okay, it was nice meeting you and all, but Chanice and I really need to go home and sleep for the night. Bye." He took Chanice's hand and dragged her toward the register.

"Buck, what are you doing!?" Chanice demanded as her fiance tossed the bill and the money for their meal at the cashier and led her toward the door.

"I'm getting us out of here before that stiff makes a pass at you," Buck told her.

"That stiff happens to be my ex-boyfriend, Buck!" Chanice shouted.

"Ex!" Buck stopped at looked at her. "You never said anything about an ex-boyfriend."

"Well I used to be in love with him when I was about Tia's age," Chanice said sternly. "It's been eleven years seen I've seen him; you could have shown a little more respect."

"Oh really?" Buck was now quite interested in Mark Tarquin. "Why'd you break up?"

"He went to New York abruptly to pursue a career in car manufacturing and I thought he wouldn't be coming back," Chanice explained firmly. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to go back in and say hello again to him more formally and see how his son's been doing."

"Would you, uh have had anything to, um,..."

"No, he's from a previous marriage," Chanice told Buck. "His wife died giving birth, and he and I met about a year afterwards."

"Really? Well, that's just..." Buck started to say, but just then a truck driving by on the street abruptly backfired. At the sound of the blast, Buck turned pale and suddenly hit the ground, covering his head.

"Buck are you all right?" Chanice cried at him with concern.

Buck slowly got back up. He was breathing heavily. "Oh yeah, I'm all right." he said in a weak, unconvincing voice. Chanice eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded and said, "All right then, I won't be more than ten minutes." She walked back into the restaurant with a strong spring in her step. Buck dusted himself off and glancing up and down the street. "Thank God it wasn't real," he said to himself.

"Not too much longer to the next stop," Del commented, glancing out the window at the moonlit countryside passing by outside the train.

"Which one is that overall?" Neal asked. He was laying back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling in boredom.

"Third since we left Mecklenburg," Del told him. Only about nineteen or twenty more to go."

The snack cart came by. "Would either of you gentlemen like anything?" the waitress asked.

"I'll have a hot dog," Neal said.

"That'll be five dollars," she told him. Neal produced the money and took the hot dog. He was rather hungry by now.

"You know that some of the things they put in hot dogs include finger nails and the worst type of fats," Del told him. "And that's not counting..."

"Thank you Del, you made me lose my appetite," Neal said, handing his friend the hot dog in disgust.

"I'm sorry, Neal, I didn't mean to do that."

"Too late," Neal said. "I'll probably never touch another hot dog again."

"Don't force that on yourself," Del argued. He tried to change the subject. "Well, at least there won't be any more problems now. We'll be rolling into Chicago tomorrow morning with loads of time to spare before the holidays. I'll drop you off at your house, stop by K-Mart, and pick up John's gift, then be home in time to give it to him for Christmas."

"What are you getting him?" Neal asked with great curiosity. After all, it would be hard to buy a present for someone like Bender.

"Just between you and me, Neal, I'm getting him one of those dancing Christmas trees that you can personalize with someone's name," Del whispered.

Neal stiffled a laugh. That sounded like a rather dumb gift. "Now why would you think he'd like that?" he asked Del.

"Well, it's the holidays, Neal, and he's never really had a gift before in the past, so I figured anything will do for him," Del explained.

"He'll just throw it back in your face, Del," Neal warned. "To him, that's a stupid present."

"It doesn't matter what type of gift it is, Neal; it's the thought that counts," Del argued. "I just want to show him the spirit of Christmas."

"Whatever," Neal glanced out the window. "I hope nothing else goes wrong on this trip. Don't want to keep your ward from his dancing Christmas tree much longer than we need to."

"Come on, Neal, what's the worst that can happen from here on out?" Del asked. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, however, than the train was rocked by a very large explosion from above. Neal gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "Not again!" he shouted.

"I'm afraid so, Neal," Del yelled over the cries of the now hysterical train passengers. The salesman glanced out the window and looked skyward. "It's the same two jets; they're right overhead," he announced.

"What's the matter with these guys!?" Neal asked out loud. "Are they that drugged up?"

"I thought you said they couldn't be on drugs?" Del asked as the train was struck in the caboose area.

"I said drunk, Del, not on drugs!"

"Bad news, Neal," Del said looking forward toward the locomotive. "The..."

"If it's bad news, Del, don't tell me it!" Neal shouted. He noticed what Del had seen, though; the engineer was rolling down a slight embankment, apparently having jumped already. He exchanged glances with Del. "No one's driving the train!" they said at the same time.

"There's only one thing to do then," Del lept to his feet. "Take hold of my trunk, Neal, it's time to be engineers. We're going to stop this train"

"Del, have you ever driven a train before?" Neal demanded. He personally didn't know how to.

"No, but how hard can it be?" Del posed with a shrug. Neal sighed and took hold of the trunk and followed Del up the aisle. Another missile blast rocked the train. Neal was worried the train couldn't take much more.

The two men exited out the front door of the car and climbed over the tender car into the engine (they'd been in the frontmost passenger car). "I've got an idea, Neal," Del said. "Go uncouple the engine from the rest of the train."

"Why?"

"The passenger cars'll just coast safely to a stop," Del explained. "Then we can just stop the engine."

"Sounds fair," Neal climbed back over to the rear of the tender amid a hail of bulletshots. There was just one problem; he didn't know how to uncouple a train. The coupler looked too complex to him. Then he noticed a lever near the bottom of it. He took hold of it and yanked it as hard as he could. It jerked up, then got stuck. Neal kicked at it in frustration. The lever abruptly shifted, and the train seperated with a loud hiss. Neal was caught off guard and almost slipped off. He grabbed onto the catcher of the baggage car just in time, and hooked his feet around the tender end. His hat went flying away toward the caboose. "Oh great!" he shouted, realizing he'd just lost another headpiece.

Bullets went flying all around Neal. He tried wiggling from side to side to make himself a somewhat moving target. His shoulders and hips couldn't take much more strain as the cars moved farther apart. Moments later, the train hit some rough track, and Neal was jolted up and down.

"Del!" he shouted over the chugging engine, "get me out of here! I don't want to be three feet longer than I was this morning!"

"Don't worry Neal! I'm on the way!" Del cried. He slid down the tender and took hold of Neal's legs. "Just let go and I'll pull you up!"

"Promise you won't let go?" Neal demanded.

"Promise."

"Okay," Neal release his grip on the baggage car...and Del was almost pulled off the train with him. The salesman managed to grab a hold on a rung on the tender and with much strength managed to pull his friend on board, moments before an air-to-ground grenade hit where they where.

"Come on, we'll stop the engine now," Del said, motioning toward the locomotive. They climbed down inside it. Neal took one look at the interior of the locomotive and groaned. There were levers, switches, and nozzles everywhere, none of which had identification. "How hard can it be, huh Del?" he said sarcastically to his friend.

"Well, I guess we're going to have to do some experimenting here," Del said optimistically. He pulled a long cord above the cabin. The whistle sounded.

"Hey, I always wanted to do this as a kid!" he said happily and gave the whistle several more enthusiastic pulls.

"For God's sake, Del, find the brake!" Neal shouted.

"Right," Del snapped back to reality. "You take the left side; I'll take the right."

"Gotcha," Neal began turning all the nozzles and levers he could find. Nothing really seemed to do anything. For about three minutes, he and Del tried everything they could get their hands on. Finally, one of the levers Del pulled set off a loud shrieking sound that were clearly the brakes. "All right, we're going to get out of this mess cleanly," the shower curatin ring salesman stated proudly. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, however, than another missile shot hit the train just behind the engine, lifting it in the air for a split second. Neal grabbed on to the window for his life, expecting the train to tip over, but it miraculously remained upright. Seconds later, another shot slammed into a switch station on the side of the track, causing it to spin around wildly.

"I think we're being switched to another track!" Del shouted over the blast of the missile shot.

"Oh well, we'll just coast to a stop," Neal said with optimism as they slid to the left onto the side track.

"I'm afraid not Neal," Del said with a note of fear Neal had never heard from him before. The marketer looked out the locomotive window and saw with horror a large sign on th track ahead reading TRACK ENDS 1/2 MILE. "Put the brakes on full!" he yelled.

Del tugged the brake lever as hard as he could--and broke it. "Oh geez, I hate when this happens!" he groaned, throwing the lever out the window. "Okay, no problem, we're just going to have to jump--again."

"I'm not jumping again!" Neal shouted at him.

"It's that or a fiery death!" Del argued. Neal glanced back out the window. He saw a larger sign reading END OF TRACK just around the bend, with an old wooden bridge in the process of being torn down just beyond it. "All right, Del, but this is the last time!" he shouted in resignation.

"Okay, take the trunk!" Del said, grasping the front end. Neal picked up the other end and followed his friend to the door. They took position at the edge of the tender.

"One, two, THREE!" Del yelled and all but dragged Neal off the train when the marketer hesitated for a brief moment. They hit the ground hard and rolled over several times. Neal looked back up in time to see the train smash through the END OF TRACK sign and roar off the end of the bridge. He hit the ground again as a loud explosion rocked the woods and a huge fireball belched toward the sky.

"That was close!" Del said, breathing a big sigh of relief.

Neal nodded, but was too angry with whoever had been shooting at the train to pay much attention. He got up and stormed back up the track toward where the train was.

"Where're you going, Neal?" Del called after him.

"I'm going to look the jerk who's shooting at us right in the eye and give him a piece of my mind!" Neal shouted back at him. He rounded the bend again to see the rest of the train had coasted to a stop around the switchtrack. He stopped upon seeing the rest of the passengers being herded off the train at gunpoint by about two dozen soldiers.

"Major!" came the call of Sergeant Siegel from the rear of the train, "those two aren't here!"

"Go over to where the engine went off the track and see if they're there!" Sherman shouted at him. Neal realized that he was talking about Del and himself and immediately broke into a run. He could tell that the soldiers had bad intentions for them.

"THERE GOES ONE!" Corporal Maslin shouted. Seconds later, bullets began ripping all around Neal. He crouched low to the ground, praying they were bad shots.

"What going...?" Del started to ask as Neal apporached him, but the marketer cut him off with, "Let's get out of here now. They're looking for us." "What do they want us for?" Del asked, puzzled. "I think we both paid our income taxes, didn't we?"

"Just come on!" Neal took Del's hand and dragged him toward the safety of the deep woods.

Behind them, a squad of soldiers gave chase for a few yards, but Neal and Del were too fast, and soon disappeared into the thick woods. THe soldiers trudged back toward the rest of the train. "They got away," the leader told Sherman.

"All right, Captain Lyons, surround the woods for a ten mile radius; we'll cut them off and take them into custody," Sherman ordered.

"Yes sir," Captain Lyons slauted and marched off with his squad.

"Major, our orders are to kill them, not detain them," Lieutenant Maltin pointed out.

"I'd rather take them alive," Sherman told him firmly. "Now get on the radio in the caboose and call the railroad to send a relief train. I don't want to leave all these people," he gestured toward the rest of the train's passengers, standing under guard a few feet away, "out here by themselves."

"But Major, that's..." Lieutenant Maltin began.

"That's an order, Lieutenant!" Sherman snapped.

"All right, sir," Lieutenant Maltin shuffled off.