It’s nearly 2 a.m. Martin is on the front desk working lunch relief. The 911 phone rings.

Martin is writing down tjhe information when there’s a thunderous crash in the lobby less than 15 feet away. It sounds like an incoming SCUD missile.

Actually, it’s a pickup truck. It plunges though the glass window, crosses the lobby, and slams into the cinder block wall near where Martin is standing. There’s a dark object in the driver’s hand.

"He’s got a grenade!" Martin thinks. "He’s a terrorist!"

With window glass still raining down, Martin’s .357-Magnum is firmly in hand. The sights are directly on the driver’s left ear. A sure shot. Such a shot produces no wiggling, just muscle tissue turned to Jello.

Wild thoughts continue through Martin’s mind: "If this guy is a terrorist, he’s sure to have an Uzi or a Mac-10. If all I do is wing him—it’ll just make him mad."

"On the other hand," thinks Martin, "if I kill him and he’s not a terrorist (just a drunk), then by daybreak I’ll be history around here. Everybody will have months to decide what I should have done. It’s a lose-lose situation. Either way, I’m hung out to dry."

Martin does not shoot. The driver is not a terrorist. As Martin suspected, he’s a drunk. The object in the driver’s hand is a beer can. Somebody beat the guy up in a neighborhood bar. Then the guy drove himself to the sheriff’s office to report his "assault." As the guy approaches the sheriff’s office he passes out before he can park.

Our deputy is a hero for not killing the guy. The driver is arrested for driving under the influence. The county rebuilds the sheriff’s lobby, replacing the glass wall with concrete block. Steel reinforced anti-vehicle concrete pylons are installed to prevent future drive-ins. The front desk is surrounded with bulletproof glass, and the door leading to the office area, also bulletproofed, has a coded numeric keypad to admit law enforcement only.