Mechanic or Hero?

Harvey was a common type guy growing up. He drank a little beer and drove around town in his old Ford pick-up before the draft got him for Uncle Sam's Army and Viet Nam. He never seemed normal after his discharge and return, but who's to say what's norman these days? After returning, he had a pony tail, didn't seem to bathe often, and always wore dirty fatigues.
His job was at the Esso station at the corner of County Line Road and State Route Thirty-Three, where he patched tires, changed oil and did a little mechanical work, if the pumps weren't too busy. His job title was "handy man."
He didn't have a busy social calendar as he exhibited a policy of laizzez faire not bothering anyone and hoping they wouldn't bother him. Some said he suffered from post traumatic stress syndrome while others deescirbed him as eccentric or "shell shocked." His only apparent reason for hanging around the station was a helicopter which management bought at an army surplus sale and parked beside the station to draw attention.
If business were truly slack, Harvey could be seen painting and polishing the helicopter, applying coat after coat of olive drab paint and touching up the numbers. Grease was liberally applied to all the operating gears. The chopper's condition looked good enough to fly and provided therapy for him. He beamed as kids looked it over while their parents had gasoline pumped.
Every Friday afternoon, Billy, the station manager paid Harvey forty dollars which he held in his hand and delivered to The Colonnade Bank for deposit, less the small amount held out for beer and food. On this particular Friday afternoon, two bandits shoved Harvey aside, took his forty dollars, and an undisclosed amount of money from the bank tellers who were nervously standing at the ends of AK-47s. The toughs backed out the bank's doors and careened out of town in a Cooper Mini with the town's constabulary in hot pursuit!
The police lost track of the thieves and were in a quandary. The locals, state police and FBI brought in tracking dogs and combed the countryside to no avail.
As darkness crept across town, a shadowy figure crawled aboard the helicopter, and fired it up, amid a cloud of acrid smoke thrown out by a long dormant engine. The law enforcement officials were thrilled thinking state help had arrived to assist in the search. No one realized that Harvey was the pilot.
Only fifteen minutes had lapsed when the chopper flew back across town with an object dangling from its skids. It was the Cooper Mini with the two bandits still inside. Harvey found them hiding in a field very close to the road, waiting for total darkness to cover their escape to Mexico. Harvey fired a rocket at the car which missed before he ran the skids through the windows, trapping the occupants who were then air lifted to the jail impound yard.
The police were glad to cathc the crooks. The bank was joyous to recover their loot, and Harvey was once again hailed as a conquering hero. His comment: "Heck, I just wanted my beer money back."