Gnome & Harriet's Fondue Pit
20 – Stayin’ Alive
“Damn it,” Brad sighed, staggering a few steps backwards to slump onto the staircase. “This is all my fault.”
“Calm down, Sherwood,” Greg commanded.
“She was right there and I didn’t do anything, I let Paul go and get himself hurt, and I didn’t do a damn thing. We should’ve taken the fucking thing to the police, reported the bag missing, but no, I was so worked up about that photograph – hell, even that was my fault, I knocked the timer on. And if I hadn’t screwed things up we wouldn’t even have to be in this fucking country to begin with, we could’ve,” he checked his watch, “we could’ve been waking up together back home. But no, she’s been kidnapped by homicidal maniacs. Again. And it’s my fault.”
“Look, Brad, we’ve gotta find them and, I dunno, do something,” Gina announced. “Did they say where they were going?”
“How the hell should I know?” he sighed, pulling his fingers through his hair.
“Come on,” Greg said resolutely, “let’s go check the office, maybe there’s something there that’ll tell us where they’re going.”
“Brilliant,” Gina breathed and followed him back up the stairs, Brad slowly coming up behind.
Fenny leaned against the side of the van, Paul’s head still in her lap, her fingers stroking his hair as a gesture designed to comfort herself more than him. “Do you think these guys know what they’ve gotten themselves into?” he mused.
“That’s a rather inept thing to say, don’t you think, considering you’re bleeding and I’m petrified?” Fenny frowned.
“I’ll give you that much,” Paul agreed, “but we’re experienced kidnap victims, and the three that were left behind are experienced kidnapper trackers,” he pointed out. “Besides, we’ve accomplished what we set out to do. We got your kinky photo, and Brad’s wallet while we’re at it.”
“You’re right,” she said, reaching into the bag to grab the few rolls of film in the bottom, which she put in her pocket, and Brad’s wallet, which she wedged into the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ll bet you’re to the point where you’re sick of me and Brad, aren’t you?” she sighed.
“Course not,” he admonished, “why would you say that?”
“You have to admit that whenever we’re together for more than ten minutes at a time, we manage to screw things up. And, ever since I’ve known you, you’ve gotten dragged into our problems.”
“No, I’m glad I get dragged in. Who knows where you’d be if it weren’t for me and Gina. Proops is even helpful sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Fenny echoed with a smile.
“Besides, you guys are pretty fun to have around when you’re not fucked in some way.”
“You’re pretty fun to have around too, even when you are fucked.”
“Why thanks. I think.”
Fenny leaned back and wished they had a window to look through. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts like hell.”
“Sorry,” she breathed, tilting his head so she could investigate the wound. “Well, I think you’ve stopped bleeding.”
“Thank Christ for that,” Paul sighed.
“Yeah,” she nodded, rubbing a finger in the spot of blood on her jeans before guiding his head back down where she resumed her nervous stroking of his hair. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown, what could have happened.”
“Best not to think about it,” he advised.
“Yeah.” There was a silence among the two that was filled with the rumble of the engine and the garbled voices from the front of the van. “Thanks, Paul.”
“Thanks? For what?”
“Risking your ass, or, more specifically your skull, for me when the man I’ve been killing myself over just stood there and watched.”
“Well I couldn’t very well just stand there and let that fucker mess you around.”
“Yeah, well Brad did.”
“You know he wouldn’t have been any use anyway, he’s a wuss and there were guns. He would’ve just ended up here with us, leaving Gina and Greg to find us on their own and you to make up more bandages. I’d rather he was out there trying to save us than in here slobbering over you. Besides, if Brad were around, he’d never let me use your thigh as a pillow.”
“Paul?”
“Hmm.”
“Remind me not to let you get hit in the head again, you stop making sense.”
“Yeah, and what’s your excuse?”
“If it weren’t for the fact that you’re the only thing keeping me from being savaged by the bad guys, I’d hit you for that.”
Gina drummed her fingers across the keyboard in frustration. Seven hundred folders in the computer, none of them containing anything of any value. Lots of invoices for unidentified services or purchases, records which didn’t make much sense, cryptic spreadsheets, absolutely nothing to go on. She let out an aggravated sigh and tried to look at things from a different angle.
Greg looked over at her as he rifled through the bookshelves. “Logging on to the net?” he asked as the familiar sound of a modem dialing filled the room.
She shrugged. “Check out the guy’s favorites, his history, see what pages he looks at, might help.”
“They do that all the time on TV,” Brad announced, throwing another stack of useless papers over his shoulder. It was a small gesture, screwing up the guy’s records, but it gave Brad a certain amount of satisfaction.
“And, going through his favorites, we have an enchanting list of some of the less tasteful porn sites, some weaponry dealers, weather report – weather report?”
“Weather report for where?” Greg asked.
“Um…London area,” Gina answered.
“Well there’s a hint,” he chimed. “I’m willing to guess he does a fair amount of dealing with London.”
“Think we should head there then?” Brad asked as he wandered over to the desk to remove the next drawer to go through.
“London’s a pretty big city,” Gina declared. “I’d like to think we could find something else to go on.”
“How about some receipts for The Savoy?” Greg shrugged, dropping a folder of receipts on the desk. “I’m guessing the dude likes that particular hotel, he’s stayed there quite a bit.”
“That helps a lot,” Gina smiled up at him.
“No, actually, it doesn’t,” Brad announced, and they turned to face him as he threw another stack of paper behind the couch, where they scattered amongst the growing mountain accumulating in front of the fireplace. “They’re going to Paris.”
“Paris?” Gina and Greg gasped simultaneously.
He held up a leather-bound planner. Scribbled on the memo page for that week was “Meet with Dedworth.”
“Which implies Paris how?” Greg demanded.
“Gimme a second,” Brad said, hopping over the back of the couch to rummage through the mess he’d made. “I found an address book, and I remembered the name Dedworth ‘cause, you know, it’s creepy, and his address is in Paris. Where’d it go?”
“Would’ve been simpler if you hadn’t made such a mess,” Gina sighed.
Brad merely scowled at her as he pulled the address book out from under a pile of notebooks and tossed it to her. “You think he’s still headed for a meeting if he’s got Fen and McDermott?” Greg asked.
“If it’s an important enough meeting,” Brad shrugged.
“And considering he’s so interested in weapons and huge wads of cash, I’m willing to guess that he’s involved in a profession that involves pretty important meetings,” Gina sighed.
“Such as?”
“Drug running, diamond smuggling, something illegal. Hey, with all the porn sites, maybe he’s into prostitution.”
“Fuck, Fenny’s been kidnapped by a pimp,” Brad whined.
“How long till we hit a cell site, you think?” Fenny asked cautiously as she checked her phone for the tenth time in so many minutes. Upon seeing the “out of range” message for the umpteenth time, she had to swallow the urge to smash the thing with her fist while screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Dunno,” Paul sighed sleepily.
“Don’t you go passing out on me,” she warned, her voice tinted with fear.
“I’m just tired,” he yawned.
“Well don’t be.” Paul sat up groggily and readjusted his makeshift bandage as he leaned against the opposite wall of the van, and they regarded each other carefully in the dim light. “You doing alright?” she asked.
“As well as can be expected,” he groaned, trying to find a comfortable way to hold his head. “You?”
“As long as Don doesn’t try to touch me, I’ll be fine.”
“I won’t let him near you.”
“Thanks Paul,” Fenny smiled. “I’ll try to keep them away from you too.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, because then we’d be pretty fucked, wouldn’t we?”
She nodded and her smile faded as the conversation died, leaving them to their thoughts for a minute or two. “Where do you think we’re going?” she asked when the silence became too much.
“Oh, if I were to guess, I’d say to deliver the drugs.”
“Drugs?” Fenny gasped.
“Over there,” he said, pointing to the lump of packages in the far corner, which she’d somehow managed to miss. Well she had, after all, had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Of course,” Fenny sighed. “Just fantastic.”
“Well, at least we know where the money came from,” Paul said, trying to smile encouragingly.
“Yeah, that helps so much.”
“And hey, if we get bored, we could smoke some of it.”
“Paul!”
“Joke, joke,” he laughed, then wished he hadn’t. His hand went to the back of his head as his vision swam a bit. “Not that I couldn’t really use some drugs right now.”
“Thank you so much for loaning your lighter to Greg,” she grinned.
“Ok, come on, hurry, let’s go,” Brad commanded, anxiously hitting the banister with one of the maps they’d managed to gather. “I want to get out of here, get on the road and find Fenny. And Paul,” he added as Gina and Greg rounded the corner. “God, if that English bastard so much as touches Fen I’ll rip off his balls and feed them to Mochrie.”
“Excuse me?” Greg asked, stopping cold halfway down the stairs.
“My dog, not Col. Now come on, into the car, now.” With that, Brad scurried out the door with McIver’s bag and a bag of food he’d gathered from the kitchen for their trek.
“No, out Sherwood,” Greg commanded as he and Gina finally made their way out to the car with their supplies—the planner, address book and receipts, which they hoped would come in use. At least this time they had some rough idea of where they were heading. They hoped.
“I’m driving,” Brad said, defiantly turning the key and sparking the engine to life.
“Where’s your license?” Greg asked, eyebrow raised.
Brad opened his mouth to answer, then realized his driver’s license was in his wallet, which was in the bag he didn’t have, which had been the cause of this whole fiasco. “You honestly think me not having a license is at the top of my things to worry about? We’ve got a bag full of money and knives that was probably stolen, and Paul was nearly killed and Fenny’s probably in the middle of a gang bang by now. Shut up and let me drive.”
“I’m driving,” Greg announced. “You’re in no state to be in charge of something as dangerous as an SUV. Get in the back and try to get hold of yourself.”
“But I—”
“Sherwood, out,” Gina commanded as she came around to the front of the vehicle after getting the other things situated in the back.
“I’m driving,” Brad growled through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, that’s right, you care now that there’s no heavies to deal with,” Gina hissed. “You’ll go chase your precious Fenny across Europe but you’ll let another man fight for her. No wonder Fenny’s not sure about you.”
Brad’s eyes narrowed to incensed slits before he jumped out from behind the wheel, threw the back door open with such force that it bounced back and hit him in the knee as he slid into the seat before slamming it shut. “Like dealing with a child,” Gina sighed as she wandered around to the other side and slid in the passenger seat.
“Why does Fen put up with him?” Greg asked as he put the car in gear.
“She’s got issues I think,” Gina sighed.
“I can hear you,” Brad huffed, arms folded across his chest.
“Good,” Gina spat.
“I’m bored,” Paul announced.
“So you’ve said,” Fenny sighed.
“Well I am.”
“So am I.”
“What should we do?”
“I dunno,” she shrugged. “I left my Monopoly set at home, how foolish of me.”
“What did we do last time we were tossed in the back of a black van driven by psychotics?”
“Um, if memory serves, we yelled a lot, got the psychotics angry, and a Queen song was involved somehow.”
Paul nodded and leaned the side of his head against the side of the van.
“Whether you’re a mother or whether you’re a lover, you’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.”
“Paul?” Fenny demanded, trying not to laugh.
He cocked his head and continued to sing. “Inner city’s breaking, everybody’s shaking but you’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.”
“Only you could make disco sound sweet,” she giggled, holding her head in her hands.
“Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.”
“Shut up back there!” someone from the front shouted.
“AH, AH, AH, AH, STAYIN’ ALIVE,” Paul all but screamed, punctuating each syllable with a kick against the side of the van as it quickly came to a stop.
“I said shut the fuck up,” a heavy, now brandishing a severely unpleasant gun, shouted as he flung the door open.
“Fuck you,” Paul spat.
“Aah, so the pixie’s awake,” Don chimed as he came into view. “Let’s see if we can’t rectify this problem. Take care of him,” he sneered.
That was all it took for the heavy to take a step towards the van, the gun lowered menacingly. Paul froze, sizing up the situation. Was he serious?
“No, please,” Fenny gasped, jumping up to her knees, feeling herself begin to tremble. “Don’t hurt him, please.”
“Christ, the woman’s gonna cry,” the driver moaned.
Don frowned at her as he grabbed the gunman’s arm. “You’re not worth the effort. But if you don’t behave yourselves, I might change my mind,” he huffed and slammed the door shut again.
“He’s got a soft spot for you,” Paul chimed, and they both jumped as a gun went off outside the door.
“That or he’s waiting to break my spirit later,” she cringed, taking a few steady breaths to calm herself.
“You’ve been watching too many movies again,” he announced and went back to reclining against the wall, Fenny doing likewise. “Thanks, by the way.”
“All I did was freak out,” she smiled.
“Yeah, but it did the trick.”
“Guess it did.”
They rode in silence back towards London, Gina munching on some crackers and casting occasional glances at the map, though the route was clearly laid out. Greg hummed to the tune of the nondescript song on the radio, the only station they could pick up. Brad was going through Fenny’s sketchbook, feeling like a bastard. He’d chastised her for wanting to draw, but now that she was gone and he was looking at what she had created, he would have killed for them to be out in the middle of nowhere together, just watching her draw. But because he had been a spineless prick and had failed to stand up for her like he should have, she was in the clutches of some insane criminal mind having god knows what done to her.
God, he’d managed to fuck things up again. But Brad knew he couldn’t have done anything to take on those men with guns, they should have formed an organized attack instead of letting Paul jump in there alone…
Maybe there really was a reason that Fenny and Brad weren’t supposed to be together, maybe it was fate intervening for the better. Every time they got together and became the least bit happy, something would happen to destroy it all. Maybe he was just a fuck up.
Greg shot a glance at Gina under the pretense that there was an interesting patch of clover on her side of the road. Even as they were embarking on another one of their foolish, dangerous, completely insane adventures across parts of the world he was less than familiar with, Gina still managed to spark something in his heart.
Not that she noticed. That or she was pretending not to notice. But, locked in that basement, something had happened, hadn’t it? He’d told her he thought she was his soul mate, and then she’d let him kiss her. If it weren’t for Brad sulking in the back seat, Greg would have tested his theory by pulling off on the side of the road, smothering her in kisses and, if his theory was right, making love to her right there over the gear shift.
But she still just sat, staring off into the distance, going to such efforts not to even glimpse him from the corner of her eye. That brought an entirely new feeling to his heart, one he pushed down and tried to ignore.
Gina could feel him looking at her, feel the tension in the air, Greg’s obvious, familiar longing coupled with Brad’s worry and self-pity, and it wasn’t doing her any good. She wasn’t sure what had gone on in the dark and damp earlier; maybe it hadn’t been anything, a minor slip caused by claustrophobia, the fear of being trapped, the knowledge that they might not escape. It was Greg wanting to get a good screw before he died. It was Greg declaring his undying love for her.
She couldn’t look at him. It was wrong to think of your former lover when your husband was just beaten and kidnapped and currently on his way to Paris with potential murderers and your best friend. What would Paul say if he knew about her kissing Greg?
No, that’s not what she was thinking about. Paul needed their help, she was going to help him. Greg was not an issue. Still she could feel his arm around her, his fingers on her skin. Gina nearly jumped out of her seat as his actual hand brushed against hers as he reached for the crackers in her lap.
She glanced at him, wide-eyed, and, at the realization her heart was pounding, quickly turned her gaze back to the map, brushing away a few crumbs as the pained look on Greg’s face registered. One thought echoed in her head above all her concerns about Paul, Greg, Fenny, and the madmen. “I hate my life.”