“Think they’re gone yet?” Brad asked after about half an hour of anxious waiting.

“Hopefully,” Greg replied.

“Should we get back, see if the car’s still there?” Paul suggested.

“Ritza’s heavies could still be there,” Brad reminded them.

“Well what do you suggest we do, walk to Queanbeyan?” Paul barked.

“Let’s get back to the car,” Greg commanded. “If they’re still there, we’ll come up with something then.”

“Back through the reservoir?” Brad asked.

“Quicker than trying to go around,” Greg sighed, and got up to wade in. “Wasn’t this cold last time, was it?”

“I think fear for your life short-circuits the cold receptors,” Paul declared and dove in, followed closely by Brad, and the three of them headed across the reservoir at a more leisurely pace.

“You know,” mused Brad, “if it weren’t for the fact that my clothes weigh about 50 pounds and we we’re being stalked by madmen, this could almost be considered fun!”

“Yeah, well don’t enjoy yourself too much, pal,” Greg said, “we don’t want to attract the attention of the heavies.”

They fell silent and quickly made their way to the opposite shore and stealthily wandered through the trees until they found the road. The blue Beetle as well as the other menacing car were about 50 feet down the road, the two henchmen pacing back and forth between the cars, barely visible in the moonlight. “Now what?” Brad demanded quietly.

“Gimme a second,” Greg hissed. “Look, these guys are Ritza’s shit-for-brains heavies, I can’t count how many times they’ve been outsmarted. So, here’s my plan. We’re gonna sneak up on ‘em. Brad, you climb the first tree you can find that’s climbable. Paul, you sneak around to the other side and stay hidden, and follow my lead.”

“Right,” Brad agreed with a small salute.

“Fine,” Paul huffed, and they headed off towards the cars.

Once Greg was certain the other two were situated, he took a deep breath. “Do not move,” he yelled, dropping his voice an octave and trying to sound a bit less like a nasal Yank. “This is the police. We have you surrounded.”

From Brad’s treetop perspective, he watched the guys scramble. “We have Ritza Crispin,” he called down to them. “We know what you’re up to.”

Both of the heavies decided they would drive the getaway car and smashed into each other on their way to the driver’s side. Each then decided the other would drive and scrambled for passenger seats.

“Surrender yourselves or we shoot,” Paul cried. “We may shoot anyway, it’s been a boring week at the station!”

Frantic, someone managed to get behind the wheel and the car sped off. Once certain that they weren’t coming back, Brad climbed down the tree and joined Greg and Paul at the car. “That looked like a Three Stooges short,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, but we’re the Stooges,” Greg sighed. “They took our spare, and they let the fucking air out of the front tire.”

“So?” Brad asked.

“Well how do you expect to drive with a flat tire?” Paul demanded.

“They do it all the time in LA,” Brad said. “Haven’t you ever see the car chases on the news where the cops use a spike strip and the guy goes whizzing down the Ventura Freeway on his rims, with the sparks? Anyway, we’ve just gotta get to a gas station, right?”

“This is so not cool,” Greg grumbled as they piled into the car.

Fenny had been scribbling on the complimentary hotel notepad with the complimentary hotel chewed-on pen while Gina had taken to pulling loose threads out of the blanket. “Wanna play tic-tac-toe or something?” Fenny suggested.

“God no,” Gina frowned.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“No.”

“Wanna try to pick the lock with bits of the defunct television?”

“There’s an idea,” Gina perked sarcastically.

“Think if we slid a note under the door, the staff would help us?” Fenny asked hopefully.

“Look around, Fen,” Gina sighed. “Does this place look like the maid is a frequent visitor?” Fenny shrugged and continued her doodling. “What’re you doing over there anyway?”

“Just drawing,” she answered.

Gina leaned over to see a little cartoon drawing of Greg, Brad, and Paul dressed up as super heroes, resplendent in tights and capes. “Very nice,” she giggled. “What do you call it?”

“Our Only Hope,” Fenny answered. “A rather tragic piece, don’t you think?”

“You’d be surprised at how good they are at this sort of thing,” Gina assured her.

Fenny nodded and flopped on her stomach as she started another drawing, Gina pulling apart the bedding. “Hey, we could play hangman,” she said with a chuckle. “Seems oddly appropriate.”

“Ooh, lemme guess,” Gina cooed, “ ‘Ritza is a self-absorbed bitch!’ ” she cried.

“Bingo!” Fenny chimed. “Well that was fun, now what?”

“I wish they’d FEED US!” Gina yelled in the direction of the adjacent room.

“Oh boy, more snack food and soda,” Fenny groused. “It’s gonna look pretty bad when the women they kidnapped die of malnutrition. Kinda anticlimactic, isn’t it?”

“What, you’d rather they shoot us through the head? That climactic enough for ya?”

“I never said that. It’s just, if they’re trying to mess with us, it’s not a good effect for us to be so hungry we just don’t care anymore.”

“You should write a book, Kidnapping for Dummies by Fenella Grey.”

Fenny stuck her tongue out at Gina and resorted to making paper airplanes from the drawings she’d done. The first one soared through the air, banked, and hit Gina in the side of the head. “Sorry,” Fenny giggled.

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Why do I put up with you?” Gina asked, fighting the giggles.

“Because if it weren’t for me, you’d have gone stark raving mad by now.”

“Like you were in the running for Miss Sanity before I met you,” Gina laughed.

They chuckled to themselves. “Are victims like us supposed to laugh?” Fenny asked.

“I hope we’re confusing the hell out of the twisted sisters,” Gina said, and Fenny threw another airplane at the wall that separated their rooms.

“Passive aggression,” she shrugged.

“So, I guess you’ll be going back to California with Brad, huh?” Gina asked, raising her voice a little in the hope of annoying Ritza.

“Probably. Sooner or later things are bound to work out, I mean, we are the good guys.” Fenny smiled to herself. “I’m glad Greg wouldn’t let me burn those red boxers,” she mused.

“Red boxers?” Gina asked.

“Oh yeah,” Fenny breathed dreamily. “Just imagine…”

“I think I’d rather not,” Gina grumbled. “I’ve got enough problems without having to envision Brad half naked, thank you.”

“But it’s such a wonderful image,” Fenny sighed.

Listening next door, Ritza stood up suddenly and stomped past the television. “I’m gonna go hunt out some food,” she growled and stalked out of the room.

“Don’t be too long,” Rona said harshly.

Brad pulled into the gas station unsteadily and Greg gratefully leapt out, feeling queasy and car sick from the bumpy ride. Brad filled the tire and the gas tank while Greg and Paul purchased enough snacks and drinks to get them to the city. They were off again quickly, Greg taking over as navigator so Paul could take a nap in the back seat. “It’s your fault I didn’t sleep last night, the least you could do is read the damn map,” he had growled as he climbed in the back seat.

“So, any plans for what to do when we get to town?” Brad asked.

“Well, we find out where they are,” Greg shrugged.

“Right. And we do this how?”

“I guess we march into every hotel and ask if she’s there.”

“You honestly think she’s registered using her real name?”

“She’s not expecting us to know where she is, is she?” Greg said. “Unless you have a better idea, genius.”

“Fine,” Brad conceded.

“Just drive,” Greg yawned. “It’s not far now.”

They drove for a while, watching the scenery become a bit more urban, until they found themselves in the city. “Paul,” Greg said, poking at the sleeping figure with his map.

“Fuck off.”

“We’re here, do you have a suggestion of where to go?”

Paul struggled to an upright position and looked groggily around. “How should I know?”

“You’re the native here,” Brad said, glaring at him in the rear view mirror.

“What’s that got to do with it?” Paul huffed.

“Light!” Greg shrieked, and, startled, Brad skidded to a stop at a traffic light just as a woman was stepping off the curb to cross the street.

“Shit,” Brad breathed. “That’s her.”