“They stole the engine,” Greg shrieked the next morning as they stood around the Beetle in the early morning light. “I can’t believe they stole the fucking engine.”

“Well at least we know why those heavies were hanging around,” Paul remarked.

“How are we supposed to save the girls now?” Brad sulked. “Ritza’s gonna do something horrible to Fen and it’ll be all my fault.”

“We’ll just have to get another car,” Paul shrugged.

“Oh, there’s a car rental place close by, is there?” Greg barked.

“How the hell should I know? I don’t drive, remember,” Paul spat.

“Fuck it,” Greg hissed and began to pace. “How are we going to get a car in the most useless part of Australia? If only we knew someone…” Greg’s muttering stopped and he looked over at Paul

“What?” Paul scorned.

“Your parents don’t live far from here, right?” Greg perked.

“Hey? Oh nonono…I am not going to ask my folks for their car,” Paul replied defiantly.

“Get up,” Ritza ordered.

Fenny and Gina sleepily opened their eyes. It had taken them until nearly 4am to get to sleep, and the last thing they wanted was to be woken a few hours later.

“I don’t suppose we’re having a full breakfast before we leave?” Gina asked.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Ritza asked.

“Do you have constant PMS or are you just naturally a bitch?” Fenny hissed.

Ritza marched over to Fenny, eyes blazing with hatred. She stood in front of her for several seconds and then let fly with a hard slap across her right cheek.

“Bitch,” Gina snapped while Fenny, shocked, nursed her face.

Ritza turned to Gina. “Do you want one as well?”

“Fuck you,” Gina spat and before Ritza knew it, she’d copped a slap across the face as well. “Don’t ever touch my friend again.”

Ritza looked like she was about to cry, but held back and stormed out of the room.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Fenny gasped.

“I know.” Gina nodded, “I’m sure Rona will give me a hiding for it, but Christ it felt good.”

“Mum, nice to see ya,” Paul perked as his mother opened the front door. She looked at the three men horrified.

“What’s happened to you?” Betty gasped.

“Long story ma, you really don’t want to know,” Paul grinned and wrapped his mother in a hug. “Is Dad around?” he added.

“Yes, he’s watching TV. Who are your friends?” Betty asked.

“Oh this is Greg, we met on the comedy circuit, and Brad who I only met a few days ago,” Paul chirped and slid past his mother into the house. Brad and Greg followed.

“Dad,” Paul beamed.

John gave the three men the same look his wife had.

“Now, I can’t stay long, but I need to ask a favour. Brad here is having a bit of trouble with his missus, you know what it’s like. Anyway, his car broke down—would you believe it—and he really needs to see her and get things sorted out because she might go into labour any day. So, I, we were wondering if we could…you know…borrow the car?” Paul babbled.

His parents looked slightly dumfounded.

“Well, I suppose it’d be ok…since it’s such an emergency and all,” John smiled.

“Oh, thanks, Dad,” Paul grinned and quickly hugged his father while grabbing the keys.

“You’ll let us know when the baby is born,” Betty called as the three men left the house.

Outside Paul chucked the keys to Brad.

“You know, that was the most wonderful piece of bullshit I have ever heard,” Greg perked.

“Yeah, well I’m not proud of it,” Paul grumbled.

“Can we just go?” Brad exclaimed.

“If anything happens to this car I will kill both of you,” Paul hissed.

Fenny and Gina were bustled out of the hotel room by Ritza and Rona who were trying to look inconspicuous, not that it mattered. The hotel staff was slightly less attentive than a handtowel, which they didn’t supply anyway. Gina and Fenny could have run past the desk screaming that they had been kidnapped, only to be shushed by the receptionist and shot by Ritza and Rona, so they opted not to.

They made it to the car where Ritza and Rona looked at each other for a minute. “Aren’t you gonna open the door?” Rona asked.

“I thought you had the keys,” Ritza said.

“You idiot,” Rona screeched. “Go back to the room and get the fucking keys.” She then led the other two women back into the lobby to wait. “You know,” Rona mused as she pushed Gina into a chair, “if it were up to me, I would’ve killed the two of you already. Nice and clean, execution style, right through the back of the head. But Ritza wouldn’t have it. I’m only humouring her because her whining is so unbearable.”

“Thanks for the consideration,” Gina grumbled as Fenny looked away. “You’re such a wonderful sister.”

“But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind too much if I knocked you off though,” Rona grinned evilly at Gina. “You’re not the one she’s interested in.”

“What do you want from us?” Fenny asked carefully.

“Pain, suffering, fear, a bit of vengeance,” Rona shrugged as Ritza appeared, jingling the keys as she headed out towards the car. The others followed quickly, and Ritza opened the back door. Gina was pushed in first, and gave Rona a deliberate kick in the shin as she crawled into the car.

Fenny’s eyes went wide with astonishment as her throat suddenly closed up. That man that had pulled up across the street, that couldn’t have been Brad, could it? Before she could be certain, Rona pushed her harshly into the car and slid in the front seat.

“They’re leaving,” Greg shouted.

“Well obviously!” Brad countered. “What do we do?”

“Follow them, you moron,” Paul demanded.

Brad made a hasty U-turn and flew towards the street that Ritza’s car had just disappeared down. “Calm down,” Greg growled. “Remember our little talk about subtlety? Loud dangerous car chases might work in the movies, but we’ve gotta keep a low profile here.”

“Right,” Brad agreed and turned the corner slowly, looking for Ritza’s car, and followed what he hoped was an adequate distance away.

Fenny sat in the back seat, furiously rubbing her sweating palms on the thighs of her jeans, willing herself not to turn around and see if the guys were following them.

“What’s wrong, Fen?” Gina asked, concerned.

“Nothing,” she replied a bit too quickly. “Can’t a kidnapee be nervous?”

Gina eyed her carefully but decided not to press it as they continued to drive.

“Fuck it, we’re being followed,” Rona yelped.

“What? How?” Ritza gasped.

Rona turned in her seat and grabbed Fenny’s arm, squeezing ruthlessly. “I don’t know how you did it, but you’re gonna pay for telling them…”

“Get over yourself,” Gina spat. “She didn’t tell them anything. They’re bright guys, they’ve beaten you before, what makes you think this time’s gonna be any different, you stupid bitch?”

Fenny grabbed Rona’s arm and dug her fingernails into her flesh. She yelped and jumped back. “You are so dead,” Rona muttered as she made to leap out of her seat at Fenny. Ritza, who was trying to lose the guys, turned down a back alley unexpectedly and threw Rona against the dashboard.

“I’m trying to do something here,” Ritza groused, “and you crawling around the car isn’t helping!”

Her ego and her arm slightly bruised, Rona sat back down and glared at Fenny through the rear view mirror as they both rubbed their arms angrily.

“I think we’ve been caught,” Brad announced as he followed Ritza’s car down the alley in hot pursuit. “Can I give up on subtleness yet?”

“Just catch them,” Greg shrieked.

“Be nice to the car,” Paul pleaded.

They zipped out of the alley on the other side and all three cast about for Ritza’s car. “That way,” Greg yelled, pointing out his window, and Brad sped off again. In a matter of moments he was gaining on her, and was soon close enough to see Fenny and Gina in the back seat, casting occasional nervous glances back at them.

“What do they think they’re doing?” Ritza demanded angrily as she headed out into the country again.

“They probably think they’re following you,” Fenny mumbled.

“Shut up!” Rona yelled.

“What happened to my car?” Gina mused cautiously.

“What’re we gonna do if we catch up with them?” Greg asked.

“No idea,” Brad answered. “But that’s besides the point. What we’ve got to do is keep up with them.”

Paul looked around curiously. Something was wrong but he wasn’t sure what. “What’re we slowing down for?” Greg demanded. Yes, thought Paul, that was what was wrong.

“It’s not my fault,” Brad shrieked. The motor sputtered and then died rather quickly and mercilessly. They rolled to a stop as Ritza’s car continued to speed off.

“What did you do to my parents’ car?” Paul demanded, furious.

“I didn’t do anything to it,” Brad huffed as he got out. Paul and Greg followed and gathered around Brad as he opened the hood.

“What’re you looking for?” Greg asked.

“I dunno. Do either of you know…” He looked at Paul, who didn’t drive, and Greg, who…was Greg, and figured it was a stupid question to ask.

“What am I gonna tell my father?” Paul screeched.

“Who gives a damn about your father,” Brad countered, “what are we gonna do about Fenny?”

“And Gina,” Greg reminded him.

“I should kill you both for dragging me out here,” Paul huffed, storming away from the car back towards the city with the hopes of finding a tow truck or a mechanic or someone who could heal the car in some way.

“You volunteered,” Greg said.

“Yeah, but only ‘cause I like Fenny,” Paul said, still marching away.

“What’re we gonna do for a car now?” Brad asked, following Paul.

“Well I’m fresh out of gullible relatives,” Paul grumbled. “Find your own damn car.”

“This goes back to my All Brad’s Fault theory,” Greg said, pulling out a cigarette and his lighter.

“I don’t see how putting the blame on me helps any,” Brad whined.

“Maybe we should hitch a ride back to town,” Paul mused.

“Back to town?” Greg shrieked. “We gotta get to Melbourne, dude.”

“We gotta get my car fixed.”

“Get your fucking priorities straight,” Greg yelled.

“You should’ve thought to park the car somewhere that Ritza’s men wouldn’t see it,” Paul said.

“Brad was driving,” Greg said.

“Well if you’re such a genius, why didn’t you bring that up last night?” Brad cried.

“Why didn’t it occur to you not to date a fucking psychopath?” Paul countered.

From behind them was a horrendous noise, a rush of heat, and scattering of debris, all too fast for anyone to react except a bit of crouching. No one dared turn around. Paul looked down at the shard of metal that rolled up between his legs, and the few ashes that he assumed had once been the plush interior of his father’s beloved automobile.

Slowly, cautiously, the three men turned as one to see the rapidly deteriorating hull of what used to be the McDermott’s car now engulfed in flames.

“You fucking bastards killed the car,” Paul said carefully.