“Crap, it’s almost eight,” Beven declared as he got to his feet a bit wobbily, dropping the magazine he’d been trying to occupy himself with to the floor. He glanced over to the bed where Brad had dozed off about an hour ago after they’d split what was left of a bottle of brandy. “Brad, come on, it’s showtime, mate,” he said, nudging his shoulder.

“No, Fen, gimme ten more minutes,” Brad murmured into the pillow, cuddling down further into the bed.

“I mean it, come on.”

“Please, I’ll make it up to you,” Brad cooed, still refusing to open his eyes but puckering his lips in a rather absurd manner.

“You picked the wrong guy to play kissyface with,” Beven declared, whacking Brad with a pillow, causing him to jump upright and fully alert.

“Oh,” Brad giggled, obviously still tipsy, “I thought you were my wife.”

“Well if you don’t get up and ready to play some poker, I’ll be the closest you’re gonna get to a wife ‘cause we’ll both be shot through the head together.”

Brad nodded, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and paused. “What’s that got to do with being a wife?”

“Dunno,” Beven shrugged. “Seemed like the thing to say at the time.”

“Okay,” Brad grinned and ran his fingers through his hair. “How do I look?”

“Like a guy who’s been through hell and back,” Beven declared. “Should’ve waited a while to give you that suit, it’s all wrinkled now that you’ve slept in it.”

“I’m thinking we shouldn’t have had those drinks,” Brad declared, trying to look serious but snickering to himself as he wandered into the en suite bathroom, humming a little ditty as he went.

“You gonna be okay to play?” Beven called.

“So long as the drinks keep coming,” Brad called back.

“Cos you’ve really gotta win, man.”

“Hey, I learned that Frank’s system—”

“Franco,” Beven corrected.

“Whatever. It’s his fault if I lose.”

“I’m just saying you better not lose, Don’s counting on you to get back some of that money you lost him.”

Brad flushed the toilet and wandered back into the room. “So what, if I win enough cash for him he’ll let us go?”

“Maybe. It’s your best shot,” Beven shrugged.

“He’s not gonna kill us to keep us from squealing or something?”

“He might.”

“Well that’s real helpful, thanks,” Brad sneered.

“Just telling you how it is,” Beven said, reaching out to fix Brad’s collar for him. “Let’s go see if we can win you back some freedom.”

“Yeah,” Brad nodded. The combination of liquor still humming through his system and the fact that this could be a step towards normalcy brought a new spring to his step as he followed Beven down the stairs to the room he’d been in before. He’d expected the clients to be stern faces and serious men hardened by an addiction to gambling and whatever desperation drove them to the insidious world of underground card games, but instead he found a room full of jovial men in trendy suits and probably a bottle of booze in each belly. He noticed a few of Don’s men scattered around, pouring drinks, chatting, being as friendly as they could. One came up and handed Brad a drink he couldn’t immediately recognize, along with a wad of bills before disappearing without a word.

“Good luck, Brad,” Beven said softly as he retreated to another part of the room with a few other heavies to watch unobtrusively and occasionally refill drinks as Brad and the other five players were left to begin their game.

The truck trundled to a stop and Paul froze, debating between sliding towards the back as an act of defiance or crawling towards the front so he could jump out and make a run for it. When he heard voices outside he paused where he was to listen. “You talked to Don yet?”

“Yeah, we’re supposed to dress the little one when we get to Glasgow, he’s got a job to do. Don says he’ll have the E ready for him.”

“Think he’ll be able to handle it?”

“You kidding? He’s had a couple hits, you can smell it on him, he knows what he’s doing.”

“What about the others? Think any of his friends are gonna try’n save him?”

“Haven’t heard from Amy, I guess she’s done with the angry Yank, and she’s so good they’ll never find the body. Franco’s got the big Yank, he’ll be paying his debt and they’ll probably get rid of him when he’s through, if someone else doesn’t do it for them first. There’s a couple guys tailing those girls that got away, once we get hold of them they’ll be out of the picture in no time. The brunette’ll be tied to a bed this time round I’m sure. Don’ll have his way with her, I guarantee it. That’s all the bitch is good for anyway, little whore. And the blonde, Don’s pissed at her, she’ll get hers. After what she did to him she’ll be beat so bad she’ll be begging for him to kill her.”

Paul was trembling with rage as he inched towards the back door of the truck, wishing there was something he could do, worried about what they’d threatened to do to his friends and his wife but knowing there was little he could do in his state.

“Think he’ll share the broads with us?” another heavy chortled.

“Claudia might even share the little Aussie with you, Tommy.” There was uproarious laughter.

“He’s not my type,” one of the men said, “too small, hardly worth the effort.”

“You think that American’s my type? A piece of tail’s a piece of tail, man, that’s all that counts.” With a hearty laugh he swung the doors open revealing Paul standing at his full height, trying to look menacing through the pain, and before anyone could do anything, he kicked the first heavy he could under the chin, sending him reeling backwards, sprawled on the dirt below. Paul was promptly tackled by the remaining two, one of whom leaned knowingly on Paul’s tender and aching chest, forcing him to cough with the effort of breathing.

“You couldn’t please a woman if your life depended on it, pencil dick,” Paul hissed as he futilely wriggled beneath his captors. “Everyone knows aggression is what you impotent fucks use to make up for your sexual inadequacy so get off me before someone gets the wrong idea, you shitheads.”

“Told you this one was feisty,” the felled man grunted as he righted himself, popping his jaw. “You just had to make this hard on yourself, didn’t you,” he muttered as he climbed into the bed of the truck, crouching down to talk to Paul. “I’ll give you one more chance, we can do this the easy way, or we can—”

Paul promptly spit in the heavy’s face, and he reeled back again.

“Fuck this. Tie him up, knock him out, and for Christ’s sake gag the man. Then put him on the plane, we’re behind schedule already.”

“What have you got against conscious people?” Paul asked as one heavy produced a length of rope and took to tying his wrists together. “A fat lot of good it’ll do you when you knock someone into a coma, I’m rather fond of my—” He was grabbed from behind, a wet piece of cloth pressed harshly against his face, its cold vapors stinging his eyes and throat. The interior of the truck swirled around him a moment as his body went numb. His lids drooped as his eyes rolled back into his sockets, thinking, “Well at least this is better than another blow to the head…” before slumping limply into the waiting arms of the heavy.

Brad looked down happily at his growing pile of bills and rapidly emptying glass, pleased with himself that he was doing so well. Happy images of being reunited with Fenny danced through his mind as he smiled at his hand: all he needed was an ace or six of spades and he’d have a straight flush. Life was looking up for a change, and he wondered why he hadn’t ever bothered to play poker before. He made a mental note to challenge Greg and Paul to a game. Maybe Fenny would be up for a game of strip poker or two.

Brad was wrenched from the enticing thought of Fenny stripping when Sean, the man seated next to him, asking for two cards.

“Oh, right, I’m dealing aren’t I?” Brad chuckled, fumbling with the remainder of the deck to pass out the proper cards.

“Something on your mind, son?” Mr. O’Reiley, an older gentleman seated across from him teased. “Trying to remember how you marked the cards? I’ll take three.”

“Trying to remember how to cheat,” Sean laughed. “Hasn’t won a hand in half an hour.”

“Yeah, and he’s had twice as much to drink in that hour as any of us. Quick, someone give the boy another drink, he loses when he’s pissed. I need one card.”

“Thinking about my wife,” Brad shrugged, draining his glass as one of the heavies dropped a fresh beer next to him.

“Another round of drinks all around, we’ll toast to Brad’s wife. May she be in a better mood when he gets home than mine will.”

“Oh, I think she’ll be in a pretty good mood when I get home,” Brad chuckled, toasting anyway. They all took hearty gulps at their drinks and Brad finished dealing out cards to complete their hands before taking one for himself. His eyebrows shot up happily as he pulled out the ace of spades, completing his straight flush and all but guaranteeing him winning the hand and the rather large pot that went along with it.

The betting started at two hundred pounds, and by the time it made its way to Brad, it stood at six hundred. “I’ll raise you to seven, for my friend Beven. I’d make it eleven, but that’s almost as high as heaven.” Brad snickered to himself giddily. “If I win I’ll have the money to go to Devon, maybe visit with Kevin.”

“Alright, no more booze for Dr. Seuss over here,” someone chuckled as everyone tossed in the proper amount of money to meet Brad’s raise, apart from Mr. O’Reiley who folded.

“Alright everyone, let’s see the hands,” Sean commanded. Brad glanced around the table – two pair, three of a kind, full house, ten high straight. All eyes settled on Brad and his straight flush.

“The boy’s good,” Sean sighed.

“Like hell,” Mr. O’Reiley snapped. “The boy’s dealing from the bottom of the deck, I gave up that ace he’s got in his hand, he dealt that to himself, he’s a cheating son of a bitch and I’m not going to let him walk out of here with the money he’s stolen from me!”

“Calm down,” people were soothing as Brad looked around flabbergasted, worried about the accusations as one of the heavies disappeared into the next room. Beven strolled over and flipped over Mr. O’Reiley’s hand, revealing a pair of aces he’d obviously known wouldn’t stand up against a seven hundred pound bet.

“Why the fuck would you give up an ace if you had two in your hand you daffy old coot,” Franco boomed as he marched up to the table and investigated the scene after being fetched by his men.

“What good would it do him to lie?” another man countered.

“Well he’s obviously too stupid to know how the game works, why wouldn’t he be too stupid to know whether or not to accuse someone of cheating?”

“You’re telling me I don’t know my own mind?” Mr. O’Reiley shrieked. “I gave up that hand and your boy there is cheating and I’m not gonna stand for it!” He pulled out a gun and with a shaky hand pointed it at a few of the people in the room. When it leveled on Brad, he did the first thing he could think of, and slipped under the table, wondering why these people weren’t searched before they were allowed in.

A few seconds later a gun went off, making Brad jump high enough to hit his head on the underside of the table. Another gun shot and he put his hands over his head, wondering if this was an appropriate time to pray.

He found himself being grabbed by the back of the jacket to his feet and was grateful to find it was Beven dragging him towards the door, away from the infuriated sounds of accusations and threats, punches, and furniture and glasses being smashed. Halfway there another shot rang out, he and Beven were both tackled, and something smashed itself into the back of Brad’s head, knocking him out before he hit the ground in a puddle of vodka and the shattered remains of its heavy designer bottle.

“Ritza, oh god, wake up, please, Ritza, it’s happened again, they got Greg, I don’t know what happened but, oh no, please don’t tell me they got you too—”

“Hold on a second,” Ritza growled as she realized it was Danny thumping on the door that had wrenched her so violently from her rather enjoyable sleep. She threw the covers from herself, squinting against the stinging morning light as she searched for a reasonable amount of clothing to pull on before giving up and just dragging the comforter off the bed to wrap around herself. She angrily threw the door open, startling Danny out of his panicked rambling. “What the fuck are you on about now, Bambi?” she hissed.

“Greg, he’s not in his room, the door wasn’t locked, they didn’t even let him get to bed, something really bad has happened and I think we should…oh,” Danny breathed as Ritza let the door to her room swing open, hitting the wall with a dull thud, similar to the sound he suspected his jaw made when it hit the floor. Greg was curled up in her bed, half covered by the sheets she’d been gracious enough to leave for him, and Danny was given an eyeful of naked Proops. “I, uh, I didn’t know, sorry,” he gasped, backing away from the room.

“Meet us in the lobby, we’ll be down soon, we’re going to Scotland,” Ritza grumbled, watching Danny nod furiously as she shut the door. She stood in the middle of the room, blanket still wrapped around herself, and regarded Greg carefully, not sure what to think. It had been a moment of drunken weakness, to be sure. He was married, they were supposed to be trying to save their friends, and now Danny was traumatized. But she had to admit that it had been a very enjoyable experience, despite the mild hangover that was promising to pester her for the rest of the day.

She slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower and got dressed before returning to the bedroom to wake Greg. Gingerly moving his glasses from the pillow, she shook him gently by the shoulder. “Greg, you need to wake up now,” she cooed in a very motherly tone. “Greg.” Another jolt to his shoulder and he let out a groan and rolled away from her. “I’m calling the airport and we’re getting on the first plane to Scotland we can get, if you don’t get up now, me and Dan will leave you to the heavies who’ll use your kneecaps for batting practice.”

“No, I’m too hungover to breathe, leave me alone,” Greg grumbled into his pillow.

“I’m hungover too, but we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

He rolled over and looked at her a moment through squinting eyes. She handed him his glasses and he gratefully slipped them on. “Thanks.” He sat up and rubbed his neck as he took in his surroundings. “We, um, did we…”

“Yes we did,” Ritza nodded.

“Thought so.” She didn’t know how to interpret that reaction. “I’m gonna take a shower. In my room.”

“Right.”

“Well I paid for it, might as well use it, huh?”

She gave an appreciative chuckle and politely turned away from him to let him get dressed. “I’ll call about a plane to Scotland, see if we can catch up with Don.”

“Great. Meet you in the lobby?”

“Yeah, Dan’s waiting for us.”

“Oh, did he…?”

“Yeah, thought you’d been kidnapped again, surprised he didn’t wake you with his panic attack. Don’t think he knew what to think when he saw you here, went kinda pale.”

Greg sauntered towards the door, shoes in hand, hair rather adorably mussed and shirt half buttoned. “Probably just intimidated by the glory of my nakedness,” he smirked.

“Yeah, keep thinking that,” Ritza scoffed teasingly.

He raised an eyebrow at her, ready to make a snide comment in return, but realized he had enough to talk to his therapist about without getting turned on again by a good bout of insult hurling, and just gave a smug smile in return. “I’ll see you downstairs then,” he said, dropping his head and slipping into the hall. Ritza let out a heavy sigh and decided to just forget what had happened the night before and get them on a plane as soon as she could.

Danny paced the lobby feeling generally anxious, trying to ignore the urge to just take off running down the street screaming at the top of his lungs just to get rid of the tension that was building up in his body. It was bad enough having his friends missing and threatened and trying to avoid dying himself, but now he had the image of Greg and Ritza writhing around together naked to cope with, and he decided for the first time ever that worrying about Fenny, Gina, Paul, and Brad would be a better idea.

Those two certainly were taking their sweet time coming downstairs. Danny hoped they had tact enough not to go at it for another round. He grimaced at the thought just as his cell phone went off, startling him. He fumbled with the phone for a moment before finally managing to answer it, thrilled to absolute pieces at the sight of Fenny’s number on its screen. “Fen, where are you, are you okay?”

“All things considered, yeah. How about you, I heard you were rescuing Proops?”

“Yeah, we’ve got him, he’s just fine.”

“Thank god,” Fenny breathed. “How have you guys been, you up to traveling?”

“Well Ritza said something about going to Scotland,” Danny said, “at least I think that’s what she said.”

“Yeah, Paul’s being taken to Scotland, we’re on our way to make a daring rescue attempt or two and we could really use your help.”

“Yeah, of course, we’re on our way. What about Brad, any news from him?”

“No, we just know he’s in England, we’ve got to get there too, the sooner the better, but Gina’s having a panic attack about Paul and we at least have a lead on him, he said he thinks he’s being taken back to Don’s manor.”

Danny couldn’t help but notice the almost defeated tone in her voice. “We’ll find him, both of them, don’t worry about it, things’ll work out,” he said firmly, trying to reassure her.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed.

“Maybe we should split up or something, half of us look for Brad, half for Paul or something.”

“Yeah, maybe, I dunno, right now I just want to get the hell out of Amsterdam,” Fenny breathed.

Ritza appeared in the lobby. “Bambi, let’s get going, we’ve got a flight to Scotland in 47 minutes, we need to leave.”

“Right,” Danny nodded at her before turning back to the phone. “You coming to Scotland?”

“Um, I’m not entirely sure, Gina called the airport when I was in the shower, she wasn’t happy when she went into the bathroom, I don’t know if it was because she had problems with the airline or because I’d spent thirty minutes in the shower scrubbing myself raw.”

“What? Why?” Danny asked.

“Not important, we’ll have time to exchange gory details later. Good luck, and we’ll catch up with you guys soon, right?”

“Hope so. Call us when you get somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on Dan, we’re leaving,” Greg’s voice was clearly heard.

“Bye Fen.”

“Feel free to kick Greg in the shin whenever he’s being an ass, and tell him it’s from me with love,” Fenny smiled. “Bye Dan.” She clicked off her phone as she heard the water turn off in the bathroom. “Dan and Greg and Ritza are heading for Scotland,” she called towards the door.

“Good,” Gina called back.

“And what’s our plan?”

“We’ve got a plane to Gatwick where they said we can catch another flight to Edinburgh where we can see if we can get back to Don’s place.”

“Right. Where’s Gatwick?”

“Just out of London I think,” Gina said, “doesn’t matter, I just couldn’t get a direct flight to E-burgh, the others must’ve had better luck.” She opened the door and came into the room drying her hair with a towel. “I just hope if they find him before we do they do some serious damage to the sick fuck who keeps knocking Paul out.”

“Maybe Ritza will take on Don and they’ll take each other out. Solves everyone’s problems,” Fenny grinned mirthlessly.

“I’m sure between Ritz and Dan they’ll manage to work things out. Who knows, Greg might even make himself useful,” she smiled.

“I don’t care what happens so long as everyone comes out safe and I can just go home and pretend like none of this ever happened,” Fenny sighed.

“I think that’s what we all want, Fen,” Gina agreed. “Come on, we’ve got a plane to catch.”