Ritza snapped suddenly awake, eyes darting open to stare at the wall with the unsteadiness of early morning, and she paused a moment to listen for whatever had woken her. She couldn’t hear anything but a soft patter of water running through pipes, and wondered if maybe it was some remnant of her already forgotten dream that had jolted her awake. It didn’t matter. She rolled over to glance at the clock, which read almost nine o’clock. With a glance around the room she remembered where she was and why, and it was then that it occurred to her that her roommate was nowhere to be seen.

With a groan, Ritza sat up and slid out of bed, stretching tired muscles. Beven was probably used to the rigorous schedule of an underling in a life in crime, and had wandered down to find breakfast or search the perimeter for bombs or whatever it was he was used to doing while employed by Don.

She slipped out of the nightgown and into her thankfully dry but slightly unpleasant clothes, stopped by the bathroom to freshen up, and headed down to the kitchen. The perky couple who owned the place were beginning to make up breakfast of what she guessed to be omelets. “Morning,” they chirped together as they noticed her glancing around.

“Yeah, morning,” Ritza agreed. “Have you seen Beven around? He’s the big guy in the fancy suit.”

“No, you’re the first one up that we’ve seen,” the woman shrugged.

“I’m sure he’s around somewhere, maybe he’s in the bath?” her husband suggested.

“No, I was just there,” Ritza said slightly distractedly, bits of the conversation she and Beven had had the night before flitting through her mind. “I’ll be right back.” Her instincts began screaming at her as she wandered through the living room, idly checking for signs that Beven was about, but she didn’t even need to open the front door to know that the truck would be gone. She wandered out onto the front porch and glanced around; no truck, no Beven. “Shit.”

Fenny was barely awake and slowly falling back to sleep, debating whether to turn her back to the warm light coming in through the thin curtains or stay where she was with her arm draped heavily over Brad’s chest. She decided to compromise and buried her face against his neck to block out most of the sun and comfortably slipped back towards unconsciousness.

“Come on lovers, everyone up,” Ritza’s voice demanded harshly as she pounded on the door. Brad jumped upright, Fenny groaned and finally turned away from the light and Ritza continued down the hall, obviously attempting to wake the dead. They could hear her knocking on Danny and Greg’s door, then Paul and Gina’s. “I know we want to stay in bed, but I’ve got news, meet me in my room in five minutes.”

“Remind me again why we can’t kill her,” Fenny groaned from under the covers.

“Because conjugal visits are kind of hard when we’re both in separate prisons,” Brad declared sleepily as he collapsed back in bed. “Besides, she’s got news.”

“I couldn’t conceivably care any less,” she declared, but rolled out of bed anyway and gathered her clothes, wishing for probably the hundredth time that she had just a normal set of underwear to cope with.

“You never did tell me where that came from,” he mused as he buttoned up his pants, watching with a certain amount of enthusiasm as she pulled on her corset.

“Gift from Don and Claudia,” she grumbled.

“Oh,” he said a bit distantly. “Don’t know if I like the undies so much anymore.”

“Didn’t Gina tell you about it at the airport?”

He paused for a moment. “I think maybe she did. I don’t know, I was too worked up about seeing you were safe to pay much attention to what anyone was saying.”

“Excuses, excuses. I need to see if someone has a hairbrush I can use,” she mused as she pulled her fingers through her hair before she and Brad sat on the bed to pull on their shoes.

“I think next time we get kidnapped you should cut your hair,” he declared with a lopsided smile. “It’s always getting in the way.”

“I thought you liked my hair,” she pouted playfully.

“I love it,” he cooed, leaning over to give her a sweet good morning kiss, running his fingers through her tangled hair as best he could until they both started snickering. “But you really do need a good strong brush.”

“After Ritza’s news, huh?” Fenny gave him another quick peck and headed for their bedroom door, Brad following anxiously behind.

They made it to Ritza’s bedroom where Paul, Gina, and Greg were sitting on the two beds facing each other and Danny occupied the chair. Brad and Fenny perched next to Greg and they exchanged rather tired good morning greetings.

“Alright Proops, you’re our impartial judge,” Paul declared, “who won last night, me and Genie or the monogrammed monkey masochists over there?”

“You two kept us up longer,” Danny said.

“Yeah, but Fenny did start screaming my name halfway through,” Greg smirked.

“Which was really weird, Fen,” Paul cringed dramatically. “It’s bad enough having to imagine you with Brad, but there was a whole barrage of mental imagery there that I don’t think anyone needed.”

“I didn’t mind so much,” Greg chirped.

“I did,” Brad grumbled.

“Greg started it,” Fenny pouted.

“I think you’ll find you started it,” Greg pointed out.

“You suggested we do it in the bushes, that would’ve been worse,” Fenny argued with a grin. “For all parties concerned, I think.”

Danny rubbed a hand across his face. “And to think,” Gina sighed, “we’ve spent so much of our time and energy trying to save these idiots.”

“And what do we get in the form of gratitude?” Paul pouted. “They don’t even ask how our lovemaking went.”

“Only because we heard most of it,” Danny said.

“Did you hear when Paul stopped halfway through to make sure Troy wasn’t watching?” Gina asked.

All eyes in the room settled on Paul.

“Alright guys,” Ritza declared as she stalked into the room. “Here’s the deal. Beven’s gone, took the truck and my gun.”

“What?” Brad gasped, voicing the confusion everyone else felt.

“Look, we got to talking last night, about our kids and some of the stupid things we’ve done with our lives, and I think he might have gone to deal with Don.”

“He’s done what?” Gina demanded. “He’ll be killed.”

“Look at it this way,” Ritza sighed. “Don hunted you guys down knowing practically nothing about you, and he wanted you destroyed just because you outwitted him and lost him a little cash. Beven’s cost him a lot more than that, and Don probably knows more about Beven than he knows about himself. He won’t be able to outrun Don and his gang if Don wants to exact revenge, and he’s going to want revenge — as long as he’s alive. What kind of a life is that for a guy who, from what I know about him, his one goal seems to be to be a part of his son’s life again. What would you do?” She looked pointedly at the others, who were fiddling with their fingers or looking at the carpeting.

“So what do we do now?” Brad asked quietly. “We have to find him, right, help him somehow?”

“He has done more for us than we could ever repay…” Fenny mused.

“So what, we find out where Beven’s trying to bump off Don and help him?” Danny gasped. “What can we do that doesn’t involve all of us getting used for target practice?”

“We have to do something,” Paul piped in, “Don’s as much our problem as he is Beven’s. If it weren’t for us, Beven wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“So it’s agreed then, we find Beven?” Greg asked. Everyone nodded.

“How do we find him?” Danny asked.

“Well Don’s been betrayed, shot and humiliated,” Ritza shrugged. “I’m willing to wager he’s gone home to lick his wounds.”

“If he could lick his bullet wounds he wouldn’t be in the prostitution business,” Greg quipped.

“Greg,” Gina groaned.

“So back to the manor?” Fenny asked. “I don’t like it there, first I was kidnapped, then we found Don’s perverse diary and Paul’s newest friend.”

“But you did befriend the guard dogs,” Paul pointed out.

“Points for Fen,” Ritza nodded. “I’ve called a couple cabs, they should be here any minute to take us to the nearest town where we can get a car and head back to Don’s as quick as we can. For all we know, Beven and Don are already there, or they’re at least on their way.”

“Let’s go then,” Gina agreed and jumped off the bed.

They settled their debt with the owners of the bed and breakfast, rounded up a quick breakfast, tidied themselves up and took a quick cab ride to a town where they picked up a minivan that could transport them all in relative comfort. Fenny began the drive back towards Don’s home with Brad as navigator and they drove in relative silence for a few miles.

“Do we have an actual plan?” Danny asked from his position in the far rear seat crammed between Ritza and the window.

“Not really,” Ritza said. “Depends on what we find when we get there, what odds we’re against, what exactly Beven plans to do.”

“Aren’t people going to notice if Don turns up dead?” Greg asked.

“He’s got enough enemies out there, hasn’t he?” Gina countered. “And trust me, Fen and I made him a few more when we were messing with things.

“Yeah, but look at how many people know that Don and Beven are pissed at each other,” Danny pointed out. “He could be digging himself into a hole if he actually kills the man.”

“I think you’ll find that a lot of people know that Don is pissed at Beven. He was all set to shoot him at the poker game,” Brad pointed out.

“So if you think about it, it’s sort of self defense at this point isn’t it,” Paul mused.

“It’s the defense of a lot of lives, actually,” Fenny said, for once ignoring the beautiful scenery and stunning landmarks they passed.

The car fell silent again, each face sporting a scowl. This was probably one of the most trying situations they’d found themselves in, and they were all more than a little frightened at how things might end up.

The rest of the trip was spent with deceptively comfortable conversation, more endless teasing about nothing of any importance, more discussion of the Kama Sutra, more humming along to the static-broken radio. The drive seemed to take forever, but when they passed into the town of Auchnacloich it suddenly occurred to the occupants of the van that the ride could have gone forever and it still wouldn’t have really prepared them.

Fenny drove in silence towards Don’s house along the now eerily familiar route she’d traveled just a few too many times. As the Blood and Guts Tavern came into view the sky, which had grown darker and cloudier the closer they had gotten to their destination, broke open with a harsh bolt of lightening, a clap of thunder, and a sudden downpour of rain.

“Anyone else feel like they’ve just walked into a really bad horror movie?” Paul asked.

“I almost want to say it looks like an omen,” Fenny sighed.

“Don’t say that Fen, ‘cause your signs always seem to come true,” Gina grumbled.

Don’s manor appeared ominously in the distance as the windshield wipers slashed and some monotone voiceover on the radio began discussing some politician’s new policy. “Anyone got any newspapers?” Brad asked. “I have a sudden urge to sing a selection of songs from Rocky Horror.”

“I think I could cope better with cross dressing aliens,” Greg declared as Fenny pulled the car to a stop just shy of the main gates. “What are we stopping here for?”

“Paul stumbled upon a hidden entrance,” Fenny declared, and they all piled out of the car. The rain was lighter than it had seemed in the car, and they trudged through the mud along the wall until they found the weathered gate. Fenny pulled it open and smiled at the dogs that were huddled pathetically under the eaves of the house. Two got up on their haunches but seemed to remember her as their benefactor and quietly settled back down, not willing to risk the rain.

“I thought you weren’t a dog person,” Brad whispered to her.

“I’m not really, but I wasn’t going to let the poor things starve just because Don’s a bastard.”

They slunk along the wall until they once again made it to the front stoop. They stood for a moment, dripping, trying to shake off some of the water so as not to drip suspiciously on Don’s floors. Greg miserably smeared the water droplets around on his glasses. Ritza noticed and looked up at Fenny. “Remind me when we get back, I’ve got something for you.”

“Assuming we get back at all,” Danny murmured.

“Are we ready?” Ritza asked, ignoring Danny’s lack of enthusiasm and pulling a small gun from her waistband.

“Where the hell did you get that, I thought you said Beven took your gun,” Greg demanded.

“What, you think I’d be caught with just one weapon? Please.” Ritza raised her eyebrows at him and led the way into the house, not sure if the fact the door was unlocked was a good sign or a bad sign.

The house was cold, lit only by a few table lamps, the heavy curtains on all of the windows preventing any lights from being seen outside. They gathered silently in the front room, listening intently for any hint of motion or danger and then followed Ritza up the stairs. “I don’t think he’s home,” Ritza said softly.

“Then why are we whispering?” Gina whispered back.

“Because I have been known to be wrong.”

“Thanks for sharing that big confidence booster,” Greg huffed.

At the top of the stairs they glanced up and down the hall. Don’s office was empty, as was his bedroom. Ritza headed for the room directly across from the stairs, the others following like lost sheep. She stepped directly up to what looked like a fine walnut wardrobe situated against the far wall and flung it open. A collective gasp rang out from the others as a whole arsenal of rather vicious firearms was exposed, faint light from the hallway glinting off the menacing gun barrels.

“I think we may have stumbled upon Don’s weapons hold, what do you think,” Paul said quietly.

“Could come in handy,” Danny frowned, glancing around at the myriad of unsavory artifacts.

“Shit.”

They let out strangled yelps of surprise as they jumped to face the new voice in the doorway, certain they had been found and were on the road to a painful and drawn out death. Once the familiar face registered, however, they slumped with relief.

“What the fuck do you people think you’re doing, you could have been killed!” Beven shrieked.

“We could say the same thing to you,” Brad huffed.

“Come on, I’m trying to help us all out here.”

“Well we’re trying to help you,” Ritza countered.

“Don’t you know how fucking stupid it is for you to even think about being here?” Beven hissed.

“I don’t think you’re in the running for a spot on the Mensa board of directors either,” Greg murmured.

“You lot should have left me to my business and gotten on a plane by now and headed home, I’ve got to win my life back from Don, and this is the only way.”

“You’re just as—no, I guess we can’t turn that one around on you,” Paul shrugged.

“You have to get out of here,” Beven said resolutely.

“Aha, now we can turn that around on you,” Paul smiled. “You should seriously think about coming with us.”

“Does anybody else hear that?” Fenny gasped. Everyone paused to listen to the patter of rain on the windows, then the distinct sound of an engine roaring up the street being greeted anxiously by the dogs, probably vainly hoping to be given shelter.

“Shit, Don’s coming, everyone—” Ritza was interrupted by a terrifyingly close peal of thunder that rattled every window in the house as the lights went out, shrouding the upper part of the house in darkness. “Everyone spread out and hide,” she breathed.

There was a brief hesitation before they began rustling around the room, eyes desperately trying to adjust to the dark but no one daring to so much as flick on a lighter for fear of being caught. With hands outspread, feeling against walls and around furniture, the eight scattered, each heading in a different direction to find an adequate place to hide, hoping against hope that whatever Don was up to didn’t involve their room, comforted a bit with the knowledge that the lights were out and hopefully would remain that way for a while.

Hardly daring to breathe, they listened from their separate corners of the house as the front door opened and Don gruffly excused his bodyguard and cursed the power outage and the storm. He shook off his coat and shuffled towards the stairs, his gait uneasy but not supported by crutches. Pompous bastard, too vain for crutches. Heartbeats increased as he grunted his way up the steps, pausing halfway up before trudging to the second floor.

Don limped down the corridor towards his office at the end of the hall. The pain medication was beginning to wear off, and he pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket, careful of the tender areas, and smiled at the promising rattle of the tablets. All he really wanted to do was crawl into bed and stay there for the next week or so, but he really needed to forget some things, and the old bottle of brandy he kept in his desk would do nicely to drown his sorrows.

He paused at the door to the office, leaning on the frame long enough to swallow a pill, sputtering a bit at its bitter taste. From the table he kept near the door he grabbed a glass and headed for his desk, roughly pulling open a curtain to let a feeble amount of light in so he could see to find his brandy. He leaned back in the chair as he cracked open the bottle and downed a shot at once, smiling as it coursed comfortingly to his stomach. He immediately poured himself another glass.

Lightening filled the room, and it was then Don noticed the figure in the doorway. The quick flash of light had been enough for him to see the gun grasped with two hands and pointed levelly at his head and the eyes filled with hatred and, amusingly enough, fear.

“So, we’re playing at this again, are we?” Don chuckled, raising the glass to his lips defiantly.

A shot rang out and the seven hidden bodies jumped, wondering who had fired that one round that seemed to have done the job, everyone shivering a bit at the disturbing silence that followed.

The flash of gunpowder igniting was blinding in the darkness, and the blood that spread across Don’s desk as he flumped over it was dark in the light from the retreating storm. The kickback from the gun was so strong it threw the shoulders back into a bookshelf, the gun was nearly dropped but quickly recovered and Don was left, effectively, to rot. Footsteps thundered down the hall, faltering once when they seemed to trip over the carpet runner, only to continue down to the main floor where the noise ceased inexplicably.

One by one the others filtered out of their hiding places down towards the living room, squinting against the darkness which had just seemed to grow thicker. Greg flicked on his lighter, prompting Paul to do likewise, and they had just enough light to see by, and everyone gathered in the center of the room around the coffee table.

Ritza slipped her gun quietly back into its hiding place against her hip. Paul let out a hushed obscenity as he tried to brush a splotch of grey powder from his sopping shirt while Danny rubbed at a dark splatter on his pants, rubbing the red streaks from his fingers. “Ew, yuck,” Gina cringed as she glanced down at her hands and wiped them unceremoniously on Paul’s dark pants. Fenny leaned against Brad as she rubbed her knee, wincing in pain while Brad rolled his shoulder awkwardly. Greg took a long drink of what looked in the dim light to be brandy.

“Where’s Beven?” Paul asked.

“Gone,” Ritza sighed.

“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself,” Danny said shakily, “can we just get out of here, please?”

Ritza headed for the door and they all piled outside and headed for the car again. “You know, I get the feeling one day we’re going to look back on this and laugh,” Greg said dryly.

“Yeah, in your Swiss mental health facility,” Brad agreed.

Fenny tossed Ritza the keys and they climbed into the car heedless of the mud that caked their shoes. Somehow a cleaning bill on a rental car bill seemed trivial. They drove quickly away from Don’s house for the final time, all silently sharing the same prayer that it meant their problems were finally solved. Danny watched the building disappear in the side mirror and idly wondered how much intensive hypnotherapy would actually cost.

“Paul, if you touch Troy with your wet hands and get this van smelling like dead wet mongoose, I’ll have to do something unpleasant with that tire iron in the back.”

“Promises, promises, Genie.”