Brad sighed as the car pulled up behind a nightclub, pushing down the feelings of what he was almost inclined to call regret, or maybe a lost sort of hopefulness. He’d rather wished at the discovery of the undercover cops at the bar that he’d be allowed to go, maybe rest for a while, maybe find Fenny. But they’d simply found a new venue for him, and a game was set up in the back room of the club with people who were almost certainly not members of law enforcement. As he followed Beven in through the back entrance, he could hear the somewhat distant thumping of a heavy bass beat, feel the heat that could only be generated by dozens of ecstatically dancing bodies, breathe the air full of energy, pheromones and smoke, which didn’t smell entirely legal. In spite of himself, he smiled at the memory of his last encounter in a European nightclub, and he could only hope that this time worked out as well as that had.

“You ready?” Beven asked as he paused outside a door.

“I could do with another drink or five, but yeah,” Brad nodded.

“Just do what you did last night and everything’ll be fine.”

“Apart from the having my head broken open, right?”

“Yeah.” Beven opened the door and ushered Brad inside. The room was thick with cigar smoke and crowded with severe, suited men and goons, this time not all Don’s. Where the last game had seemed like something out of a Yosemite Sam cartoon with English accents, this one was beginning to look like an outtake from the Sopranos. With Scottish accents.

“Everyone here then?” one of the men asked, glancing around. “Let’s go.”

Beven nudged Brad towards the table, where he promptly took a seat, watching as a few of the players mumbled things to men he could only assume were meant to be bodyguards of some sort.

“Let’s all get a fresh round of drinks and we’ll start. Let the quiet one deal.”

Brad took the cards as they were slid across the table to him, and with shaking hands, began to shuffle.

Paul reluctantly pulled away from Gina and she dropped her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms tighter around him. “Please, don’t go back,” she said softly.

“I have to,” he said, wishing his voice held more conviction. “If I don’t do this, we’ll never get Don off our backs and we’ll have to go into hiding and we’ll spend the rest of our lives running away from them.”

“I don’t care, we could go live with the Buddhist monks in the mountains of Japan, a nice peaceful existence with no mob and no drug dealers, it’ll be fun.”

“Buddhist monks don’t believe in chocolate,” Paul mused.

“Fine, we’ll find somewhere else to hide then, witness protection program or something. Paul, please.”

He disentangled himself from her and opened the door to the cubicle. “We need to go. If you stay here we’ll both be killed. Go on, get out of here. Things’ll be fine, I promise. Just go.”

Releasing a shaky breath, Gina admitted defeat, knowing there was no other way. She stepped towards him as he waited by the door, reached up to kiss him tenderly, and said in a barely audible, wet whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Genie,” he smiled reassuringly as he opened the door, both lowering their eyes as she stepped back towards the maddening throngs of people. Paul paused a moment before following, not able to stop himself from searching out her form, smiling in amusement at her outfit, making a mental note to thank Fenny if he ever saw her again.

Gina was halfway to the door when he turned away, looking around again for some means of getting himself out of the jam he’d found himself in. There was heavy number one, Rhys, drinking something orange at the bar and gazing lecherously at a couple of girls on the dance floor, and heavy number two, Dave, looking generally menacing and making a b-line through the crowd straight for – Gina.

“Christ,” Paul hissed under his breath, storming towards them as he wracked his brain for something to do. The music suddenly stopped mid-chorus and it was like someone had pulled the plug on the whole room; everyone jolted to a surprised stop, ears ringing from the absence of noise as they looked around to see what was wrong. The DJ in the corner was waving an apologetic hand as he leaned down to either comfort or berate a woman sprawled on the floor, wrapped up in a couple of his cords. In spite of himself Paul had to do a double take to assure himself it wasn’t Fenny, when an idea struck him. He continued towards Gina, who had stopped, trying to look inconspicuous, and opened his mouth, singing clearly over the mumbling crowd as he glared at Dave.

“If we could just get our shit together, junkies could rule, if we could find time with nothing to do, if we could just get our shit together, hey, hey!” Dave glared daggers at him, abandoning Gina to grab for Paul instead. “Junkies could rule…na, na, na-na-na-na, na, naaachghh.”

The music started up again from the DJ and no one paid any heed to Paul being pushed up against the wall and being choked by his collar. “What happened to subtlety,” Dave growled.

“I don’t know how to sell drugs subtly,” Paul coughed, casting a quick glance towards the door to see Gina paused at the exit. He gave her a look that conveyed the message of “I can handle myself, go before you get caught too” and she reluctantly backed out of the club.

“Well you better figure it out fucking quick,” the heavy barked.

“Strangling me isn’t very subtle and it’s not going to help me sell your drugs either,” Paul pointed out, and Dave harshly released him.

“What were you doing back there with that woman?”

Paul froze – did he recognize Gina, know who she was? Or was he just checking up to make sure Paul was doing what he was supposed to? He decided to wing it. “I thought she wanted to make a purchase, but she just wanted a quick shag in the toilets,” he shrugged.

“I don’t want to know about it,” Dave grumbled. “Just get out there and sell something. Now,” he added harshly.

“No please?” Paul mused. “Kidnappers these days, such abhorrent manners….” He begrudgingly made his way back to the dance floor, trying to blend in with the writhing bodies without aggravating his wounds too much and without causing the bags of pills to slide down his pant legs.

“Where to now?” Danny asked as he drove away from the airport.

“We find Don’s base,” Ritza declared from the back seat.

“Right,” Danny agreed. “How do we do that?”

“We’ve gotta find that Auch place,” Greg declared, searching the map’s index.

“What Auch place,” Danny demanded, “that’s a kinda popular noise in these parts.”

“I’ll find it,” Greg assured him. “It’s out in the country somewhere, we were looking at all these old castles and stupid rocks in the ground…”

“Again, a rather common thing in Scotland, Proops,” Ritza grumbled.

“I’ll find it, I’ll find it, just leave me alone a minute so I can look at the damn map.” They all fell silent for a few minutes while Danny found what looked like a main road and Greg perused the map. “Aha, there,” he declared proudly after a few minutes, pointing to the spot on the map. “And don’t ask me to pronounce it either, it hurts my throat.”

“That’s pretty far out into the countryside,” Ritza sighed, looking over Greg’s seat as he looked around at passing landmarks and street signs to get his bearings.

“Last time we went there from E-burgh we made it a two day trip,” Greg shrugged. “But that was with picnics and sightseeing on the way.”

“There’s three of us, we can drive in shifts, we’ll get there soon enough,” Ritza assured him.

“Once we get to the town, will we know how to get to the house?” Danny asked.

“Crap, too bad Fen’s not here,” Greg sighed, Danny wholeheartedly agreeing but not saying so, for he was certain he had different reasons for wanting Fenny around. “She got directions from this crazy Scot in a gas station, she probably remembers, something about a tavern with a creepy name.”

“We can always call her if we need her help,” Danny pointed out.

“Let’s just get to this Auchnacloich and we’ll work it from there,” Ritza declared firmly.

The car fell silent and Danny was glad to have driving to keep his mind off things, mainly that Fenny hadn’t called yet.

Beven jumped as his cell phone went off, and as he flipped it open he noticed Brad looking at him a bit wide-eyed. “What,” he hissed into the phone as he wandered into a far, dark corner of the room.

“Can you spare a couple men to the front of the club?”

“It’s only me, Dave, I don’t have any other men other than Rog, but he’s busy keeping the clientele happy, what do you need?”

“Rhys is pissed.”

“For god’s sake,” Beven sighed. “So what am I supposed to do about it?”

“I can’t watch out for him and the Australian, someone needs to take Rhys back, keep him out of trouble. Remember last time he got drunk, when he told the barmaid all about the load of coke he was babysitting and she called the cops?”

Beven pinched the bridge of his nose. This was more than he wanted to cope with. “God I hope Don gets rid of the moron. Fine, you deal with Rhys, I’ll watch our dealer.”

“Thank Christ,” Dave gave a chuckle, “I’m sick of the little shit, watch out for him, he sings.”

“Fine.” With a huff, Beven snapped the phone closed, went back to his post to gulp down the last of his drink and shoot an apologetic shrug at Brad, before wandering out of the room. As he passed Brad, he was pleased to note that he held a full house in his hand, two queens and three kings, easily beating the sixes and eights in the full house the man next to him had.

Paul looked up from the crowd to see just where his two nannies were, but couldn’t find either, which was a bit disconcerting. He wandered over to the bar to ask the bartender what had happened to the ugly, leering man who had planted himself in the corner stool for most of the night. He leaned on the bar between two stools, idly tapping the counter with his fingers. A big body sat itself in a nearby stool and Paul froze.

“Paul, right?” the gruff voice asked.

Slowly he turned to face the man. “Oh. Yeah. Look mate,” he swallowed as he realized he recognized the face, “sorry about the whole kissing you on the boat thing.” He forced a dry chuckle, “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yeah, sorry for having to dunk you like that.”

“So, Don’s sent reinforcements, huh? Takes three of you to handle little ol’ me?”

“No, the idiots that were watching you before had to leave because one’s a stupid drunk. I’m here cos I’m looking after your friend Brad.”

“Oh, good, looks like I’ll get to die with a friend then.”

“All you’ve got to do is get the cash for the merchandise you’ve got, right? Then you can go home and lead a normal life, yeah?”

“My life has never been normal,” Paul corrected. “But if that’s the plan, then yes. Why haven’t you threatened me or tossed me into the crowd yet? It’s a bit unnerving.”

“Because I’m trying to help you out here.”

“Hey?”

“Has Gina and Fenny showed up yet?”

“Gina just left — you’re the heavy that’s defecting?” Paul gasped, Gina’s earlier statement finally making sense.

“Not defecting, just doing what’s right. Look, I’ve got the 5000 pounds, you take the stuff, flush it, and get the hell out of here.”

“Right, yeah, ok. Why?”

“Because you can, alright? You and your friends have more than paid off your debt to Don, and I think your wife is sweet.”

“You may be the first person to call that woman sweet in her whole life,” Paul said, a smile coming easily for the first time in ages. “What about Brad, how’s he doing?”

“He should be fine, playing poker in the back. If you leave now, I can go and check on him.”

“Right, yes. The girls, are they in any trouble?”

“I don’t think so, we supposedly lost them at the airport, as long as they stay out of the way they should be fine. I’d get out of town if I were you, and fast, find someplace safe and then get the girls and your other friends. Does Brad know how to contact you if I can get you out of here?”

“Yeah, Fen’s got a phone,” Paul said, scarcely believing what was happening.

“We’ll be in touch then. Now go.”

“Right,” Paul nodded. “Thanks man,” he breathed as Beven jerked his head towards the bathroom and Paul shot off down the short corridor and into the men’s room. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he moaned to no one in particular as he pulled the bags of pills from his pants and listened to them plop into the toilet. One or two of them coursing through his system would probably make his body stop throbbing and his head stop aching, but being completely wasted on Ecstasy couldn’t possibly be helpful in the running for your life bit that was rapidly approaching.

With the last of the pills flushed and hopefully not plugging up the sewer system, Paul sauntered out of the restroom and into the body of the club again, where Beven caught his eye and motioned towards the front door. He nodded his thanks one last time and quickly slipped outside into the cool evening air and flagged down a taxi, directing the driver to just drive.

Gina wandered down the street back towards the hotel where Fenny would be waiting for a detailed story of what had happened, but she wasn’t prepared to deal with that quite yet. She felt completely helpless. She’d been so close to Paul, but she couldn’t take him back with her, and the fact that she’d left him there, alone, to deal with those people and to try to sell drugs. For god’s sake, she’d seen him get pinned to a wall and she’d just left him. She felt terrible for not being able to do more.

It was times like these she wished she drank. But instead of losing herself in an alcoholic haze, she satisfied herself with a long walk back to the hotel, trying not to be mistaken for a streetwalker and hoping that Paul would be alright.

Beven stood from the bar and wandered over to the bouncer at the front of the club, slipped him a few notes and a small package and spoke in hushed tones to him for a few moments before shaking his hand and wandering back to the poker game. He opened the door and was startled to see everyone on their feet, some quickly gathering their winnings, others being watched over by their men, Brad with his hands in the air and a man pointing a small revolver at him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Beven grumbled under his breath. “What’s going on here?”

There was a cacophony of replies from everyone in the room, and Beven couldn’t make out a word of it, only that Brad was terrified and confused.

“I am so sick of having to deal with you, you stupid American prick,” Beven shrieked, advancing on Brad and slamming a fist into his stomach, trying not to look into his pained eyes as he doubled over, only to get Beven’s knee in the forehead. “Fuck Don and his plans, I’ll deal with you myself.”

Brad’s only response was a dull moan as he slumped to the ground. Roger, Don’s other man present, came forward and discreetly pocketed Brad’s winnings as the man with the gun was suddenly at a loss. “What the hell…” he grumbled, not sure if he should be glad someone else was dealing with his problem or if he should feel cheated out of being able to do it himself.

With Roger’s help, Brad was lifted halfway to his feet and dragged from the room, Beven promising the beating of his life and any number of painful deaths as they wandered into the hallway amongst murmurs from the others and pained grunts of strain from Brad.

Halfway to the back door, Roger tripped over a figure slumped on the ground. “Shit, it’s Dave,” he yelped, abandoning Brad to hunch over his comrade. “He’s been knocked out.”

“Must’ve been that damn Australian,” Beven hissed, shifting Brad’s weight uncomfortably. “They said he was a fighter but I didn’t think he’d knock someone out. Check his pockets, did he take off with anything, cash, phone…?”

Roger checked him over in the dark and let out a gasp. “No, but there’s a wad of cash here…”

“Must be the money for the drugs, I saw him dealing when I was watching him. Probably doesn’t want us to hurt his friend. Take Dave back, I’ll deal with the Yank myself. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Roger lifted his unconscious friend and dragged him out towards the back door, followed by Beven and a barely conscious Brad, pausing only to shoot a grateful smirk to the bouncer for a job well done.

Paul nearly leapt out of his seat as he saw the building, and at his excited yelling, the driver stopped the car across the street and a ways down the road from the old building, gratefully accepting the rather large fee as Paul hurried to the old bed and breakfast.

If ever there was an omen of good things to come, it was Betty and her little bed and breakfast, haunted as it may be, Paul thought to himself as he skipped up to the building, but stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed the boards nailed across the doorway and the slats of plywood covering the windows on the front porch. A sign from the gods was now becoming something out of an old episode of Scooby Doo. He walked around the house, finding the back door board-free but locked, and after a quick and fruitless search of the immediate area for a spare key, he sighed to himself and decided the only thing to do was break down the door. One swift kick and the lock gave way, and Paul wandered inside.

It was cold and dark and as he tried a switch, he found the electricity was dead. “Fantastic,” he muttered, stumbling along with only the faint light from the moon and a few far off street lamps to light his way, but he eventually found his way to the fireplace where a couple of logs were just waiting for him, along with a small stack of newspapers for kindling and a box of matches. After a few failed starts and a minimal amount of cursing, Paul got a roaring fire started, and paused to look around the newly illuminated living room.

“Now if you disappear out of view,” he sang to himself, remembering the last night he’d been in this particular room, back when it wasn’t coated in a fine layer of dust and was filled with friends, whiskey and Betty, “you know that I will never say goodbye, and though I try to forget it…”

He paused mid-verse and picked up the stack of newspapers on the end of the couch as he sat, noting the one on top was six weeks old. He flipped it open and glanced through it, crumpling pages for kindling in case he needed to build another fire, and paused when a familiar face smiled out of the obituary pages. He reached for the phone, hoping that six weeks wasn’t long enough for the phone company to cut off service, and letting out a triumphant cry when he was answered by a dial tone.

Fenny lay on the bed staring at the ceiling tiles and hoping that Gina and Paul were alright, and praying that Beven really was taking care of Brad. She was beginning to wonder if maybe slipping off to the nearest store to buy some decent underwear and a set of thermal pajamas would be uncouth when her cell phone rang. She leapt for it and quickly answered it.

“Fen!” the voice chirped.

“Paul?” Fenny gasped, thrilled to hear his voice.

“Yeah, look, one of Don’s men helped me get away and I’m here at Betty’s place, remember the old b & b?”

“Yeah, how could I forget?” Fenny smiled.

“She’s dead though. Betty. Found her obit in the paper, natural causes about six weeks ago, the bed and breakfast goes to her nephew who lives in Norway, it’s boarded up, I had to break in through the back door. I doubt any of Don’s men would ever think to look for us here, so I really think this is our best bet.”

“Have I ever told you you’re a genius?” Fenny smiled.

“I doubt it,” Paul mused. “Is Genie around?”

Her smile dropped. “No, I assumed she was with you.”

“No, she left a while ago, I thought she’d be back by now.” He let Beven’s words about the girls not being in danger comfort him, and assumed she’d had trouble finding a taxi or had just gotten lost.

“Terrific,” Fenny sighed. “Ok, I’m gonna call Danny, he and Greg and Ritza are on their way to Don’s house, I’ll send them your way, and as soon as Gina shows up, we’ll come over, alright?”

“Great,” Paul agreed, and rattled off the address.

“Thanks. See you soon,” she said. “Bye.”

“Hurry,” he breathed, and hung up.

Fenny took a deep breath and called Danny’s phone, and was surprised when Greg answered. “Hey Fen, how’s it going?”

“Oh, about as good as we can get it right now. Brad’s into illegal gambling but he’s made friends with a soft heavy who’s watching out for him and helped Paul escape. Paul’s at Betty’s bed and breakfast, the one we stayed at last time, she died and it’s been boarded up, but it’s a good place to hide out for a while.”

“That is the best news I’ve heard in a very long time, I mean Paul escaping,” Greg breathed. “What about Gina, is she okay?”

“At the moment she’s gone missing, but I really hope – hold on,” she said, hearing a key in the door. “Look, she just walked in,” Fenny said, beaming at Gina who regarded her strangely, “you’ll be able to find your way there if I give you the address?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a map…shut up you two,” he sneered, and Fenny could hear Danny and Ritza making snide comments about Greg’s cartographic skills. She rattled off the address as Gina pulled off her boots and pulled her pants on under her skirt, desperate to change but not willing to abandon the conversation.

“See if you guys can pick up something to eat or something on the way, huh? Betty’s has been closed up for a few weeks, I’m sure we could use something.”

“Yeah, we’ll stop by the first KFC we run into, huh?” Greg sneered playfully.

“Fine, be sarcastic and starve, see if I care,” Fenny teased. “Look, Gina’s here, she’s stripping, we’re on our way.”

“Stripping?” Greg asked.

“See you in a while,” Fenny smirked. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

Fenny promptly turned off her phone, jumped off the bed, and pulled on her shoes. “Put on your shirt, your husband’s escaped and we’ve got to go meet him.”

Gina was a blur as she dashed for the bathroom in her enthusiasm to get dressed and out of the hotel and finally get the opportunity to be with Paul.