“Oh man, I can’t wait to get home,” Drew sighed as the men boarded the plane. They’d managed to get last minute tickets through begging and pleading a lot.

“It’s all right for you and Brad. The rest of us are in deep shit,” Wayne grumbled.

“What? Why? Oh, your wives,” Drew mused.

“Anyone thought of a good excuse yet?” Colin asked as he adjusted his seatbelt.

“We could just say we were in Vegas; they’d believe that,” Chip shrugged.

“What about we say we’ve been filming something ultra secret, and that’s why we couldn’t tell them,” Ryan suggested.

“What if they ask when it’s on?” Colin countered.

“I dunno, keep saying they’re putting final touches on it,” Ryan offered.

“Just keep lying, huh?” Drew grinned.

“You got a better idea?” Chip scorned.

“Tell them the truth. They’ll find out eventually,” Drew stated.

“What do you think we are? Stupid!?” Colin gasped.

“Suit yourselves,” Drew perked.

“How are we going to explain this to Dan?” Brad piped up a short while later.

“Lie,” Wayne shrugged.

“Funny enough, I think Dan might actually believe us if we told the truth,” Greg mused.

“Well he believed us when we told him that Colin had gone temporarily mad and locked himself in that broom cupboard,” Chip perked.

“No he didn’t,” Ryan scorned.

“I think he’s just used to us,” Colin sighed.

They fell silent.

“God, why are flights so damn long,” Ryan groaned.

“Well, if they were short they’d be called ‘flutters’ and it wouldn’t have the same effect,” Colin said matter-of-factly.

Ryan gave Colin an unimpressed look.

“Man, am I gonna need a vacation when we get back,” Drew announced.

“You just had one,” Greg stated.

“I was made to run and I nearly got killed. That’s not a vacation, that’s personal hell,” Drew scorned.

“Hey, I nearly got killed too. You don’t hear me going on about it,” Greg sneered.

“Drew’s right, I’m exhausted,” Wayne chimed in.

“Oh, dancing in the ‘Gras’ wear you out?” Greg sarced.

“Chip and I nearly got beaten too, you know,” Wayne sulked.

“When? Oh yeah, by the bikers,” Chip mused.

“Well I’ve got a hideous tattoo that no one will fess up to,” Brad whined.

“Gee Brad, that hardly compares,” Chip scorned.

“It does to me,” Brad wailed. “I’m stuck with this thing forever!”

“Oh, get some surgery,” Wayne hissed.

Brad sunk back into his chair.

By the time the flight was nearing LA, the bickering had stopped. Brad had nodded off; Greg and Wayne played cards they’d borrowed from another passenger; Chip was entranced in the in-flight movie; Drew was snoring like a foghorn; Ryan had passed out with a beer in his hand; and Colin finished reading his book.

Harry Durrell watched from the car as Fifi Matthisson held tightly onto the arm of her husband. They chatted briefly with the police as Cecil Montague and Boorstin were escorted into a waiting police car.

“I’LL GET YOU, MATTHISSON” Montague yelled before being thrust into the car.

“Looks like you lose again, sir,” Burroughs mused.

“Whatever do you mean, man? Montague has been arrested and Erwin Matthisson’s life saved,” Durrell asked.

“Fifi went back to her husband,” Burroughs chuckled.

“There was nothing between Fifi and myself,” Durrell grumbled.

“You so wanted her,” Burroughs taunted.

“Oh, act your age,” Durrell snapped.

Burroughs started the engine. “Where to now, sir?” he asked.

“Home, Clement. Let’s just go home,” Durrell sighed.

“Did I tell you I’m taking Tallulah out again tonight?” Burroughs perked as they headed toward the town.

“Clement,” Durrell sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Yes sir,” Burroughs smiled.

“Shut up,” Durrell ordered.

“Right away sir,” Burroughs nodded and paused. “Should I take her to that new Italian restaurant?”

Durrell looked blankly at his partner and shook his head. He only hoped there was another case for him to solve soon.

“What a shit ending,” Colin grumbled.