The Whose Line men piled into the terminal after an outrageous two hour haul through customs.

“Back in the beautiful US,” Ryan perked.

“Yeah, that’s what it is,” Greg sighed.

“I’m going to call my wife,” Colin announced.

“Good luck, buddy,” Drew blinked and patted Colin on the back.

“Guess I should, too,” Wayne shrugged and followed Colin to the pay phones.

“I’ll come, too,” Chip piped up.

“One in, all in,” Greg mused.

“I guess you’re going too,” Drew smirked, looking at Ryan.

“No way. I’ll face the music when I get home,” Ryan gasped.

“Man, you’re scared of your wife,” Drew laughed.

“Scared? I’m terrified,” Ryan said seriously.

When the others returned, they all looked slightly pale. Wayne’s wife was coming to fetch him, as was Colin’s. Everyone else had to catch taxis.

They stepped out into a warm LA morning and scanned the taxi rank. Not one was in.

“Looks like we’re waiting,” Chip shrugged.

“Just like me and the truth behind my tattoo,” Brad whined.

“Oh, somebody tell him, please,” Drew begged.

Brad looked curiously at his friends.

“We know how you got the tatt,” Greg sighed.

“How do you know that?” Brad gasped.

“Cos we asked the guy to do it,” Ryan giggled.

Brad’s mouth fell open. “YOU BASTARDS! YOU KNEW ALL ALONG!”

“Of course we did. It was the whole reason we got you drunk first,” Wayne perked.

“It’s probably the only thing we remember before we ended up in woop woop,” Colin jeered.

Brad screamed several obscenities and spent several minutes chasing the others about, trying to kill them.

Then Wayne’s wife turned up, looking nothing less then ferocious, and they were forced to calm down.

“I’ll see ya all at filming…maybe.” Wayne swallowed as he looked at his wife.

Colin’s wife turned up soon after, looked accusingly at Ryan and then sped off.

“Looks like he won’t be coming out to play for a while,” Brad sniggered as a taxi pulled up.

“Mine,” Greg announced and flumped into the back as two more taxis arrived. Chip and Brad took them. It was a further 10 minutes before any more turned up.

“See ya tomorrow, buddy,” Ryan smiled as he slid into the taxi.

“If you don’t turn up, should I start looking for shallow graves near your house?” Drew asked.

“No, look for new slabs of concrete,” Ryan nodded.

Drew chuckled and clambered into the back of the other taxi. As he did, he felt a lump in his pocket. He pulled out whatever it was. It was the small, purple phone.

“Dammit, it wasn’t all a dream,” he hissed.

Something told him to switch it on, and when he did it beeped. He had a message. It simply read, “Watch your back fat boy…Ritza,” Drew switched the phone off.

Surely she wouldn’t come all the way to LA…would she?