Drew and Ryan headed to a posh hotel – they’d decided that after the last place they wanted something a tad better, or at least a place that had a jacuzzi. Drew organised rooms and the wandered into the restaurant. He scanned the flashy menu, but decided to have a burger, fries and a coke. He began wolfing down the greasy food, but froze when a smartly dressed man joined him at the table.

“Afternoon, Crispin,” the man said softly.

Drew opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “Afternoon.”

“Have you got the stuff?” the man asked.

“Sure,” Drew lied.

“Excellent. Gino says you’re to meet him at Bondi to deliver the goods,” the man continued.

“Great,” Drew smiled weakly.

“He’s sending Maria to pick you up, so be ready,” the man ordered, then stood up and left as quickly as he’d appeared.

Drew looked down at his half-eaten food; he’d suddenly lost his appetite. What would happen if he didn’t meet Gino at Bondi? Gino…oh no! Was he Mafia? Drew pushed his plate aside, thumped his head against the table and muttered, “stupidstupidstupid.”

Ryan wasn’t in the least bit tired. In fact, the only reason he wanted to be alone was because he was so damn paranoid about the whole “Azaria” thing. “I wish a dingo had eaten her,” he grumbled, sitting on the bed.

Ryan pulled out his wallet and took out the picture of his wife and kids. He still hadn’t thought up an excuse for not being home in a week. As he was putting the photo back, he noticed a piece of paper had fallen out. He grabbed it and almost laughed. It was Azaria’s phone number.

Ryan reached for the phone and dialed the number. As he waited for her to answer, his leg twitched nervously.

“Hello?”

“Azaria?”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“Ryan. Mr Maslins.”

“Ahhh.”

“What do you mean, ‘ahhh’?”

“Never mind.”

“Look, I have to know if we…well…you know.”

“You sure you want to know?”

“Yes, good or bad, otherwise I’m going to have a breakdown.”

Azaria laughed, the paused. “Mate, we didn’t have sex.”

A big sigh of relief from Ryan.

“You were shitfaced. You took out the photo of your wife and kids and told me all about them for three hours, then did a bad John Wayne impression and passed out. I picked your wallet up and put it on the dresser. Feel better now?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ryan breathed and hung up.

He was tempted to run around doing a happy dance, but instead decided to go and find Drew.

Wayne was more than excited to climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge. His guide prattled on about its history and even went so far as to tell him that Paul Hogan used to paint it.

“How long does it take to paint?” Wayne asked curiously as they climbed.

“Well, by the time you finish it you have to start again,” mused the guide. “Now I promise you, you’ll get the best view you’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah man, I can’t wait…” Wayne’s voice trailed off as he reached the top. It was high, damn high.

“Beautiful, isn’t it mate?” chirped the guide.

Wayne let out a whimper.

“Not scared of heights, are you?” the guide asked, looking at Wayne’s slowly whitening knuckles.

“Down…down now,” Wayne babbled.

“Mate, you’ve only just got up here,” the guide pleaded.

Wayne, bug-eyed, shook his head.

The guide rolled his eyes, grumbled something about “bloody yanks,” and helped Wayne back to the bottom of the bridge.

Chip met Wayne at the bottom after his tour of the Opera House and looked at him concerned.

“Wayne, are you ok?” Chip gasped

Wayne was still bug-eyed.

“He got to the top and discovered he was scared of heights,” sighed the guide.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Chip sighed and put his arm around Wayne. “Come on, let’s get you a drink and your sanity back.”

Chip and Wayne met Greg and Brad in a bar. Greg had ploughed his way through several drinks, while Brad appeared to be sulking.

“What’s with Wayne?” Greg asked.

“Bad experience on the bridge. He needs something strong,” Chip replied as he helped Wayne onto a barstool.

“What’s his problem?” Chip asked pointing to Brad.

“He went through the phonebook and called every tattoo parlour. None of them did the monkey thing,” Greg nodded.

“Oh,” Chip grinned.

“How could they forget something like…well…it,” Brad whined.

“I’m sure you’ll find out eventually,” Greg soothed.

Brad looked at him despairingly.

Colin stood in a phone box and nervously unfolded the piece of paper. He read and re-read Felicia’s number. Eventually, after several deep breaths, he grabbed the receiver, put his money in the slot and dialed the number.

“Good afternoon, Felica at your service.”

“H…hello? I’m Colin? I think we might have met.”

“Colin, Colin, Colin…I need more.”

“I’m Canadian, bald, in my 40s.” Colin felt like a dirty old man calling a phone sex line or signing up at a dating agency.

“Ohhh, I remember you.”

“You do!”

Felicia laughed. “How could I forget?”

“This might sound weird, but can we meet?”

“Sure, honey. Meet me at Les Fesses in an hour,” Felica cooed and then hung up.

Colin put the receiver back and stumbled out of the phone box.

“Well that was easy,” he perked to no one in particular.

Ryan found Drew head down in the restaurant.

“Drew, Drew are you ok?” Ryan gasped.

“I’m wonderful, man. I have to deliver a pile of drugs to the Mafia sometime today,” Drew spat.

Ryan paused, not quite sure what to say. “On the up side, I didn’t cheat on my wife,” he eventually smiled.

“That doesn’t help,” Drew grumbled.

“Helps me plenty,” Ryan grinned.

Drew let out a growl and smacked his head against the table again.