“Where are we?” Ritza asked as she glanced at her surroundings which appeared to be tall, greying and generally ugly tenement blocks. Groups of youths in American sporting merchandise stood in groups smoking and laughing while tired looking mothers carried bundles of shopping and a handful of small children across the stark concrete enclaves. She shuddered at the thought of ever having to bring her son up in such a cold and depressing environment. Ritza’s attention shot back to the situation at hand as Beven pressed a button on a small, crackling intercom.

“7943,” he announced briskly into the mouthpiece and then waited. The door buzzed and Beven held it open as they stepped into the building. There was nothing but a steep flight of stairs in front of them and they walked in step as they ascended to the next floor.

“Where are we?” Ritza asked, slightly more frustrated this time as she started to become breathless.

“You’ll see,” Beven replied with a coy smile. Ritza frowned deeper; he’d been saying ‘you’ll see’ all day and it was really starting to get on her nerves. She wasn’t an idiot and as a fully trained person in her field she had every right to be told the finer details of the operation.

“What was the number?”

“A password.”

“For what?”

Beven stopped on the second landing and crossed his arms. “It was my library card number.”

Ritza let out a huff. “Oh come on, man, tell me something, anything? I’m part of this operation and have the right, nay, I deserve to be told what the hell is going on in that brain of yours.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Beven agreed, uncrossing his arms and running a hand over his shaved head.

“Well?” Ritza asked smugly as she crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. “What are you thinking?”

“That you’re beautiful when you’re angry,” Beven replied and smiled wryly. He then started down the corridor.

“Bastard,” Ritza hissed through gritted teeth as she ignored the little flutter her heart gave, and hurried to catch up with him.

They stopped outside one of the apartments. The door number appeared to be missing, minus a shabby looking four. Beven knocked roughly on the chipped blue paint and a few seconds passed before the sound of a large bolt broke the silence of the empty corridor. Ritza noticed Beven slipped a hand onto the gun in his holster and the door opened a fraction. A man appeared looking much the same Beven, and Ritza didn’t have to know who he was to be certain he was a heavy.

“Fucking hell, is that you Duggan?” the man gasped, looking bewildered. “Shouldn’t you be fucking dead?”

“Y’know, death and I never really saw eye to eye, mate,” Beven declared flatly. “She here?”

“Oh, no way man, you’re not getting in…” the man was cut short as Beven pushed past him into the apartment. Ritza shrugged and followed as the heavy stood looking slightly awed and a bit lost. She followed Beven into the kitchen where he stopped. Her attention was drawn to a thin, dark-haired woman at the table — Claudia.

“Beven,” the woman breathed, pulling her robe tighter around her throat. Ritza noticed her accent was very think and gratingly French.

“Bonjour bandante,” Beven declared. “Comment vas-tu?”

“Magnifique,” the woman sneered and leaned heavily on her clenched fist. “Dégueulasse malfrat,”

“Hello,” Ritza piped up. “I hate to break up your little reunion but some of us aren’t au fait with the French language.”

“Que est elle?” Claudia groused looking angrily at Beven.

“Cela ne te regarde pas,” Beven sighed as Ritza strode over looking less than pleased.

“What are you talking about?” she wailed. “I can’t understand a damn thing. And to think I thought we were in on this together. It’s not fair Beven, I’m just as good at this as you are…”

“Est elle perds le raison?” Claudia groaned, rubbing her temples. Ritza paused and looked at Beven.

“Oui,” Beven nodded, grabbing Ritza’s arm with one of his large hands. “Calm down ,will you.”

“No,” Ritza said defiantly and pulled her arm away from Beven. “I thought we were supposed to be dealing with frog legs here?”

“Chienne,” Claudia sneered and was greeted by the cocking of a gun and the sight of the barrel aiming between her eyes as Ritza kept focussed on Beven.

“I’m not opposed to blowing her brains out.”

“Ritz,” Beven sighed, wincing. “Put the gun away, huh, there’s no need for violence.”

“Really? Since when?”

“I don’t think Claudia is about to attack you.”

“Says who?”

“Me, Ritz. I know her, and….” Ritza removed the safety. “What the fuck is your problem.”

“Woman’s intuition tells me that your uncultured Aussie friend is jealous,” Claudia shrugged, hunting out the cooling pot of tea that was on the table before her.

“Jealous? Don’t be fucking ridiculous,” Beven groused. “Why on earth would Ritza be…” he paused and looked at Ritza who wasn’t far from having smoke billowing form her ears. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Beven breathed, grabbing Ritza’s arm again and dragging her from the small kitchenette into Claudia’s bedroom.

Gina sat bolt upright and was about to scream until her surroundings swam into a less hazy view. She took several deep breaths to control her panting and ran her fingers thorough her messy hair.

“Jesus,” Gina breathed, looking beside her where Paul was curled in a tight ball. She’d dreamt that she was being forced to watch on while Amy tortured Paul with a series of barbecue tools. The memory of what she was doing to him with the tongs left a sickening scar on Gina’s psyche.

“You all right?” Paul asked, blearily opening his eyes as he rolled onto his back.

“Yeah,” Gina replied as she swallowed. “Just confirming that I need some serious therapy.”

“I think we’re all going to end up on Prozac,” he agreed, rubbing his stubble. “Come here,” he added, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her into his embrace.

“How about you, hey? How are you?” Gina sighed as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“Better,” Paul replied and kissed the top of her head. “I’m a bit of a hopeless mess without you.”

“I know, you can’t even do your own washing.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Gina smiled as she propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. “And everything else, are you going to be all right with that?”

“Babe, everything is all right so long as you’re here,” Paul announced and then frowned. “That was way too Dawson’s Creek, wasn’t it?”

“And not even good Dawson’s Creek,” Gina nodded as she leaned forward to kiss him. Paul’s stubble grated against her skin and she pulled away, giggling, and ran her fingers over the coarse hair on his chin. “Unless you’re being like bad boy Pacey, of course.”

“Excuse me?” Paul mused, looking more surprised than he meant to. “Should I be worried you’re having rude thoughts about the characters on Dawson’s Creek?”

“Yeah, you probably should,” Gina agreed and brought her lips to his again despite the nasty case of ‘pash rash’ she was going to end up with.

Greg yawned as he checked the message bank on Fenny’s phone for the billionth time that morning and sighed loudly when he found there still wasn’t a reply from his wife. He put it back on the table and grabbed the chipped coffee cup he’d already drunk two cups of coffee from and glanced around the near empty dining room. Well, it wasn’t so much the dining room as the least grimy bit of the bar. A couple of truckers had strolled in a few minutes before he’d arrived and were now tucking into grotesque plates of bacon, eggs and sausages while a couple of German tourists munched quietly on toast. They were flipping through their Lonely Planet guides and probably wondering why Coober Peedy wasn’t labelled ‘places not to think of going ever’ in a highlighted box.

“Have you decided what you’d like for breakfast yet, mate?” asked a singlet-clad man who was cleaning spare tables with a damp cloth.

“I don’t supposed you sell bagels?” Greg asked nonchalantly.

“What?” the man asked, putting his hands on his hips. “We don’t have any of ya fancy yank food here,” he declared. “I’ll bring you some beans on toast.”

“You’re too kind,” Greg sighed, fishing his packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. He might as well destroy some more tastebuds before being fed more atrocious pub food.

He got to his feet and sauntered out into the warm morning air. He couldn’t believe that it was the middle of winter and yet it was still hot enough for him to get a nasty sunburn. He slid a death stick between his lips and lit it, sucking in his first nicotine fix of the day. He leaned back against a bare bit of wall and was drifting off into thought when he heard a voice from the balcony of the room above.

“…yes, yes, I’ll be bringing Blondie back this morning, sis.”

Greg walked forward a little to listen more closely and recognised the voice as Otto’s.

“Of course nothing is up. What? No, Amy I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Greg mumbled, taking another drag of his cigarette. His listening was interrupted by the door swinging open behind him and he looked to see Danny with Troy under one arm.

“Alan says your beans are ready,” Danny mused, looking devilishly handsome with stubble and mussed up hair. This point annoyed Greg slightly and he suddenly realised that if it were a Scooby Doo comic, he really would be Velma.

“Fantastic,” he groused stubbing out his cigarette on the ground. “Can’t you see I’m salivating at the thought.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” Danny sighed, poking Greg in the side of the head with Troy. “It’s all I’m getting too.”

“And to think we’ll be forced to spend a long time in a confined space,” Greg sarced as he sauntered back into the bar.

“Oh,” Danny frowned as they headed to their awaiting breakfasts. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Fenny rolled over sleepily and cracked her forehead against Brad’s. “Sorry,” she breathed, trying to hunt for bumps in the darkened room without her glasses and a throbbing pain now resonating in her frontal lobe.

“Apology accepted,” Brad smiled and lazily brought his lips to hers. Fenny kissed him back, slightly giddy, it having been so long since she’d been in his arms, or anyone’s arms for that matter.

“We should probably get up now,” she mumbled, pulling her lips away from his and sitting up before hunting out her glasses from the bedside table.

“No, fighting evil can wait,” Brad cooed in a way that was so cute Fenny was almost tempted to climb on top of him and kiss every last inch of his bare skin.

“I don’t think it can,” she breathed as her fingers stroked the inside of Brad’s forearm.

“I don’t know,” Brad smiled, sitting up and sliding a hand down her back. “I’m sure we can squeeze in a few seconds more.”

Fenny found herself being drawn toward him again, her lips aching to be back against his, her whole body longing to be wrapped up with his again. However, the image of Amy, and Otto especially, kept pushing forward in her mind and ruining the warm and fuzzy thoughts she was having about Brad. “We can’t,” she said softly, giving him an Eskimo kiss. “We have to deal with Amy.”

Brad let out a heavy sigh. “Ok, but I still don’t trust Otto,” he declared, climbing out of bed and sauntering butt-naked over to the window where he pulled back the heavy curtains.

“Why?” Fenny asked as the light washed over them and she noticed they were both covered in scratches and bruises from the previous night’s escapades.

“Let’s just say Beven taught me a few things,” Brad replied, grabbing his boxers from the floor and pulling them on.

“What kind of things?” Fenny queried as she rescued her bra from the ceiling fan.

“Never you mind,” Brad smiled wryly. “Do you think I’m overreacting about Otto?”

Fenny cocked her head to the side as she leapt off the bed in her underwear. “I trust your judgement. I mean you were always right about Ritza.”

“Hey, I was wasn’t I?” Brad perked and pulled Fenny into his arms. “I was right about you, too.”

“In what way?” Fenny asked innocently as her hands coyly sought out his rear and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Every way,” Brad groaned as they both pulled each other close for a lustful, longing kiss.

“Would you like to explain yourself?” Beven growled as he paced the bedroom. “I’m trying really hard to save some nice people’s arses right here and you’ve turned into a fucking crazy woman.”

Ritza stood, arms crossed and pouting. “I just don’t see why we don’t kill her and have done with it.”

“Yeah Ritz, I really want that on my conscience,” Beven groused. “Claudia is harmless. I know she’s harmless because…”

“Because you fucked her, yes we’ve been over this,” Ritza spat and focussed her attention on the tacky leopard-print bed cover.

Beven let out a frustrated groan. “Is that what this is about, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ritza replied unconvincingly as Beven stepped toward her. He slid one of his large, weathered hands onto her cheek and lifted her chin to look at him.

“You’re a hopeless bloody liar,” he said softly. “Claudia has fucked everyone, you get bored and dip into the pot, y’know.”

“No, I don’t know actually,” Ritza sneered, trying to look away but Beven wouldn’t let her.

“Hey, you were in a relationship with Sherwood, and you’ve been in the sack with Proops.”

“That’s different.”

“No it’s not.”

“I loved Brad.”

“I never paid Claudia.”

“Oh, well that makes it all right then,” Ritza huffed, finally pulling away and sitting heavily on the bed.

“Ritz, this isn’t even about Claudia, is it?” Beven sighed, sitting next to her. “Christ, this isn’t even about the fucking mission is it?”

Ritza fell into a pout again. “Do you find me attractive?” she asked, looking up at him, her eyes pleading with his own.

“This is neither the time nor place.”

“Please.”

Beven let out a sigh and scratched his head. “Jesus, you’re turning into one of them.”

“One of who?” Ritza asked, confused and still waiting for his answer.

“Those freaky love puppies that we’re continually forced to save,” Beven mused, smiling at her. “Now can we please go back into the other room,” he added, getting to his feet again.

“You never answered my question,” Ritza frowned, following him to the door. Beven, who was gripping the door handle, let go and turned back around. Then to Ritza’s surprise, in one quick motion he slid a hand behind her head and pulled her to him where he kissed her briefly but deeply on the lips, and then let her go.

“Now can we go and interrogate her?” he breathed, pushing down the natural male instinct of wanting to tear her clothes off and do her against the wall.

“Sure,” Ritza said, slightly dazed and smiling at the warm feeling that had settled in her stomach.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Danny mused as he wiped the last of the sauce from his plate with his final bit of toast.

“No, although I really can’t taste much, what with the nicotine, caffeine and grit that’s already in my mouth,” Greg agreed and looked up to see Gina and Paul sauntering over, hand in hand. “Oh my god, the happy bunnies have emerged from their burrow.”

“Yeah, and we all know what bunnies do,” Paul grinned and then looked amused at the table “What’s Troy doing here?”

“You forgot him last night, dude,” Greg perked. “Brannigan mongoose-sat.”

“You forgot Troy,” Gina gasped, picking up the stuffed mongoose as Paul sat himself in a rickety wooden chair. “That’s like abandoning our child.”

“I was preoccupied,” Paul shrugged as Gina sat herself in his lap.

“With what?” she asked coyly.

“Hmm, let me think,” Paul grinned as they started sharing quick kisses.

“Hey, no, you don’t start that,” Danny piped up. “Not when we’ve just eaten.”

“If you’re feeling left out, you two can do it as well,” Gina smirked as she set Troy back on the table.

Danny and Greg looked at each other. “Oh, can’t we share Pauly,” Greg mused and Paul blew him a kiss which Greg jokingly caught and started acting smitten.

“You two have issues,” Danny frowned. “Where’s Fen and Brad?”

“No idea,” Gina shrugged, getting off Paul’s lap and grabbing a chair for herself. “I haven’t really being paying much attention since last night.”

“Gee, I wonder why?” Greg teased as Paul whistled at the man who seemed to run the place.

“Don’t be impatient,” Gina scorned and slapped Paul’s arm and then felt bad when he yelped and rubbed it better.

“I’m fucking hungry,” he groused, his stomach rumbling as if to accentuate the point.

“Aw, you realise he hasn’t eaten since you’ve been gone,” Danny chided. “Poor monkey was too distressed.”

“Shut up,” Paul retorted feebly as Gina squeezed his thigh affectionately.

“Finally, here come the monkey twins,” Greg piped up, motioning to where Brad and Fenny were approaching. They were both similarly dishevelled, rosy cheeked and trying to hide smiles.

“They’ve so been fucking,” Gina gasped and then giggled.

“No way? How can you tell?” Paul laughed, studying his friends in the distance for a moment.

“Woman’s intuition,” Gina winked as both Fenny and Brad appeared at the table.

“Good morning,” Brad beamed as he and Fenny took the last two seats. “How are we all this bright fine Aussie morning?”

“Dandy,” Greg mused, noticing Fenny’s shirt was buttoned up wrong.

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, distracting himself with his dregs of coffee.

“You two look so much happier,” Fenny piped up looking over at Gina and Paul.

“You know what it’s like,” Gina smiled. “That whole giddy feeling being back with the one you love gives you.”

“Actually,” Paul perked, nudging Gina’s arm. “Guys don’t get that, we just get a rosy glow after we’ve come recently.”

Brad and Fenny both moved uncomfortably for a moment and were quite glad when Otto appeared at the table behind Greg.

“Morning, folks,” he enthused. “Are we ready to talk tactics? I’ve got the perfect plan worked out for you.”

“Does it involve risking our lives in some stupid and pointless way?” Greg asked, sighing loudly.

Otto rested a large hand and Greg’s shoulder and squeezed it just enough to pass on the message that he could break it if he wanted to. “Of course not, all you guys have to do is come back with me. We’ll pretend I’ve captured you all or something along those lines and then we’ll confront Amy, and I know my sister, she’ll back down and everything will be sorted.”

“Oh yeah, she seems like a woman who backs down,” Brad snorted. “We’re not doing it.”

“Come on, what have you got to lose?” Otto laughed, releasing his grip on Greg.

“Gee I dunno, how about our lives,” Greg groused, rubbing his now sore shoulder.

“It’s a pretty risky plan, mate,” Paul piped up. “I mean, who’s to say Amy will back down.”

“Trust me, she’s my sister,” Otto smiled. “Amy can handle one or two of you but all of you would just freak her out.

Brad, Fenny, Greg, Danny, Paul and Gina looked at one another. “I say we take a vote,” Danny declared. “All against going with Otto?” Everyone put up their hand. “Right, all for going with Otto?” Once again everyone put up their hand.

“Well that worked,” Gina chided. “Do we really have a choice but to go with him?”

“I see no problem with running away very fast,” Fenny shrugged. “But then I’m likely to trip over a rock and tear ligaments in my knee, so that’s probably not a good idea.”

“I guess the question is, as a team do we feel safe enough to face Amy?” Brad sighed, looking around the table.

“I’m mildly crippled, but still, yeah, I do have enough faith in us,” Gina nodded as she felt Paul’s hand slide into hers.

“Well if she’s in I’m certainly in,” Paul announced. “And so is Troy,” he added picking up the mongoose.

“Yeah, nothing else to do really,” Danny shrugged. “Just let me arm myself with a bible.”

“I’m still totally against the idea of anything that may get me killed,” Greg frowned. “I mean how lucky can we get? Really?”

“I’m with Greg, this is insane,” Brad nodded. “I don’t think we should do it.”

“Brad’s right, we could just be letting ourselves get led into a trap,” Fenny breathed, looking uncertain with her own statement.

“Come on guys, where’s your sense of adventure?” Otto grinned broadly, slapping Brad on the back, much to Brad’s chagrin.

“I lost mine when my ex-girlfriend shot me,” he groused.

“Being kidnapped by your darling sister twice kinda shredded mine,” Greg huffed, slamming his coffee cup roughly on the table.

“When the car blew up in Amsterdam,” Danny nodded. “That did it for me.”

“I’ve never had a sense of adventure, never,” Fenny said blankly as she shook her head.

“Finding a corpse in the back of the car kinda dampened my enthusiasm,” Gina pouted, gripping Paul’s hand tighter.

“I think your fucking sister trying to kill my wife has kinda been the last fucking straw really,” Paul spat as he glared at Otto.

Otto frowned a moment and then brightened up. “Well that’s it then, isn’t it? I mean we follow my plan and you’ll never have to deal with all this shit again.”

“Somehow I very much doubt that,” Brad mumbled, the feeling of unease still resting in his chest.