"Tell us where she is, old boy. My hooligans are in a titers for blood tonight, and to properly forewarn, yours will do them."
That was Terry the Limmy. Not so big on the villian talk, but he did have him some big rugby playing monsters for doing grunt duty. A few of them let out some award winning grunts now.
"Like I said," they knew I knew where she was, "I don't know nothin'" Smart, Ace, let them know you're being definate and prideful. Pride, it can be a great thing, but it don't soften body blows. After a few well place jabs, I let changed strategy. "Last time I was tickled like that, I was with your "mums" inbetwixed her neathers." Pridefulness may be next to godliness, but it'll get you 6 feet under too.
"Mr. McGaven, you truly disappoint. Perhaps you don't understand my purpose here. I come for information, and you have it. Why don't we despinse with the unpleasentness, and get to the part where you tell me where the light of my life has run." Terry had had me tailed, but only at the expense of missing the direction I'd sent my assistant. My assistant they would later learn, was still at the office. The girl at the bus station, well, that's the point of the exercise.
At about that time, I decided I was about tired of there games. They wanted to play hide and go seek. Me, I wanted to play, get me the hell out of here.
With little recourse left, I promised to take Terry to the safe house I'd arranged. That pansy Brit took up the offer, and a car load of trouble piled in on a family road trip to... Hartsford.
