Spaced Out part 5 of 7

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bob raced into the kitchen and looked around in mild panic. Spying a roll of tin foil lying in its protective box on a service bench he grabbed it, and in a few seconds had successfully wound the entire contents around his head. It didn't look pretty, in fact it was quite slap shod, but it did do the job with good result. Lisa, upon hearing the rustling, let curiosity get the better of her and reluctantly rose from her chair to follow the noisy trail. Finding the crinkling source she came to an abrupt halt, mouth agape and mind totally flabbergasted by the sight standing before her. "What do you think?” he pirouetted slowly for her visual benefit, showing off his new creation to its full effect. He effused a new found calm that was only slightly dented by her response. Had he any inkling of what she was mulling over in her mind he most certainly would have thought twice about asking that question but probably would have done so anyway, Bob being Bob after all. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"It's to dull down the signal's power. This way it's much harder for them to track me, and gives us some breathing space."
"There's that 'us' again", she replied bitterly, beginning to become resigned to the fact that she may end up being stuck with him for a while longer than she had originally intended after all. It also occurred to her that each time she thought things had gotten as screwy as they could, he managed to raise the bar another notch or two. She had to come to a decision quickly. Did she really want him out of her life? On this point she wasn't sure. Every time she thought that she had the answer to her liking he would pull something straight out of left field that either amused, amazed, or frightened the pants off her, then she'd be right back to square one again. She felt strangely powerless, as though being swept along on a wave of helplessness that she couldn't make headway against, and wasn’t all that keen on it. So for the moment, in the absence of any firm decision one way or the other, she dithered and sat on the fence, albeit a rather splintery one at that. Citing reasons for mental self-preservation she thought it best just to go with the flow and not worry too much over his odd behavior, since it invariably only brought upon her an industrial strength headache. Begging her leave she disappeared for a moment, returning with a beanie that had been left behind by a previous absent minded date. "Here, put this on. If you insist on wearing that ridiculous stuff on your head then it should hide most of it, and at least give you the semblance of being normal."

Once he had adjusted it for a snug fit in a nearby mirror he turned to Lisa and she burst out laughing. Bob responded with a small embarrassed smile, acknowledging that he sure looked a little dorky and also that the situation he was adamantly insisting upon as the truth did indeed seem to be tugging at the threads of credibility just a tad. Finally giving in he joined her in a hearty belly throb, the chuckles releasing some of the pent up tension between them. Once their mirth making had subsided, and the inevitable uncomfortable silence descended, they both slunk back to the living room. Bob collapsed onto the couch and stared blankly at the equally vacant tv. Feeling the remote behind and just under his right buttock he reached round, retrieved it, and hit a button at random. The box flashed into life from the lucky stab and, finding the channel changer by trial and error, he picked his way through the various shows on offer. Lisa stood there quietly fuming and glaring at him. Bob gradually became aware of the unsettling sensation of annoying tingling at the back of his head, though this time he doubted that it had anything to do with his CISED implant. Finally he tore his gaze away from the techno-mesmeriser and up into the eyes of his new irritator. "What?"

"So, you're just going to sit there and watch tv? Lister buster, I've got a life to live, you know?” her barely suppressed anger bubbled to the surface and exploded like an over heated curry in a microwave. "I can't be holed up here forever, hiding from weirdoes that I want nothing to do with!" Then, with her wrathful force quickly expended, she softened a little. "Look, it's been great. You've been fantastic and I've had a ball. But that's it. It’s all over now." Having finally made her mind up she climbed down off her fence, picked out a few of the more needling slivers, and proceeded full on just in case she might falter at the last moment and allow him a chance to swing her around again. She didn't know what he might possibly do to aid her in that reversal so she shut out all contingencies and used reverse psychology in a variation of the classic old break up line. "It's not me, it's you, and I've quite had my fill if you know what I mean." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she instantly regretted them and, by default, their implication. Bob smirked, which only served to stiffen her determination. However, she refused to be swayed on the matter whatsoever. Once set, her grit took on iron bar quality. "Perhaps you need to go away somewhere, sort out all your many problems, and then we may have a sane future together further down the track", she half fibbed.
"I've already told you", he shot back a little tersely, causing her to re-bristle. "I can't get rid of them. They don't want to let me go. All I, I mean, we, can do is to keep one very big step ahead of them, and this helps us do that!" He pointed at the tele, indicating that it held some important and secret role in their immediate future, just in not so many words.
"Again with the 'us'? Don't you understand? Can't you get it through your thick foil encrusted skull? There is no 'us' anymore!"
"Hey, bear with me a while longer, will you?” he semi-pleaded. "Besides", he added confidently, returning his attention to the screen, "I have a plan!"

The proud look on his face didn't fill her with any amount of faith at all. "You do?” she retorted sardonically. "Then please, tell me all about it!"
"Well, it's pretty simple really"
"Go on," she goaded, hardly caring to conceal the disinterest in her voice. “It would have to be!” she thought, purely for her own ego-balming benefit.
"As I said before, I'll just call Zed, who is parked behind an overgrown snowball at the edge of your star system, and get him to come pick us up. Plus a few cases of grog?” he added quickly, his face lighting up mischievously.
She felt herself starting to melt, and it took a huge effort to steel herself against his alluring gaze. "That's it then? Just like that?” she shot back, sensing a victory of sorts in the wind.
"Fairly much so, yes." Finally unable to hold herself back any further she rounded for the kill.
"Are you nuts? How are you going to do that?" Not knowing exactly who he might call, and worried about the likely prohibitive cost such a communication may incur, she edged her way over to where the phone hung on a wall, and covered it with her body for added insurance. Then she gave herself a mental slap to snap out of yet another self-produced mind game, realizing that she was being suckered in again by his laid back charm. Why couldn't she rid herself of these damned feelings for him? It almost seemed that he had some weird dark hold over her, one that just wouldn't let up. Every time she had it neatly worked out he would interrupt her train of thought, and then promptly proceed to derail it altogether. Yet for the life of her she couldn't help but find him strangely fascinating, something akin to very attractive road kill: horrible, in a gorgeous hypnotic sort of way. An apparition that she wasn't able to keep from staring at, and loving the sight of. Still, her newly discovered vulnerability irked her no end since she was used to being the one who called all the shots. Not quite in the hard bitch league, but not all that far from it. Up until this point she had thought that she was quietly confident in her inner strength, and she now determined that she would use it to resist him with all her available sinew. Enough miss nice girl already! If he wanted to ring someone then he could just bloody well use a public phone box and be done with it. That was that!

Yet Bob's casual onslaught appeared to know no bounds, and deemed itself more than enough for her recently acquired resolve. That he seemed to do this on an almost subconscious level didn't sway the outcome any, he simply forged on regardless towards his required goal and soon enough her bastion started to make that familiar crumbling sound as he launched his next assault. "Don't worry. That phone is useless for my needs. It doesn't have the necessary power for the job." Her dual reactions to this latest statement were firstly of embarrassment for getting caught out, and then affront at being technologically dismissed so easily. Her brand spanking new gossip hotline had ISD, STD, and any other 'D' you could come up with, and was capable of reaching any connected point on the planet. Not enough muscle indeed! In the end though she breathed a small sigh of resigned relief, and moved to the bar to fix herself a good stiff one. "Great idea!” he smiled his agreeance to her. "Make mine a triple. No, better yet, just fill the glass and flick some water at it."
"You're pretty sure of yourself”, she scowled.
"Got some real brain churning to do babe!” He held his hand out in readiness. Imperceptible wisps of steam vented from Lisa's ears as she marched over and thrust the drink none too kindly into its biological receptacle.

Sitting down, she casually remarked, "By the way, you still haven't told me how you intend to make this call." Bob looked down and surveyed his scotch on the drops. A shadow of disappointment quietly crept across his face in a half hearted attempt not to alert anyone to its presence, since the tumbler totally failed to live up to its potential capacity by being rather sneakily only one quarter full. Oh well, never mind, his optimism chimed in, you can always get another one. Down the hatch! Bottoms up! And all that jazz. He completed the task in one fell swoop and held it back out to her with a deft flick of the wrist indicating that perhaps another of the same would be rather nice if it wasn't too much bother, and could she please try to be a little more serious about it this time round. Then he turned his attention back to the box as something caught his eye, instantly forgetting her query. She sat there motionless and glowered at him, unused to being snubbed in this manner. After a while, having come to the conclusion that he appeared to be immune to the silent treatment, she slapped him on the shoulder, jarring the glass out of his hand and onto the carpet. Stunned out of his mini-trance by the short, sharp shock Bob turned his face towards her and was somewhat taken aback by her stony attitude. "Yes?” he asked innocently. Lisa thought she saw a small gap in his rigid defense and launched another verbal charge at his front line. The clash was near Earth shattering, and came within a whisker of success.

"I asked you a question, and all you do is sit there and ignore me! You expect me to supply you with endless alcohol while you waste what's left of the day watching that bloody tv!" The tears welling up in her eyes betrayed her true feelings for him, and she felt the pain deepen with the thought that perhaps he was no different to any other self-absorbed man she had opened herself up to. Suitably chastised, he reached out and pulled her to him. Her initial resistance reluctantly ebbed away and she unleashed a torrent of hot salty fluid onto his chest, soaking his shirt as he gently soothed her. While he waited for the deluge to subside he sneaked a peek at the box again. After a while Lisa stemmed her sobbing and came up for air. The sudden movement alerted him to her rousing and he was savvy enough to look down into her eyes, thus avoiding another swamping. Brushing a lock or two of sodden hair off her face he tried to turn his charm on once more, though this time he found that he really was starting to feel for her. "I'm sorry baby. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that the booze is necessary to hone my complex analytical decision making process, while this instrument is for the critical research I need to find us a way offa here." He dried her eyes with part of his shirt sleeve that had survived the inundation un-moistened, and continued. "If I can locate a suitable program to appear on then the channel's transmitter should have the range required to do the job." Lisa sat up, startled out of her complacency.
"You? On television?” she spluttered.
"Yes, me!” he defended the idea as if it was no big deal. Finally exhausted she slumped back into his arms again, having seen the staunchness in his eyes and being no longer willing nor able to keep up the pretence of disapproval, as her head was spinning at nine to the dozen with no indication of slowing down any time soon. After a lengthy pause in conversation she disentangled herself, dragged her body off the couch, picked up their glasses, and headed back to the drinks cabinet for more mind numbing firewater with a new bent on an old adage- 'If at first you don't succeed, then you might as well get pissed!'.

Heading back to her comfort zone she took a couple of seconds to regard her reclaimed beau. The look on his face at that moment was priceless. Eyes wide open, with mouth following suit, his whole concentration was focused on the respectably large rectangle of crammed pixels dancing colorfully before him. A show had apparently well taken his fancy, tempting Lisa to have a gawk at it as well. Not liking what she saw she sat down and quietly placed his refreshment on the table. Soon enough his facial freeze began to thaw out, revived by the whiff of whiskey wafting up from in front of him. "This is exactly what I'm after. It's perfect!” he exclaimed, having at last regained the use of at least some of his wits.
"Oh, that old crap?", she dismissed, garnishing her distaste with a genuine dash of dread, topping it with a healthy dose of disdain, and serving it up with a caustic edge to her voice. In all, quite an unsavory little dish.
"Yes! Yes! It's perfect!” he repeated, continuing on excitedly. "I could go on it and no one would take me seriously, yet I'd be able to get my message out to Zed!"
"Fine then. Good luck!", she retorted acidly.
"Well?"
"Well what?” she asked cautiously, with a sudden feeling of unease as to what might be coming.
"How do I get on it?” he pleaded his eyes at her, as a child might to a parent standing outside a pet shop that has a rather cute little puppy in the window.
"Don't worry", she snapped back, finally having had enough of the whole sad-arsed saga and deciding to get it over and done with. Just taste the bitter herbs and move on. "I used to date the host once, before he made it 'big' with this extravaganza of mindless drivel. Then guess what? Suddenly there was no time for me anymore. The self-centered poonce!" Her well of derision brimmed forth to overflowing. “Actually, he'd be just the bloody ticket. You two’d make a great pair!"

Bob's smile widened, exposing Lisa to the realization that he had completely missed the back handed point: game, set, and match. Triumphantly he downed the stubbornly half full spirit in yet another single gulp, calmly set the newly empty thirst quencher down, then leapt on top of her, smothering her face with kisses of gratitude. This unexpected assault upon her body caused Lisa to drop her own drink on the floor, while simultaneously oophing loudly as his weight crushed the living air out of her. Putting up an initial half hearted struggle she soon surrendered pleasurably to his amorous avalanche, and before long clothing was flying in all directions. The television droned while bodies groaned. Later, as they cuddled together on the lounge, Bob softly enquired "Can you arrange it for tonight then?"
"Whoa there, big boy!" Shaken from her post coital clench she held a hand up to steady him. His enthusiasm appeared to becoming infectious, and threatened to overwhelm her in a pandemic of emotional pathogens. "I don't know if he'll even be interested. It was a long time ago, in a suburb far, far away. Two years and Coogee to be exact."
"Not interested in me?" Bob feigned hurt.
"Not you, dummy! Me!" She playfully slapped him on the thigh, having forgotten how egotistically self-absorbed he could be at times.
"Well, could you try please?"
"I don't know", she hesitated, with growing feelings of trepidation and regret gnawing at the pit of her stomach.
"Pleease?"
"Maybe."
"Pleeeeeaaasse?"
"Oh, alright then!" she finally relented, not being sure which was worse, the creepy feeling of foreboding or his incessant child-like implorations.
"Yahoo!", he yipped, clapping his hands together and triggering a second passionate landslide. It was some time before she was able to prize her lips free.

Bob lay back, staring at her expectantly. She gave him a questioning look. "Now?” he prompted. Lisa sighed slightly.
"What's the rush? The show is 'live to air', so we'll have to wait 'till it's over and he's back in his five banana dressing room anyway." Those last few words were delivered with heart felt sarcasm.
"The 'rush' is that every minute I'm trapped on this rock I come all that much closer to being whisked back to the Central Hub in holo-chains for a death worse than fate!" She rolled her eyes in exasberation, and not for the first time since she had met him either, still half seriously rating him only a 50/50 chance regarding his mental health status. She bit her lip before adding "Shouldn't that be the other way around?" He gave her a look that suggested that it really wasn't.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After having made the necessary call to secure the much sought after tv appearance, which cost Lisa a most reluctant promise of going out to dinner with the host for old time's sake, they spent the rest of that night and most of the next day on the run, as it were, constantly moving between late night bars and early opening pubs to put their pursuers off the trail long enough to stay one step uncomfortably ahead of them, snatching slices of alternating sleep when possible. By late afternoon weariness had well and truly set in with Lisa, and her nerves had become more than a little frazzled as they arrived at the television studio. Bob, on the other hand, seemed totally oblivious to its effects.

Their cab pulled up outside the entrance to Channel 20 and Lisa again paid the driver off as Bob leapt out expectantly. Hurrying inside he fairly loped up to the front desk. Stopping abruptly he stared expectantly at the slightly startled woman sitting behind its narrow vestige of protection. "Yes? Can I help you?"
"Nah", he replied, "I've been like this all my life." Then he added, "Can you tell me where to go?" It took all her strength of character to let that one go through to the keeper, while she regarded him icily.
"I'm sorry," she responded with forced politeness. "And who might you be?"
"I might be Bob!” he beamed, as if that was obvious to all around. This exchange did have a bright side however in that it bought Lisa enough time to catch up with him.

"Hi," she puffed, "We're here to see Quentin." A look of understanding rippled across the receptionist's face, and she thinly smiled back. Over the past few months she had suffered a whole menagerie of weird birds who had flocked through her vetting post, eager to impress themselves firstly upon her and then on the wider audience outside via the oddball exposé that was Quentin’s 'brilliant' program. They had screeched, squawked, and bellowed at her in varying strengths of voice and body language, assured of their own self-importance and, so by indirect inference, her evident lower position on the social ladder. Yet no matter how often she was assaulted by their barrage of over exuberance she never really got used to it. A little gun shy perhaps, so to speak. There was only one reason that she put up with these buffoon's antics, albeit much less gladly than could be reasonably expected and that was that the pay was good, really good.  Almost bordering on great in fact.

Totally disregarding Bob, who seemed to fit nicely into her niche of personal loathing, she directed her attention squarely at Lisa. "May I ask what it is about?"
"Yes," Lisa replied sweetly, cutting off Bob's intended answer while turning on the charm automatically to counter any damage he might have already done. "My friend Bob, here, is to appear on tonight's show", she indicated, waving a hand in his direction. The woman visually followed her prompt and her eyes narrowed, confirming Lisa's worst fears. The desk clerk then glanced down at her phone and, picking up its receiver, punched a number on the intercom built into her work station. "I'll let him know that you are here", she coolly informed them, and Lisa let out a muffled sigh of relief, realizing that at least she hadn't quite reached the stage of calling security.

A few moments later an assistant arrived and ushered them into a waiting room. Lisa nervously paced the carpet while Bob sat on a chair and fidgeted. Her apprehension wasn't at all for the success or failure of her newly acquired love millstone's 'guest' appearance. It was solely reserved for the reunion with Quentin, and all the emotional baggage that would come along with it. A whole airport carousel, more than likely. What the hell had happened to her over the past couple of days? Her simple, ordered life had disintegrated and degenerated to such a laughable extent that she wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't gone at least a little bonkers. Instead of sitting in a cozy bar sipping cocktails, as was her usual Saturday nightly wont, she was stuck inside a television station with a guy she couldn't work out, and about to be re-inflicted with another whom she would just about give the world to not have to see again. The emotional scars on her heart had only very recently healed with the traditional double elixir of time and absence, and she didn't want them reopened. What was it about this new guy that she'd allow herself to be put in this position? Yet another thing, apparently, that she couldn't quite fathom. Oh well, the best case scenario seemed to be that in less than an hour or so she would walk out of the building without either complicator in her life. She had absolutely no intention of rekindling any flames of passion with her 'ex', so dinner and anything else that he might have planned was right out of the window. He could just go to buggery and send her a postcard. Further, as far as her thoughts about Bob were concerned, enough was enough! She deeply resented being backed into a corner like this, and once her obligation of getting him airtime was fulfilled she was going to cut and run. Point him on his way with a kiss on the cheek and wishes of best luck ringing in his ears. A hearty "See ya later, mate!” no less.

Her private fuming was momentarily interrupted by the sidekick returning to lead them to the makeup room, where Bob was feted upon in a way that he liked very much indeed. Finally Quentin came in at the last minute and, in a miscalculated attempt to drive Lisa wild with wanton desire, gave her only the most perfunctory nod of recognition as he sat down and tried to illustrate his alpha male status by sharply ordering his hapless underlings about. She grinned inwardly, relieved to have avoided the uncomfortable smooch and embrace that she had been steeling herself against. Instead, she was led to her place in the auditorium while the last preparations were concluded for the upcoming 'spectacular'.

An excited buzz zipping around the set intensified with each passing minute as the crew did whatever they had to in order to be ready for the lighting of the 'on air' sign. Guests and host had been fussed over by the makeup department, those busy little bees who swarm around ordinary looking flowers and with a cloud of face powder, streaks of lipstick, highlighting markers, blush and rogue bring them up to a veritable garden vision splendid. They were applying their last adjustments when shooed away by the floor manager yelling "Thirty seconds, people!" The whip cracker made a one eighty degree turn and walked back across the stage area with "Fifteen seconds, places please!" then disappeared behind the central camera, counting down from ten until he got to "Two". On his mark Audio cued in the introduction theme and the booth voiceover announced the show. "Ladies and gentlemen, Channel Twenty proudly presents Quentin Day Live!, with 'You Wouldn't Believe It!' " An applause sign flashed and the prompted studio audience dutifully played along, clapping, whistling, and cheering, some to the point of overindulgence. Struggling against the rapturous multitude the introducer continued on with his upbeat banter. "And now, heeeer's Quentin!!" The host swiveled his chair from side profile to face the main monitor and as a spotlight illuminated him he broke into a broad professionally engineered smile, while at the same time pretending to be a tad embarrassed by all the adulation being directed his way. Finally he waved for the crowd to be silent.

When they had eventually settled down enough he began his address to them, and to the larger congregation of the small screened medium watching at home. "Good evening folks, I'm Quentin Day, and boy have I got a rip roaring show for you tonight!" He pulled his trademark face indicating sarcasm, secretly inviting bucket loads of scorn to be tipped on his following guests as usual. The full house erupted once more. He let them have their head for a few seconds, and then hushed them again. "Coming up, we have a man who claims to have successfully bred a three legged turkey, for the extra drumstick you see, but doesn't know how it tastes yet because he hasn’t been able to catch the bugger!" Hoots of laughter engulfed the room. "We also have a guy who says he's from outer space, but has misplaced his flying saucer and needs help to get back." His eyebrows arched skywards. "Maybe he should call NRMA", he slyly quipped. More jubilation followed. Half stilling them with another lifting of his hand he continued on. "And finally, an actor who is adamant that she was a crustacean in her previous life and now goes by the stage name of 'Lobster Thermidore'. Yum!" Quentin licked his lips and rubbed his belly in a circular motion. By now he was having trouble controlling even himself and briefly let go, placing his hands on his head in another of his standard comic responses. The crowd nearly went berserk, and several minutes lapsed before order could be reasonably restored. "Gee wiz", he thought, "This lot will laugh at anything. This'll be a shoe in for sure! Well then, on with the show!"

"First up though", he snappily continued, not missing a beat, "we shall meet Bob Barina. Bob is the one who reckons to have come from outer space!" The spectators oohed, aahed, and invariably snickered. "Let's have a big hand for Bob!" Again they clapped and carried themselves on into a minor frenzy as Bob was led to a waiting empty chair beside Quentin’s desk by a rather tall blond in an inversely short black dress, accompanied to the strains of a randomly selected sci-fi tune. He sat down and, not being used to receiving so many stares all at once, (at least not that he was aware of at any rate), nervously grinned back at them with his hands classically clasped  in his lap. The camera swung in for a close-up of the main man's face. "So, Bob, you say that you're from 'out there’?", he began his tongue-in-cheek interview by pointing up at, and supposedly through, the ceiling.
"That's right Quentin", he blushed slightly, knowing that they were all having a field day at his expense, and he couldn’t help but bristle just a little bit at their fun poking. Still, it was all for a good cause. His.
"Then tell me, the question that's on everyone's lips, what's your star sign?" Titillation tinkled around the small studio.
Bob, misunderstanding the query in his nervousness, answered "Rigel Seven." Up in the stands Lisa burrowed herself almost imperceptively into her seat with embarrassment while more guffaws followed. Quentin, eager to wrap this seeming no boner up and get on with the juicier stories in the program, played it for all it was worth and went in for the kill. "And you came here, to Earth, to pick up a few drinks, but then got stuck after someone pinched your spaceship?” His eye ridge craned for yet a further head shot while he turned to exclude his guest briefly and slyly gave the internationally recognized hand signal for drinking, visually suggesting that perhaps alcohol was the origin of Bob's present problems, imagined or otherwise. This further amused the packed room. If only he knew just how much on the money he was with that basic observation. "Yeah, that's the be-all of it", Bob sadly lamented.
"A little careless, one might say. Are you sure you just haven't forgotten where you parked it?" Chuckles aplenty spilled forth.
"No, I've a pretty good idea that it was taken, since they left this card behind." He fished out the I.G.B. hologram and handed the fairly impressively styled plaque to the host. Quentin made a big deal of checking it out and then held it up to the camera before giving it back. "Well, that pretty much clears it all up then", he rolled his eyes, ribbing his guest yet again. "Do you have any further proof to back up your story?"
"No, Quentin, that's it", he smiled weakly.
"Okaaaay, moving right along as they say, do you have any final words of wisdom before we wrap it up?" He clearly felt let down over both the poor quality and quantity of Bob's story and had decided to cut his loses. Besides, he had fulfilled his part of the bargain and looked forward to the next evening's culinary tryst and side dish of carnal desert with saliviterous desire. After this stinking load of codswallop she surely owed him big time and he felt confident that he was in like the proverbial Flynn, though without the need for all that swashbuckling about. "Yes", Bob replied excitedly, leaning into the lens. "Just to say to my old mate, Zed, get me the Antares outta here! Hey, call me on this!" He pulled out another card from his jacket pocket, holding it up in front of him, and the camera operator obediently concentrated his instrument upon the cardboard with Lisa's phone number scribbled on it. "Well, thank you Bob Barina for your 'fascinating' story. Everyone, please, a big hand for Bob!" Ever the clownish ring master he turned side on, holding his nose in mocking disdain. The in-house lot went wild with thunderous applause. Relief that the awkwardness was at last over shone in his eyes.

Tinkles of merriment were still bouncing off heads, and they blended nicely into the theme music of the next highlighter as she entered to take Bob's place. Quentin rose to greet her while Bob was quietly ushered off stage and back to the dressing rooms. Lisa slunk out of the auditorium, red faced beyond belief, and met him there. "Well, that should do wonders for my social life!” she growled, having already received a couple of crank calls. "Take it!” she handed the mobile to him, "It's no good to me now, I'll have to get another one with a new number".
"Can we keep it going until Zed calls?” he pleaded.
"Yes, I suppose, just as long as you do all the answering."
"We'd better get out of here then". He grabbed her hand and headed for the back door, ignoring her attempted protests to the contrary. "I'll need more foil for my head." He had hoped to reuse the bit that he had been asked to take off earlier, due to the rustling racket it had made into his lapel microphone, but had been beaten to the punch by a diligent cleaner, and now he felt somewhat naked and vulnerable in that department. Lisa resisted the urge to crack a bitter joke at his expense as she was dragged along behind him, having decided that this whole episode was fast becoming no laughing matter at all. Perhaps she might finally be able to ditch him once they got outside and into the relative safety of wider and more populated spaces.

Arriving at the rear exit he abruptly pulled her up. "Wait here for a tick, I'll check to see if the coast is clear", he puffed, a little out of breath. She winced at the usage of that old worn out saying but stood obediently steadfast. She really didn't want to go much further with him at that point anyway, thoroughly sick and tired of being pulled from pillar to post in such a rude manner. Easing the door slightly ajar he peeked out. Nothing. He pried it open a little further. Still nahdah. Finally going the whole hog he stepped out into the seemingly deserted street for a better look. Suddenly, and without so much as a 'by your leave', an unseen and scaly paw grabbed him around the neck and dragged him towards a waiting car. He tried to cry out a warning but the pressure being exerted on his vocal chords was too great to allow more than a gurgled mix of air and muffled sounds to escape through his rapidly bluing lips. Thrust into the rear seat he fumbled with the opposite egress handle only to have it break off in his hand. Then all the lights seemed to go out as the brute laid a right upper cut on his delicate chin.

[Story note: The two debt retrieval agents, dubbed Bugsy and Mugsy by Bob with tongue firmly planted in cheek, had tracked him down to a one kilometer radius, and with a television station slap bang in the middle of their scanner even they weren't able to avoid the significance of this electronic landmark. When he took his beanie and foil off it really pinpointed his whereabouts as a big red flashing dot. Thus they had plenty of time to get ready for his escape attempt, correctly guessing that he would duck out the back way as he always did. All they had to do was wait.]

After a few quiet and boring moments Lisa poked her head out to see what was keeping him and was just in time to spy the black jalopy slowly driving down the narrow street with Bob slumped in the back. Next to him sat a grotesque looking bloke who appeared oddly similar to one of those she had encountered at her harbor side mansion, though in the gloom she couldn’t be totally sure.  Above the clanking of the vehicle she heard the faint melodic sound of her ring tone, and then observed the handset fly out of the near side window, bounce off a pile of garbage, and land clattering onto the deserted footpath. She ran over to retrieve it, in the hope that he might remember her number and somehow be able to call her later on to update his situation. Was that a pang of caring, or a short stab of guilt? It was hard to tell at that point. Thankfully the communicator remained intact and operable so she checked the recent caller id. She didn't recognize it and thought it must probably be another weirdo to add to her growing collection, since Bob had mentioned that Zed wouldn't be able to get in touch for at least a few more hours due to the distance involved. Talk about a mega trunk call! "If he phones at all, or even exists in reality", she mused bitterly, and then promptly dismissed the whole idea.

Replacing the 'dog and bone' in her handbag she wandered down the darkened walkway, sufficiently unsettled by the latest events to ignore the possibilities of the city's other hidden dangers. What was she to do now? Go home and cool her heels with a stiff drink seemed to be the most logical and ideal solution. She could hardly present herself to the police with such a ludicrous story involving a supposedly lost spaceman having been kidnapped by suspected galactic bounty hunters, especially if he was actually involved in any shady Earth-based deals that they might become quite interested in which probably was much more likely to be the case.  Anyway, whether he had been picked up by hit men from another planet, or their more terrestrial counterparts, one thing was certain: it was all his problem now, something he'd gotten himself into and would have to wriggle his own way out of. She could get back on track with her life, and be a little more discerning with whom she brought home in future. She'd had quite enough exotic excitement for one day, week, month, and year all rolled into one. Rounding the block she hailed an approaching taxi on the busier front street and directed the driver to her residence, reasoning that it should be quite safe to return there now as it would have by this stage been completely disinfested of Bobs. Yes, a good tall drink or three should qualm any residual anxiety and, after a nice hot relaxing bubble bath, an early night curled up with a good book would be just the ticket for admission to dreamland. Tomorrow she'd awaken and find that it had all been some horribly hysterical and severely warped nightmare. Hopefully.

Meanwhile the Leyland cruised through clogged suburban arteries with its cargo of non-Earthly occupants. Those city thoroughfares eventually gave way to dimmer country roads, with an appreciative reduction in traffic congestion. Soon they were speeding along a major back way towards their intended goal. Ghostly grey gum trees flashed by Bob's closed wind stopper, diffusely lit by the headlights probing ahead into the inky blackness. Staring blankly out as they passed in monotonous regularity, and with a thumping headache visited upon him compliments of his assailant’s earlier blow, he felt his eyelids growing heavy with fatigue. After all, it had been a fairly big day! The engine's rumbling hum, coupled with the swishing of passing air from their rapid progress, worked a treat to almost completely drown out the radio in the front, so that only selected words and musical notes filtered through to his numbing ears in the back seat. His eyes closed to the barest of slits and before long he found he could no longer keep up the good fight, surrendering to his most basic of creature comforts - sleep.

His captors sat in muted silence, half hypnotized by the view of the seemingly endless row of little white lines that stretched on before them. The reptoid next to Bob had dispensed with his hat and human mask, but still wore the long black trench coat that he particularly liked. His cohort in the driver's seat, however, retained his complete disguise in case of any trouble along the way. Mugsy was snapped out of his mini trance by a sudden lurching of the sedan as it hit a large pothole on the edge of the highway, and angrily jabbed his prize in the ribs with a gnarled claw. This in turn painfully woke Bob from his new found slumber.

"Don't trys anythin' funny", the tormentor snarled. Bob, having finally become annoyed by the whole inconvenient deal, decided to indeed do something humorous, if only to mess with the thug's mind and see where it might lead from there. The truth be told, it didn't require all that much tampering with. "What, like tell a joke, you mean?” he grinned. His hopeful facial expression had absolutely no effect what so ever upon placating the lizard man. "Likes tryin' ta 'scape", Mugsy replied, poking him in the side with the sharp spike again.
"Ow!” Bob playfully winced. Satisfaction glowed ominously in the creature's eyes. They had tracked their quarry half way across the galaxy and, above all unexpected odds, had actually managed to catch him. Now they planned to enjoy every vindictive moment possible on the long trip home. Bob desperately needed a short nap to clear his head enough to be able to work out how in Zarconia he was going to get out of this predicament. The hyper saurian sensed this and did his level best to keep him awake along the way. "Youse knows wat dis is?” he menaced, pulling back a sleeve of his coat to reveal a metallic cylinder strapped to his forearm. Bob instantly recognized the deadly device but feigned ignorance. "A charm bracelet?" Smack! The beast laid another big paw on his chin. This time the pain was real enough, though not of a strength that would knock him out. "Yew!"
"Dat's ta let yas knows dat I don' likes ya!” the brute growled in a low menacing manner. "Dis 'ere's a vapour-izer, an' if yas tries ta runs away it'll vapour-izer ya, ha! ha!" He laughed at his little joke. In the front Bugsy, who was having all kinds of trouble trying to keep the obsolete mode of transport on the bitumen and hopefully in one piece, snickered under his mask. Rare sounds indeed from such sad arsed beings, however they were presently on a high and felt that they could allow themselves this small outpouring of mirth under the circumstances. "Jewellery's not my bag", Bob shrugged. Yet another biff. "Ouch! Quit it already!"
"Youse justs shuts it an' sits tight." Bob turned towards the window and wondered how he was going to manage to shake these two. A short while later his guard prodded him again. "Don' trys anythin' funny!" Bob did all he could to ignore him.