CHAPTER 2

"Now April, I know this is the last thing you want to talk about," Al said patiently, "but I really need to know what happened on the night of September 4, 1988, so I can pass the information on to Dr. Beckett."

"Well," April began as she lowered her head. "Paula and I were coming out of the diner around the corner from our apartment when we felt someone grab us and put chloroform rags over our faces. When I woke up, we were in the back of a white van heading toward the beach."

"Do you remember anything else?" Al asked as he fed the information into the handlink.

April took a few deep breaths. It was obvious to everyone that the whole horrible ordeal still haunted her. "It was already dark by then," she answered, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I sat up and found my hands duct-taped behind my back. My clothes were gone, too, and so was Paula. The back door was open a crack, so I very quickly and quietly slipped out, not knowing if the guy who'd grabbed us was still out there. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks, so I knew we were at the beach. When I made it outside, I saw a little piece of metal sticking out from under the driver's side taillight. I put the tape against the metal and started moving my wrists up and down until I cut it loose. I looked around for somebody, anybody, and right where the sand met the road was a shoe print. I knew he was wearing L.A. Gears, because I know that print when I see it. When I looked up, I—I saw a big dark figure coming from behind the rocks. He must have been a head taller than me, and well over three hundred pounds. I still can't believe that such a fatass could move that fast. Anyway, that's when I ran like hell."

"Did you fall while running?"

April very quickly shook her head as tears formed in her eyes.

"And Paula?"

"He—he killed her. Or at least I think he did," April managed to whisper. "I always had a feeling that the son of a bitch killed her. And I knew I should've gone to the cops right away, but I was afraid he'd come back and finish the job." And that's when the knot in her throat burst. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Paula!" she sobbed. "I'm so sorry! God forgive me!"

"Oh, honey," Tina said soothingly as she put her arms around the girl. April laid her head on Tina's shoulder and continued crying.

"I'll be right back," Al said softly as he handed April his handkerchief. "I just need to check in with Sam, but I may have more questions for you later." And with that, he left the room and returned to the Imaging Chamber.

When Al stepped through the portal door, he found Sam out on the floor, trying to keep up with the other girls, but not surprisingly, he was more than a few steps behind. If you ever saw those girls in action, you'd be amazed by their flexibility, pep, and synchronization, not to mention fantasizing about spending a night in the sack with one or more of them.

Well, Sam was trying to have pep, and he does have an astronomical IQ, but he's not what you'd call coordinated. In fact, he almost smacked one of the other girls in the face with a pom-pom. "Watch it, you dumb bimbo!" she snarled, then started cursing a blue streak in German.

"Sorry," Sam whispered. Never in his whole life did he wish he was somewhere else than he did just then. On the upside, none of the other girls kicked him in the nuts, accidentally or otherwise.

Al was standing off to the side and saw the whole thing. Damn, he thought with a cringe. That girl would definitely get along just fine with my second wife. Maybe they could shot-put with small appliances.

After practice had wrapped up, Al caught up with Sam in the alley. "What'd you find out?" Sam asked.

"Well," Al began, "April told me that on the night of September 4, she and Paula were leaving their favorite diner when they felt someone from behind knock them out with chloroform." As Al repeated what April had said, Sam's eyes got bigger and bigger.

"So, what's the plan?" Sam asked as Al finished.

"Well, you let that bastard kidnap you, and when you come around, you use your karate skills and do what needs to be done. I've long since lost count of how many times you've done that."

"Okay."

"By the way, April says the guy who grabbed them looked like Brian Wilson at his worst, so he shouldn't give you any trouble."

A minute or so later, Paula caught up with them. "Is everything okay, April?" she asked. "I noticed you were having a little trouble with the routine."

"Yeah, I think so," Sam answered. "I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"Don't tell her what I told you," Al whispered urgently. "Ask her if she wants to go get a burger or something."

"I know just the thing to help you get your mind off things," Paula smiled. "Let's go get a burger or something."

"Okay," Sam nodded. "I am a little hungry. What'd you have in mind?"

"How's Rax sound?" Paula suggested. "Granted, it's a little farther than the diner we usually go to, but I have been dying for a Seafood Fiesta Salad."

Upon hearing that, Al looked around quizzically. "I wonder if this means Laker Girls can see and hear me?" he said to himself. And you didn't have to be an Ivy League valedictorian to know that he really hoped that was the case. "I'll have to ask Gooshie when I get a chance."

"Okay, sounds great," Sam agreed. He was a little hungry, too. In the back of his mind, however, he was going crazy with relief that Paula had suggested somewhere other than the diner. And if lady luck stayed on their side, they'd be all right.

But then, he was remembering something his Great-Uncle Owen had told him when he was nine: "Don't count on Lady Luck, 'cause she's no lady."

The sun was already setting by the time Sam and Paula arrived at Rax. They'd just finished their dinner—a Seafood Fiesta salad for Paula, a Philly and onion rings for Sam, and medium Cokes for both—and were in the middle of a rousing game of Double Dragon. Every so often, Sam would glance over his shoulder, which he normally did when doing something that required a lot of concentration. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just the usual hustle and bustle of food being cooked, cashiers ringing up orders, and customers chowing down.

But even though everything seemed okay, Sam couldn't shake that gut-feeling that something was bound to go wrong.

All the while, Al was standing in the middle of it all. "Ohh, what I wouldn't give for a roast beef combo right about now," he moaned. Just because he was a hologram didn't mean he wasn't famished. "I'm just glad I can't smell all that food."

Upon saying that, Al remembered the time that Sam had leaped into the bounty hunter, and how he and the woman he was with—who turned out to be the guy's ex-wife—had taken that fall into the manure pile. Between that, and trying to help Sam out of that ocean liner's trash compactor, he didn't know which was worse.

And that's when he saw a grossly overweight man sitting by the back door, which made him remember his conversation with April about the shadowy figure she'd seen when making her escape, not to mention the shoeprint in the sand. Al looked down at the guy's shoes—mostly because he didn't want to look at his ugly face anymore—and sure enough, they were L.A. Gears.

Immediately, Al knew that was the guy. He pressed the side button on the handlink and teleported himself back to Sam.

"Sam!" he shouted. "Sam!"

"What's wrong, Al?" Sam asked in annoyance.

"Sam, creepy tub of lard at 5 o'clock! And he's wearing L.A. Gears! That's the only thing about him that doesn't make me want to toss my roast beef combo! Well, that's what I'd be eating if I wasn't a hologram!"

Sam glanced over his shoulder and saw where Al was frantically pointing. "Oh, shit," he groaned.

"I couldn't have said it any better myself," Al agreed. "Listen, Sam, you and Paula need to get out of here right now."

"Good idea. I was never good at this game, anyway."

Al looked at the guy again. There was no mistaking the look on his face, and he knew that look anywhere. It was the look that made young girls everywhere do the 50-yard dash in record time. "Hurry up!" he whispered through clenched teeth. "Boy, if I wasn't a hologram, I'd punch that creepo's teeth down his throat."

"Say, Paula," Sam said, trying to stay calm, "it's starting to get late, and the streets aren't exactly friendly at this hour, so why don't we go home now?"

"Okay," Paula agreed. "I can never get past this part of level three, anyway."

"Yes!" Al whispered with relief. "Gooshie, which car did they come in?...A blue VW, huh? If I remember right, Sharon had a yellow one. And what a clunker it was, too." With another press of the side button, Al was gone in a flash.

"Now, stay close to me," Sam instructed as they started toward the door. "If there are any muggers out there, we'd have them outnumbered."

Nodding, Paula grabbed Sam's arm and they made their way outside and across the parking lot to Paula's pale blue VW, which had a grinning Al in the backseat.

"Hea-ve-en, I'm in hea-ve-en," he was softly and happily singing.

Oh, brother, Sam thought. Oh, well, at least he wasn't dancing with a rubber chicken while he was singing.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sam knew they'd dodged a major bullet by leaving when they did, but their abduction and Paula's murder were still three days away. That meant Sam still had time to find a way to prevent that from taking place.

But would that be enough?

"Say, April," Paula said as they pulled out onto the street, "what made you want to get out of there so fast, anyway?"

Sam thought fast. "Well, for one, I want to get a good night's sleep so I can be up early for practice tomorrow," he lied. Granted, it wasn't very believable, but it was all he could think of to say.

"That, and the poor man's Jabba the Hutt was practically having a tug-of-war with Cyclops while he was ogling you," Al whispered.

Paula thought for a minute as they stopped at a red light. "Makes sense," she decided. "Now that you mention it, maybe some sleep would help you stay focused. I mean, I've never seen you having trouble learning a routine since I've known you. Usually, if you hear it only once, you get it on the first try. Not that I'm jealous of you, or anything like that."

"No, but I sure am," Al muttered.

A few minutes later, they were turning a corner and were less than a quarter-mile from home when the engine started sputtering. "Son of a bitch!" Paula yelled as the car slowly idled to a stop. "This is the third time this month I've had trouble with this heap!"

"Yup, that's VW's for you," Al remarked.

Sam looked at the dashboard, and sure enough, the transmission light was on. "Just the thing to top off a perfect evening," he grumbled.

No sooner had Paula gotten out of the car and headed toward the phone did the handlink start flashing and squealing like crazy. "What the hell is...?" Sam started to ex-claim.

"What is it now, Ziggy?" Al asked as he shook the handlink. Only then did he realize the danger that was just around the corner, both literally and figuratively. "Oh, God. Oh, God, this is not good, Sam. This is not good at all."

Sam looked out the window to see what the trouble was, but there was too much traffic. When he got out of the car, he saw a big white van parking right behind them. And climbing out of the driver's side, with mustard and grease stains all over his shirt, was the guy who'd been watching them at Rax.

"You girls need some help?" he asked, in the most cordial, polite voice you'd ever heard in your life. But just because he came across as perfectly normal, Sam wasn't fooled for a second.

Right then and there, Sam knew that those three days he thought he and Paula had were now gone.