A/N: Woohoo for Chapter 4! Who thought it could be done! NOBODY! Okay, ahem, time for seriousness. This fic is like a whirlwind without a conscience, so stand back and be ready for the unexpected. Keep in mind, though, that I'll never let it get out of hand. You won't see perverted porn or any sick sex-related stuff in my stories – oh no. That's just not my sense of humor. This here shin-dig is rated for drug-use, violence, and language ONLY. Savvy? Okay then, here's the never before seen Chapter Cuatro. Back to the madness…

As I remember saying sometime in the not-so-distant past,

"Never lose sight of the primary responsibility. Cover the story. But what was the story? Nobody had bothered to say."

The words echoed in my mind. I opened my eyes and looked drowsily around.

I was in a hotel room, or someplace that had once resembled one in history. Now though, it was different. The place was trashed –and I depict this without exaggeration. Chairs and tables had been over-turned, windows broken, suitcases thrown open and their contents flung, food trays lie in waste, and pounds of cracked watermelon scattered the floor. The walls that weren't sporting holes were smeared with various condiments: mustard to the left, relish to the right, jam behind, cocktail sauce in front, ketchup on the ceiling.

It was hard to imagine how impossibly stoned I'd gotten to actually do all this, especially since my attorney was no longer accompanying my business trips.

I rolled over to see Josie Rowe, small-town newspaper journalist. All was explained. The faint memory of blotter acid and colorful monologues on the imminent danger of killer catfish drifted back through my mind. She was deeply asleep wearing a diving mask, raincoat and fisherman's hat. I squinted suspiciously as the downright awkwardness of her arms and legs.

She must have passed out there and then, I concluded with a rough nod.

There was a harsh knock on the door, making me jerk around wildly with surprise.

Don't these bastards know how to keep the peace?

I leapt off the bed only to find that my legs wouldn't support me, and dropped like a stone. Whatever monstrous amount of alcohol I'd drunken yesterday had finally swung around to screw me in the head. A terrible, terrible feeling. I managed to stand up after a minute and answer that goddamn door.

It had been a sickly looking kid from the front desk. Apparently, we'd received several calls there during the night. When I asked him why they hadn't been sent up to the room he told me that they tried. Repeatedly. Something about the phone being disconnected. I turned two hairs to the left so I could view the room again out of the corner of my eye. Not a pretty sight. I turned back around and closed the door a further few inches, hoping to God this unhealthy swine hadn't looked in yet.

"So what the fuck do you want?" I said kindly.

In answer, the desk boy stuffed a small sheet of paper into my hand and turned heel before I could say my fond farewells. The pansy.

I slammed the door, eyes on the paper in my hand. It was covered with the tiny, hasty scribbles of a hotel receptionist. I read the note, and reached for my hat.

"Wake up!" I said, slapping Rowe with my bush hat. "Get up, Greenhorn. I won't have you lying in bed on a day like this!"

A few groans and curses later, Rowe was somewhat conscious.

"I hate you," she mumbled sleepily. Then began to remove the array of fishing gear attached to her body.

"Stop your whining," I ordered sharply. "I've just received word from my superiors about our assignment."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Rowe asked. "I thought you were a writer, you dork, not CIA."

"Shut your trap, swine!" I said, and slapped her with my hat again just to be sure. "I'll explain, Greenhorn, don't you worry about that. But not now, not here. Breakfast!"

And with that, we ducked out of the room, bringing only the typewriter and the case. Rowe hung the "do not disturb" sign on just for good measure. In the now and then, I had a thirst for a mango sprizter like a Yankee on crack who was down in the ninth inning.

Now where's the bar…