Chapter two

AN: this chapter should be subtitled, 'because the author is a pansy'. I have a few reviewers ask for continuation and what do I do? I continue! Sigh. I have some revenge, though: I have no idea what I am doing, and this is so far, still, proudly pointless. POINTLESS, I TELL YOU! But on the off chance y'all like banter, voila.

Hattie paused, fingers still delicately grasping the title page. "I just had a deep and profound brain-thing inside my head."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. What happens when the bimbo comes back? Won't she make a fuss when she finds you missing?"

Riley frowned. "Oops. I think I had blocked her from my mind." He looked thoughtfully upwards at the bottom of the table. "I guess I could write a note. 'Dear...'" he trailed off.

Hattie blinked curiously at him. "Dear what?"

He coughed. "I seem to have forgotten her name...shut up!" he scowled furiously at his new aquaintance as she heroically stifled laughter. "So I don't write her name. Just say, 'called away on urgent business, so sorry, enjoy dinner.'"

"Yeah, but if she asks the stuffy waiter where you went things could go fubar."

"You saw our waiter from under here?"

"All waiters are stuffy, and the stuffiness increases as the menu prices go up."

"Good point," he admitted. "Hey, let's check if that guy with the gun is still there--"

She cut him off verbally and physically, manuvering into the space closest to the window. "No, let me. Not just a lockpick, I am also an expert peeper."

Riley had to admit that she was sneakier than him, smaller and more deft, but just for form's sake he protested, "I was a pretty good peeper in my day, I'll have you know. I was verging on genuine expert but the girls caught on and sealed up their changing room better."

Dropping the delicately raised tablecloth, she clapped her hand over a shout of laughter and glared at him over it. Carefully innocent, he asked, "Did you see him?"

She dropped her hand but continued to glare--he remained unimpressed, as she was still choking back giggles. "I only got a peepette because somebody--" Glare. "--distracted me. But I think he's gone."

"Gone for good gone, or gone into here gone?"

"How should I know? Last I saw he was headed more to the left--" she stopped and they looked at each other. "Parking lot?"

"Yes, my car is pretty distinctive. Okay, any minute now he's gonna know we're here...uh, I'm here. What say we just leave?"

She sucked in a deep breath and returned his book with a determined nod. "Tell some employee our excuse and split. Ready?"

He checked that his bag was re-packed and sat up ramrod straight, his head knocking the table. "Ready." He blinked. "Ow." She at least had the decency to pretend that she didn't find that funny, and they emerged from the table. An elderly woman having her dinner a few places away did a double take and Riley bowed slightly and seriously to her. Lending Hattie a hand in standing, he tucked her arm in his and strolled off with deliberate casualness; she played along, sticking her nose slightly in the air and sashaying along.

They dropped the silliness by the time they encountered a waiter. Riley cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir." The waiter turned with that bored and slightly condescending look waiters do so well, and Riley fought the urge to match him air-for-air. Instead he continued in a straightforward way, "I'm from table sixteen; my sister--" Hattie nodded at the man, "--is here to get me; there's a family emergency. I need to leave right away, but my dinner partner is still in the, uh, powder room. Would it be possible for someone to tell her where we've gone?"

The waiter raised one eyebrow (Riley inwardly grumbled with envy--he'd never been able to master that particular trick.) and bowed very slightly. "Certainly, sir."

Hattie looked at him from under her eyelashes with a pitiful expression. "If I'm to get my brother to the correct place in the least amount of time, he will need to ride with me; would it be terribly inconvenient if his car stayed in the parking lot for some time?"

"I can send a friend to pick it up, so it shouldn't be left overnight," Riley added.

"That should be fine, sir." The waiter actually blinked as Hattie beamed at him and pumped his hand as entheusiastically as someone jacking up a car. Her thanks were effusive and Riley made some show of pulling her away, to the waiter's well-hidden but discernable relief. Ducking out the door with an only slightly conspicuous display of sneakiness, they dashed around the right side of the building and got their bearings.

The slight young man quirked a grin at his erstaz sister. "You don't think you might have been overdoing it," he indicated a short distance with his fingers, "a teeny tiny bit back there?"

She managed to give the impression of sticking out her tongue without actually doing it. "So I improvised. It made the guy happy to see us off, didn't it?"

Riley made a noncommittal noise and changed the subject. "So what kind of vehicle do you have, anyway?"

Hattie slowly and with great ceremony extended her left foot. Riley didn't get it. She gestured at the foot vigorously, put it down with a thump, and repeated the process with the other foot. His expression cleared, then clouded again as he glared at her. "On foot? We're outrunning an armed bad guy on foot?" He slowly slid a hand over his eyes. "I can't believe I'm forsaking my sporty little red two-seater for this."

"Mmm." She patted his shoulder, not without sympathy. "On the plus side, our sporty little two-feeter doesn't come with the aforementioned armed cad." He groaned aloud at her attempt at punnery and she charged on regardless; "Speaking of whom, why is he after you? I assume you know him?"

Riley shooed her into motion, both of them setting off downstreet at a brisk walk. "Not personally; his brother was one of Ian's gang--Ian's the guy who wanted the treasure for himself. So, uh, when the gang gets arrested they--the good guys--look up any possible underworld connections, and they find Shaw's brother, a known criminal with unknown location. They showed us pictures, so that's how I recognize him."

She nodded in understanding, pulling him to the side as they passed a lady with a baby carriage. "Right. And this guy is bitter because his brother got arrested?"

"Actually, he's bitter because his brother got killed." He winced at her wide eyes, this time steering her around a street sign. "He fell down a quasi-bottomless pit! Entirely not my fault. But yeah, he's pretty ticked. And apparently he's venting his ire on Riley. Riley doesn't get any luck."

"Riley also referrs to himself in third person." She swallowed hard, watching her feet for a minute, before speaking up faintly; "Um, despite how...boldly I may talk, I actually don't have any experience being shot at." She made some helpless little gestures, distracted enough that she nearly collided with a portly businessman. "As wierd as it sounds, I'm kind of hoping you do, because then you might be able to tell me when to duck. And stuff."

He directed he into a convenience store and they settled near the back for a breather as he spoke. "Well, I do have some experience...unfortunately. S'funny...almost...before I started working with Ben the most violence I was accustomed to was getting swirlies at summer camp and playing video games."

She cocked an eyebrow (dangit, she can to that too! he thought jealously), looking a little disdainful. "Video games?"

"Well, I gave those up. When one has been shot at with real bullets, virtual ones loose their glamour. I still play Frogger, though."

"Okay, you're allowed to like Frogger."

They both jumped as the door opened with a loud ringing of the bell. Hattie giggled nervously. "Should we be moving on, you think?"

"Sure. Not, you know, that I have a philosophical objection to having a heart-to-heart while in definite possible mortal danger, but..."

She grinned at him teasingly. "'Definate possible mortal danger'?"

Riley refused to dignify that with a responce and exited the store with Hattie cackling behind him.