The elder cat is doing much better. Barring any follow-up vet visits, I oughta be back on schedule.

Chapter Five: A Long Walk Off a Short Pier

So much for having a bodyguard. Lois thought with a soft snort, as the hoodlums closed in on them. It seemed that having a big guy around didn't deter anyone who had a gun and walked with a swinging dick.

If she had to pick just one thing to hate about the West River, it was the lack of local police.

As in, none at all.

The Suicide Slums had Officer James Harper, the prowling tomcat of a policeman. And there were a few other officers who called the area home. More or less, this ensured that the Slums didn't get too out of hand. As long as people knew there were cops around, then the neighborhood effectively served as a panopticon.

Metrodale was regularly visited by cops too, even if they were looking for a little bit of whoopee in its red-lit establishments. Officially off-duty but they always wandered about the area with their badges and gun, because it was safer for them that way. The street gangs were just sensible enough to not hassle the officers, since they didn't always know which were the dirty cops. Like the Slums, Metrodale had the feel of a panopticon. It was never a good idea to be caught alone after dark, but both areas carried the illusion of police control and sometimes, that was enough to enforce a modicum of order on the good days.

The West River was controlled by fear and by whomever was feared the most. That translated to 'whoever carries the bigger stick was the man in charge'.

And there was no doubt about. Right now, Clark and Lois did not carry the bigger stick.

"Don't even think 'bout bouncin' out." the black teen said. "You hotshots think you can come walking on to our turf?"

"Keep your dick in your pants and buy a belt." Lois snapped, not about to be bullied or intimidated by someone seven or more years her junior. "I mean that both ways. You need a belt, for real."

"Shut the fuck up!" the black teen snapped, jerking the gun in a way that made Clark fear for Lois's safety. "Now, there's a door 'round the corner, 'bout twenty feet down. You're going to walk inside, no questions. Just walk. You said it yourself, fawkes. We got the guns and you don't argue with us." He grinned at Clark. "Ain't that right?"

"Dern tootin'." Clark said in half a grumble. They wanted a redneck, he would give them a redneck.

"Ooh, you're organized. Was this planned?" Lois asked, actually looking interested. "It feels like this was planned, what with you following us and everything. It's a bad plan, though."

"Ah, I don't think now the's time to be laughing in the face of danger." Clark suggested.

"Just walk!" the white teen snarled. "Just walk or one of you gets a bullet in their foot!"

"You're not even holding the gun right." Lois told him even as she walked forward. She nodded to the black teen. "Neither are you. Don't hold your arm like that; bend your elbow a little or the kickback will be murder."

"I thought you said we weren't supposed argue with the guys holding the guns." Clark said a little accusingly while they rounded the corner.

"Oh, I'm not arguing. I'm just offering some helpful advice." Lois replied brightly. "I mean, if we're going to get mugged, I'd rather be mugged by competent muggers."

"We ain't muggin' you." the white teen snapped impatiently.

"So, what? Rape, then? This has to be the most organized rape I've ever heard about." Lois canted an eyebrow. "But it's still bad. Trust me, you don't want what I got, which is a yeast infection."

The black teen made a vaguely ill sound.

"We're not raping you either." he said, sounding weary of this conversation already.

"Okay, I don't actually have a yeast infection." Lois admitted, rolling her eyes. "My god, what is wrong with people your age? I heard gross old men talking all the time about their dicks or their prostates, but god forbid a woman mentions her vagina if there isn't a dick involved."

"Clapper the church-bell already!" the black teen ordered. "God, you're a mouthy bitch!"

"Where are you from, Gotham? Normal people around here just say 'shut up'." Lois pointed out. "And believe me, being a bitch is just part of my charm. Thanks for the compliment!"

"They have guns." Clark reminded her in an undertone. He would survive getting shot. If the spikes of a harvester combine couldn't pierce his skin, it was safe bet a bullet wouldn't either.

Lois, on the other hand, wasn't so durable.

The black teen grabbed a rust-scabbed door handle and wrenched open the weather-beaten door, just twenty feet down from the corner. "Get inside." he ordered, waving the gun again.

Lois muttered something that sounded like "Pushy" and both reporters ducked through the doorway. They stepped into a dark front room. There were just thin slivers of light coming from the the boarded-up windows and when the door closed, they could hardly see a thing.

For Clark that lasted about two seconds before his eyes started adjusting. Then something hard and wooden cracked off the back of his head and splinters rained down on his shoulders. At most, his hat got knocked off and there was a sense of momentary disorientation. He saw Lois stagger and drop to the dirty floor like a puppet with severed strings. He blinked.

A flashlight flared on, held up by the black teen and his jaw started to fall open. There was another pair of teens standing behind him, each holding pieces of plywood. The one that had struck Lois was still intact, but the one for Clark had shattered against his enhanced physiology. Slowly, it dawned on him that this was supposed to be an ambush. He was supposed to be knocked out and senseless, like Lois was.

"Oh, uhh..." He shifted, trying to figure out how to salvage this. If he had known the ambush was coming, he might have faked it. As it was, he could always grab Lois and fly for it, but that might raise a few questions that he didn't know how to answer yet. Like how he too hadn't been knocked out, amongst others.

But Clark wasn't exactly good at acting on his feet, at least where his powers were concerned. At times, they just sort of jumped out at him when he didn't have an explanation ready. Lana and Pete had often been much quicker to cover for him in those moments. For a second, Clark was aware of the stupefied gaping from the teens around him and his brain scrambled for anything to say.

"Hello." he said, wiggling his still-raised hands. "I think I just have a hard head."

"Fuck!" The black teen brought his gun to bear.

Okay, time to fake this one. Clark thought.

He saw the bullet exit the barrel as time seemed to slow down enough for him to trace the trajectory of the projectile. He shifted himself to the side so the bullet would strike his arm as opposed to anywhere else.

For the four teens on the outside, they just saw the reporter jerk and let out a howl of pain, clapping his hand over his arm. Clark hoped the scream that he let out and the gritted teeth expression of pain was convincing enough. He let himself stagger and slip down onto one knee, making sure he didn't fall on Lois. She was already going to have a headache when she regained consciousness.

"Hit him again!" the black teen instructed.

The teen with the still intact piece of plywood lunged forward and brought it down on top of Clark's head. Ready for it this time, Clark rolled with the blow as to not break the wood this time. He closed his eyes and let himself topple limply to the floor, landing on his "injured" arm. While the bullet had gone through his clothes, it had pancaked against his skin like it would against bullet proof armor. It wouldn't even bruise. It hardly ached.

"Jeezus! Did you see that?! He didn't even blink the first time!" one of the plywood teen complained over Clark's head. "I mean, fuck! It's like he didn't even feel it!"

"Dude, it don't matter. We got him." said the white teen from the street. "They gonna learn why we don't like snoopers in our business."

His glasses had slid down his nose, giving Clark enough room to simply X-ray right through his own eyelids. He watched the other plywood teen nudge Lois's foot.

"Dude, you sure we can't have a little fun first?" he wondered (Clark had to quell a sudden seethe of anger). "I mean, we're just dumpin' 'em, right? No one's gonna know."

"Dude, no!" the black teen snapped, waving his gun again for emphasis. "We're just supposed to bag 'em and deliver 'em. Ain't nobody in this room takin' off their pants and getting shifty! Besides, ain't you got a girl?"

The hopeful teen made a grumbling noise. "Yeah, but she ain't been puttin' out."

"Then do somethin' real nice for her." the black teen suggested. "She ain't gotta spread her legs just 'cause you crawl through her window at three in the morning. You don't get sex if you don't do something to deserve it! Hell, she ain't gotta spread her legs period! You have her around just for sex and you ain't in no relationship!"

Clark applauded mentally. Shockingly sound relationship advice from a hoodlum teenager who probably knew more about disposing a body than he did about mathematics. Not exactly what Clark himself would have said, but the sentiment was there; that a relationship needed to have some substance and couldn't be based entirely on sex.

"Alright, get the cuffs and tie 'em up." the black teen instructed.

Clark dropped his x-ray vision so he was staring at the back of his eyelids and considered ways to get out of this situation without tipping anyone off to his powers. They were being "delivered", so it wasn't a random mugging. But delivered to who? Clark had been in the city just a little over a week now, so he hadn't made enemies; he hadn't had the time. Lois had been in Metropolis for closer to a decade and a reporter for almost a year or so now. If these were her regular tactics, then surely she had made some people very unhappy.

And why go for the rookie?

Maybe whoever they were being delivered to would have the answers.

For now, as his wrists were bound behind his back, Clark would be patient.

It was a Monday.

That was the first thing that occurred to Lois when her brain was conscious enough to start thinking again, however absently. She had gone investigating shady folk, gotten beaten up, tied up against the wall, sporting a dull headache (nothing some good coffee and an aspirin wouldn't cure), and she was still about halfway to getting the story. She was on the right track, though.

Yep, just another Monday in the life of Lois No Middle Name Lane.

(Though if she had a middle name, it probably would have been the name of her great-aunt's on her father's side and god she had felt like she had dodged a bullet there; her mom had said it would be too cruel. 'Lois Bernice Lane' just didn't have the same snappy, whippy, punchy effect as the alliterative 'Lois Lane'; it just made her sound like a doting maiden aunt. She liked her snappy alliterative name. It was a good reporter name. Like 'Clark Kent'. Short, punchy names. Easy to to remember and after a while, it was sort of fun to say them; Clark Kent, Clark Kent...)

Lois felt her muddled and wandering thoughts starting to come together, while the origin of the headache started to become clear and there was an aching lump up near the crown of her skull. There was sort of a numb feeling in the tips of her fingers and she recognized the pressure of her wrists being bound. Handcuffs, it felt like. Stolen from a police officer, no doubt. She wiggled her fingers to see if that made a difference in the residual numbness.

"Ms. Lane?"

Clark's voice was a soft, low rumble that seemed to reverberate right up the back of her spine. Fingers nudged against her hands. Lois twisted her neck until she felt the vertebrae go loose, trying to work some of the grogginess out of her head.

"Ms. Lane?"

Clark's voice was more urgent this time, accompanied by a set of elbows tapping off her back and Lois realized that she was tied back to back with the rookie. That wall behind her was actually the hayseed.

"Heya, Smallville." she said, grinning and trying to sound slightly upbeat. "Glad you're still sticking with me."

"Well, I sort of can't go anywhere without you." Clark pointed out. "They bound our wrists together."

For an instant, Lois thought it sounded sort of sweet (Sweet? They must have hit me harder than I thought!), until he moved his arms and hers followed the movement of their own accord. She looked down at her feet. Her legs were arranged a little awkwardly; she was sitting more on her hip than her butt. A cloudy set of handcuffs had lashed her ankles together.

"Ankles too. I'm not exactly able to run anywhere at the moment. Not that I'd leave you behind!" he added hurriedly.

"You're a charmer Smallville." Lois told him. She slowly twisted her wrists inside the cuffs. Had to be police-grade; they were still in pretty good shape. These folks were organized for an off-the-cuff kidnapping. "How's your head?"

"Still thumping." Clark lied. "How's yours?"

"I'll live. I've had it worse." Lois shrugged. "Where are we?"

It was a dim room where the blinds were pulled over the windows. It looked like a bare, vacant office with an inch of dust on the floor, the kind you might find in just about any office building for rent.

"I'm not sure exactly, but I woke up just before they took us inside." Clark said (not true, he had been awake the whole time). "It looked like a warehouse to me. I'm not sure about the side of town, but I could hear the water and there was something that looked like a shipping yard?"

He didn't add that he knew exactly what side of the city they were on. They had circled the blocks for at least five minutes, but Clark hadn't had any trouble figuring out where they were. His physiology seemed to hone in on the sun's location like a lodestone. He knew it was early afternoon and they had gone north first and then east. There was only so far east you could go in Metropolis before running out of ground.

"Shipping yard? Are you sure about that?" Lois asked.

"It sounded like one." Clark nodded. "The sun was above me and I caught a glimpse of the city to my left. I saw the LexCorp building."

He had been able to smell the water almost a mile away from it and the scent was still strong in his nose. There was a sort of fishy smell that was prevalent around harbors, but over fresh water, it was more of decaying smell than a salty one. He could still hear the thump-thump of boat hulls knocking into the piers, the clank of riggings, and the chatter of the workers as they went about their business.

"Reeves Harbor." Lois guessed. "The Lexcorp building's in the Business District. If you could see it on the left, then we must be at Reeves Harbor." She breathed in deeply through her nose and snorted out the scent that came in. "Yeah, I can smell the fish. This is where all the fishing trawlers come in. Cargo freighters drop off at Hob's Bay; the water's deeper."

"Is that good? For us, I mean?" Clark wondered, silently marveling at the young woman's knowledge of the cityscape.

Lois shrugged. "Not so much. Reeves Harbor means Oaktown and Oaktown's probably just a few steps between Metrodale and the Slums when it comes to police presence." she explained.

"And that means?..." Clark prompted.

"And that means we're on our own." Lois answered. "Oaktown's an outlier neighborhood, but it's also quiet. When the police come through, they don't expect to find anything, so they don't look. If anything happens, it's under the table."

Oaktown was a low-end neighborhood that had taken a hard hit from the collapse of the copper mine. While no area of the city had been hit harder than the Slums, Oaktown had taken a harder blow than most. It was recovering now, back on its feet and limping along like a last-place marathon runner determined to finish. It was building up its internal economy around the fish market.

The problem with Reeves Harbor was that it was far enough from the city proper that illegal activity wasn't as closely watched for as it should have been. Hob's Bay had customs agents and a Coast Guard ship on patrol at any given time. There were inspections to pass, checks to do, and everyone was required to have some form of documentation that could be traced back to legitimate authorities. Down in Hob's Bay, the Metropolis Port Authority didn't take no bullshit from no one.

Reeves Harbor was supposed to see nothing but fishing trawlers. There wasn't supposed to anyone sneaking in from Canada or transporting illegal and stolen goods. Legal, domestic goods only. That was the intention.

Lois rolled her eyes. And people wondered how the illegal stuff was still getting into the city.

"That seems lazy." Clark commented.

"You can write about the slovenly police later, Smallville, when we're not so tied up." Lois said, shifting her hands this way and that, trying to figure out how they were bound together.

"Was that-- supposed to be funny?" Clark wondered.

"What was?" Lois asked, her mind more focused on the task.

"About us being tied up."

Lois blinked, the realization coming over her that she had made something of a pun. And a bad one. They were literally tied up, har, har. She hadn't even been trying to be funny.

"Oh my god! Clark Kent, this isn't the time!" she snapped, digging her elbows into his back enough to make him jump. "I think they just crossed our wrists. All we have to do is uncross them..."

"And then what, hop out?" Clark asked. They wouldn't be getting very far like that and he would probably snap the handcuffs on accident. "If we're not careful and synchronized, we'll just fall over and getting back up will be even harder. We'll have to work together--"

"I can play with others, Smallville." Lois scowled. "Now are we doing this or not?"

"It's a bad idea." Clark pointed out-- stubbornly? Yes, that was stubbornness Lois detected. "It's a bad idea and I'm not afraid to tell you that."

A sense of déjà vu washed over her before she remembered that those were words she had said not more than an hour ago. He had parroted her own words back to her. A grin spread across Lois's face.

"I think I'm starting to like you, Smallville. I really think I am." she said, amused. There was something kind of-- well, ballsy about repeating her own words back to her. Not many people back-talked her in the first place. She hadn't been lying earlier; she didn't often get the point where she might like someone outside of professional courtesy.

"But seriously, have you got a better plan? Because if you don't, then shut up."

Clark shrugged. "No, I don't think I do."

He did, actually, but it wasn't much better than hopping for their lives. It involved using his powers and he sort of wanted to keep that as the absolute last resort. Literally, the last card in his proverbial deck. He didn't want it getting around that unless there was no other choice. The last time someone had caught wind of his abilities, the ensuing fracas had included the involvement of a extra-governmental agency run by someone who did not seem the most sane and he had very nearly discovered that Clark was not from 'round these parts. The only reason that Clark was not in a lab right now being poked and prodded was because he had spent pretty much all of his life pretending to be normal and thus he was quite convincing.

But he didn't want to repeat it.

Lois tried not to gnaw on her lower lip as she considered the consequences of her decidedly not good idea. It wasn't well-informed enough to be a plan. A plan was something you devoted time to thinking about and having the necessary insider information. An idea was something that you ran with by the seat of your pants, insider information be damned.

Then again, Lois was not accustomed to having a well thought-out plan, since she often did quite well without having one.

The door banged open, shedding artificial light into the dim room. Two hired thug-types stomped in first, followed by a young man who was just distinctive enough to stand out in a line-up, but would otherwise pass under the radar.

"Ah, you must be the forebrain of the operation." Lois declared. She tugged against the cuffs, leaning forward far enough to see the large, bulbous, and oozing outline of Mr. Colon. "And there's the hindbrain. Where's the mid-brain?"

The forebrain didn't take the bait. He looked over the two reporters with a deepening scowl. Then he turned away with a terse: "Sink them." and left just as quickly as he had come.

"What? No gloating? I'm disappointed! Where are your theatrics?!" Lois demanded.

"Shut up, bitch." the closest hired gun ordered, pointing his gun at her, a large semi-automatic rifle.

Lois peered at the firearm. "Is that an AR-15, lightweight, intermediate cartridge magazine-fed, air cooled rifle with a rotating-lock bolt? Direct impingement gas operation or long/short stroke piston operation?"

Thug One blinked. "What?"

"What? What? That's military-grade weaponry you're holding and all you can say is 'what'?" Lois rolled her eyes in annoyance. "And you!" She glared at Thug Two. "If I asked you what 'IAR' stood for, would you be able to tell me, or do you just swing that thing around and pray that you hit something-- ouch!"

Clark had elbowed her in the back.

"I thought you told me that we shouldn't argue with the people holding the guns." he said.

"Oh no, a stupid teenager will shoot anything that moves, if they get angry enough. These guys, I'm assuming, are somewhat professional and more cool-headed." Lois said, jerking her head towards the thugs.

"Lady, I'm gonna blow your fucking brains out if you don't shut up." Thug Two threatened.

"Do you know where to find the trigger?" Lois asked with a derisive snort.

Clark elbowed her again. "Stop antagonizing them!"

"Jeesuz bitch, would you listen to the man?" Thug One rolled his eyes. He shouldered the gun and produced a set of keys from his pocket. "Now listen, I don't wanna have to drag the pair of you out to the boat. I got a twingy back. I'm uncuffing your feet, but that's it. And my friend here's gonna have his gun on you the whole time, so don't try anything stupid like kicking me in the face or you won't have a foot left to kick with. Do you understand that or I'm gonna have to make a point?"

"For not knowing what kind of gun you're carrying, you're awfully eager to use it." Lois told him.

Clark elbowed her a third time, getting a pronounced wince out of her. He twisted his head around so he was looking over his shoulder. "We understand. We won't move a muscle." he told the thugs.

"That's more like it." Thug One said.

He pushed the assault rifle up out of his way and kneeled down beside Lois's legs. Thug Two hefted his own rifle into firing position. Before Thug One even got close with the keys, he put his shin across her legs, not far above her ankles and pressed down with his weight to keep her from kicking out. Then he unlocked the cuffs and winched them off.

He's not ex-military, but he's something. Lois mused, watching him spring back like her legs were angry cobras. Ex-security force let go for being too rough, maybe? Prison guard? That job has a high turn-over rate.

Thug One repeated the process with Clark. In the back of his mind, Clark mused that if the hired gun knew how strong he really was, then he wouldn't be so confident. He wouldn't have that little smirk on his face.

"Alright, get up!" the thug ordered, stepping back and bringing his rifle back around.

"Just give us a minute." Lois glowered. She nudged Clark. "C'mon hayseed, we gotta do this together or we're not getting off this floor. At least we won't have to hop."

"At least." Clark agreed.

It was only a little difficult to manage, as Clark had a minimum of six inches on her. It took them a few seconds to work out the logistics of standing up in tandem. But even then, they were still back to back.

"Can we turn around?" Lois requested. "It would be really annoying if we had to crab-step the whole way. You'd have to wait on us."

The two thugs looked at each other for a contemplative second and then nodded. Turning around was another thing the two reporters needed a moment to finagle. It was finding the way to turn that wouldn't tie their arms up, but they got it done.

Lois still didn't like it. It was still too awkward a position to properly run and there was no way of knowing just how fast Clark was if they had to hoof it. Could he keep up if running became an option? They had to walk lock-step while Thug Two poked them in the back at alternate moments. And they weren't even taken through the facility itself. They had been stashed in an office just inside the door, the rest of the warehouse screened off by an opaque plastic curtain. Lois could only hear what was going on, but she would bet it was a meth lab on the other side.

I'm getting this story down. I'm going to destroy your operation. She thought. Do you know how many times I've been shot at? I'm still standing. I'm practically indestructible. I will get this story down. You'll be reading it from the inside of a jail cell.

When they got outside, Clark's observations and her guess proved to be right. It was Reeves Harbor. Though she had said otherwise, it actually was a good thing for them. Lois had been in Metropolis long enough to make a few friends and they occupied some of the lower places in society. And her friend in Reeves Harbor saw a lot more than people gave him credit for.

Not that she had intended to tip her hand, however. Not yet.

Running was not an option for them. The scruffy men immediately around the warehouse were on the payroll and they slowed down whatever they were doing to watch the reporters be hustled past. They were escorted down the pier and into a speedboat that the thugs quickly untied from the moorings. Then the boat was zooming out across the blue-gray waters of the lake.

Lois didn't need a crystal ball to know what was about to happen.

She looked around the immediate view of the lake, searching for any boats. This late in the day, the fishing trawlers were further out, dropping their nets into the deeper waters where the cold hadn't penetrated nearly as far, where they were more likely to find the fish. Other ship-men made their livings chartering winter cruises across the lake. Out past the tidal buoys that marked the edge of Metropolis jurisdiction, the lake was almost bare. Except for one boat that was still too far away for her to get a good look at it, but she had a funny feeling she knew that boat.

"So hayseed, can you swim?" Lois asked above the noise of the wind whipping through her hair. It was icy cold; she could already feel her ears freezing. "How about a polar bear plunge, ever done that?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you so calm?" he wondered. He was positive they were about to be thrown over the side of the boat with their hands chained together. The water was obviously just a few degrees above the freezing mark -- after Metropolis's recent cold snap. It wouldn't kill him or really slow him down, but it was a different story for Lois. The only way they were going to make it was if he used his powers.

But life-threatening situations fell under "acceptable use".

Before Lois could answer, Thug Two at the helm started easing off the gas and he cut the engine so the speedboat drifted to a relative halt. Thug One had had his gun on the reporters the whole time. When the boat stopped moving quite so fast, he stood up and gestured for them to do the same.

"Don't the condemned get a last request?" Lois wondered.

Thug One snorted. "Hell no."

"Yes, we do." Lois insisted. "How could you deny the condemned one final request? We're about to shuffle off the mortal coil and you won't treat us like human beings? That inhumane!"

"'Cause I ain't gonna let you use it as an excuse to save your life." Thug One said, rolling his eyes. "We stopped honoring those last requests 'cause uppity little fucks took it as an opportunity to run."

"Oh, it's not my life I want to save. It's his." Lois patted Clark on the chest meaningfully. "It's his first day on the job. He's just some stupid rookie who didn't know better not to follow me and the boss had him shadow me, so he didn't have a choice. My last request is that you let him go, free and clear."

The thugs stared and so did Clark, albeit for different reasons. He didn't know why the thugs looked startled, but he knew the origin of the surprise creeping over him. Sitting outside of Perry's office this morning, everyone had told him to "Watch out for Lois Lane!" An overly muscled sports columnist had actually sat down and gave him the same warning, expanding on it by explaining that Lois was only looking out for number one. In a matter of just five minutes, Clark had heard nine different things about the dark-haired reporter that all boiled down to the same sentiment: that she would leave your ass behind at the first opportunity.

This did not sound like that.

"Alright... How about this." Thug One produced the handcuff keys from his pocket and jingled them. "We'll give the rookie a fighting chance." he offered. "We'll uncuff his hands. As part of your last request."

With a smirk, like he knew something they didn't, the thug unlocked Clark's handcuffs. Lois nudged him again just before he could lower his hands and gestured with her eyes down to the water. Clark had barely a second to decipher what she was implying before the thugs lunged at them, knocking them over the rim of the boat and into the lake. They sank into the water with a loud splash and barely a sound from either of them. The thugs leaned over the side, trying to discern any movement below the surface.

"Think they'll swim out?" Thug Two wondered.

"They won't make it." Thug One said confidently. "Water temp's gotta be thirty-four degrees. Ain't nobody gonna try and save someone else when it's that cold. He'll just leave her ass behind."

Thug Two nodded, looking vaguely thoughtful for a second. Then he shrugged and said: "Hey, I'm dying for some hot wings. You game for that?"

"Nah, pulled pork." Thug One shook his head as he sat back down behind the wheel. "This new barbeque place opened up down the street from my place. I can smell it every evening; it's torture. We gotta try 'em. And I heard some pretty good stuff about the microbrew they have."

"Yeah, sounds good."

-0-