Walter sat with his head in his hands listening to Bondra's account of the attack in the condo. She marched back and forth in front of his sofa with her arms flying out in emphasis over the different events. He knew who the man in the tub was and his stomach rumbled nervously as he remembered his own terrifying visit. Walter peeked up at her, his mind wandering to her appearance and what was different about it.

"What? What, Walter?" She stopped with her hands on her hips.

"Nothing, I- you just look... different somehow."

"That's what happens when you're terrified, Walter."

"No, I mean... your clothes."

Bondra glanced down and swore, grabbing her purse and leaving the room. "I need to use your bathroom."

He got up from the sofa and went to the bar beside his patio doors, pouring himself a generous shot of whiskey.

      Bondra's news was definitely not good, not good at all. Obviously Bernie was through with waiting. He paused mid swallow wondering how Bernie knew where to find the girl. Bondra returned from the washroom, bra and panties back on and her image once again familiar to Walter.

"Better," she said, indicating a drink for herself.

"Hmmm, Bondra... how did this man find you at that condominium?"

She used her drink to mask devising an answer. "Ah, I needed that. What was your question, Walter?"

"The man from Bernie, how did he find you at that condo?"

"Bonducci has plenty of contacts, his investigative powers are surely the equal of Muck and Mire." Walter must not find out about her visit.

      He studied her thoughtfully and conceded her point. "At least our team, whom you so passionately dislike, did find her." He tipped his glass toward her expectantly.

"Point taken. But now what? We don't have the girl, the money or even our crack detective team and Bonducci is on the warpath." She shuddered inside thinking about the possibility of Bernie catching up with her—money or no money. The time had come for Bondra to begin an expedient exit. As she stood facing Walter, considering her options, her cell phone jangled in her purse.

"Who would that be?" Walter started.

"I don't know." She retrieved the phone and checked the display. "It's not a number I know."

"Don't answer it!" Walter had visions of Bernie tracking her to his home.

"Don't be silly, it's a cell. I could be anywhere." She pushed the button and answered.

"Miss Croft? It's Bernard Wiggens, are you alright, Miss Croft?"

"Wiggens? Where the hell are you?" She let Walter share the receiver.

"Daryl and I are at a clinic downtown. We got out of the condo just before the cops arrived. Are you alright, Miss Croft?"

"Never mind me. What clinic?"

"A medical clinic. We're both being checked for concussion. What actually happened?"

"Jesus, I could tell them they're both brain damaged without the help of a doctor," she stormed in Walter's ear while covering the mouthpiece. "Do you know where the girl is, Wiggens?"

"Uhmm, not at the moment. But Daryl and I are right on it, Miss Croft," he hurried on.

"Find her, Wiggens. Find her fast." Bondra snapped her phone shut, clipping Walter's ear.

"Ouch!"

"Shut up, Walter." She went to the bar and poured another drink. "You got us into this mess, I think it's time you contributed something to getting us out."

"I got the bloody money, didn't I?" He complained, rubbing his ear.

"The same way you got what you owe Bernie, you stupid fool—you stole it! You call that helping?"

"I juggled some accounts, I didn't ste—"

"Don't mince words, Walter, you stole it. You know it and I know it; all you did was buy some time."

"Yes, well I didn't get my bloody money's worth did I?" He pouted and snugged the belt on his dressing gown angrily.

"You ungrateful bastard!" Bondra flared, slamming her glass on the bar. "You come whining to me about Bernie, begging for help and I set up a perfect blind for you. Then what do you do? You make me use Frick and Frack to do the deal and look what happens."

"It wasn't their fault," he rallied. "Your girl made the mistake."

"And I tried to fix it when I went to Bonducci's office..." Her rant trailed away as she saw Walter's eyes widen at her confession.

"You did what!" He moved around the coffee table toward her. "You went to his office?"

"Yes I did." She decided offense was the best approach. "And I would have solved our problem, for a while at least, if your crack team hadn't interrupted and convinced me they had the girl and the money." She skirted her partner and went to stand by the window.

"Interrupted? Interrupted what? What were you doing?"

      Bondra went to the sofa, picked up her purse and dropped her phone inside. "I don't have the time or the inclination for this, Walter. From now on I'm directing my energies to keeping your dangerous, pathetic behaviour from our other partners and our clients. You can direct Dope and Mope from here on in." Inside, she was greatly relieved that the police didn't catch Wiggens. It meant there was still no connection to her.

"What did you do, Bondra? Why did Bernie send that goon after you?" Walter scampered down the hall after her. "Bondra! Bondra don't you..." The front door slammed with a loud bang. "...leave."

*****

Bernie threw a thunderous glare at his enforcer as he sat hunched behind his desk listening to the detective.

"Mister Argyle here is being released on his own recog thanks to your capable lawyer, Bernie. His medical treatment was on the house. I'll be frank. I don't have anything concrete yet, outside of the damage to the condo, but my witnesses described very suspicious goings on so I'll be pursuing this closely for a while." He patted Toto on the back and flipped a salute to Bernie. "Have a nice day, Bernie. You too, Toto."

They waited for a few minutes after the door had closed before facing each other, Toto sat, bracing himself for a dressing down as he began his explanation of what transpired. Bernie stared with growing disbelief as Toto summarized his meeting with Bondra Croft at the condo and how she had managed to attack him with a can of Mace and make her escape.

       "Bear with me a moment here." Bernie began with a strained calm, his fingernails scoring the edge of his expensive desk. "Did I hire you as a bumbling idiot and suddenly forget that aspect of your character? Because I thought I hired you as muscle. I thought, in our last discussion, you were to get the money from this bunch by whatever means and to lay some real hurt on the lot of them." Toto stared blankly, an uncomfortable feeling beginning in his massive stomach. "Didn't I send you out to collect some money that was owed to me? Did I say, Toto, see if you can't devise a way to massively screw up and bring the cops down on me in my own office?" Bernie shoved his chair back and pulled open his desk drawer taking out a large black automatic. Toto shifted in the small chair, straining the arms outward. "See this, Toto? This represents our next phase of communication if you come back here once more without my money. I don't care where or how you get it anymore—just get it! Last chance. Understand?" Bernie winced as his actions disturbed the searing pain in his groin.

*****

"She was really pissed, Daryl. I can't believe I'm ruining every opportunity to get on her good side."

"The only side you're after is her backside," his partner scoffed, holding an ice pack to his forehead.

Butch turned his head slowly, because to do otherwise sent a roll of pain through his skull. "Daryl, you are the absolute dumbest person I know. If we blow this, all our expenses and any money promised for our services is gone. We need to do this, Daryl, whether you like the way I feel about our client or not. You know, if you paid attention, you might learn something working with me."

"What I've learned working with you is that your head's as hard as a rock."

"Now you are really pissing me off, Daryl."

"Okay, okay, let's talk about finding the girl."

"Right," Butch relented.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well what's your plan?"

"You said let's talk about it."

Daryl tossed his ice pack on the table in disgust and reached into his pant pocket. "I found these in that dude's apartment." He scattered half a dozen matchbooks on the table. "They're all from the Howden Hotel over on Walker."

"So?"

"So my guess is, our guy goes there a lot. It might just be a good starting place."

Butch bit the inside of his cheek to stay his temper. He hated it when Daryl had a good idea. He couldn't wait to meet with Bondra alone and tell her how Daryl was the one that screwed up.

      Rory watched the two men stroll into the bar with interest. If ever there was a pair of poor actors trying to adopt a casual air, it was these two. They climbed onto a pair of stools and ordered a beer each.

"Business good?" Butch began, feigning interest.

"Why, you wanna buy the place?"

"Hah. Good one." Butch slurped the foam off the top of his drink and gazed about. "What's your crowd, mostly young guys and broads?"

"Used to be," Rory replied, fixing him with a pointed look.

"You're not really the friendly bartender we see in films, are ya Sport?" Daryl baited him from the other stool.

"Why don't you gents ask your questions, drink your drinks and vamoose." Rory put the bill in front of Butch, who frowned.

"Fine," Daryl said, rolling the cold glass on his swollen forehead. "We're lookin' for a guy that lives in the Anracky Towers, Suite 608. Name's Wallace."

"So look there."

"We did. He ain't there, wise guy. But we know he comes here a lot so we're askin' you."

"Well he ain't here either, Sport," Rory answered in a perfect mimic of Daryl's whine. "Leave your number and if he comes in I'll give it to him."

"What about a guy the size of a truck, wears Hawaiian t-shirts and batters down doors with his bare hands?" Daryl persisted.

"Never mind," Butch said, finishing his beer and jerking his head for Daryl to follow him out.

      Rory waited, chuckling aloud as he saw them through the mirror, loitering in the hotel lobby to see if he got right on the phone. Rank amateurs, he mused, but the mention of the big guy gave him some concern. When they finally went out to the street, Rory stepped down from behind the bar and went to his room in the back.

"You just had some visitors." He announced, bringing them bolt upright. "Two definitely low grade P.I.s."

"How do you know they're P.I.s?"

Rory gave his friends a pained expression. "Trust me, Wallace, and before you ask, they wanted you. Said they'd been to your suite and tracked you here. You been stealing souvenirs again, Christopher?"

"Huh?"

"How did they track you here from your suite?"

"Christ Rory, I don't know. They are P.I.s, right?" Rory made a face.

"I'm out of here." Nora began straightening up and gathering her things.

"What are you talking about? You're not leaving me in this mess alone, Nora. I'm only in it because of you in the first place."

"Nobody's after you, it's me and the money they want."

"Really. I suppose those two that were just here asked for Nora Hill, did they? You didn't see my condo, Nora; it's a wreck."

"So what are we supposed to do, just sit here forever?"

"We were going to make a plan, remember? I still think we should call the woman who hired you, give back the money and say goodbye. What are they gonna do once they have the money, spank us? What's the point?"

"I think you might reconsider telling anyone who or where you are, Wallace. Those two jerks connected Bernie the Club to your little adventure."

"Who the hell is this Bernie the Club? The cop I spoke to mentioned..." Wallace paused. "Wiggens and DeFoe."

"What?"

"The two guys that were just here. Wiggens and DeFoe. Houseman asked me if I knew them. Some investigation company."

"Okay, so you know who they are," Rory conceded. "You should be much more concerned about the employer of the guy who is probably the one that smashed up your condo. And from the looks of those two, he's been beating on them as well."

"So who is he?"

"The big guy they mentioned to me? The one that knocked the door off your bathroom? His name is Toto Argyle, Bernie the Club's muscle. Not someone to mess with. And his boss is definitely not someone to mess with."

Asking Rory how he came by all his information was an open invitation to his repertoire of impersonations, so Wallace passed.

"I guess that changes things somewhat." Nora put her things back.