“Drink?” I asked.
“Sure” I picked up the Old Penguin, and poured two fingers into two dirty glasses. “Soda?”
“Of course. I like my drink like I like my men” She replied.
“What, bubbly and weak?”
“No, fizzing with energy and on the rocks.” She was a class act – she didn’t even flinch when the soda dispenser backfired wildly into my face as I fixed her drink.
“So what can I do you for?” I asked.
“There’s no time for that right now.” She replied. “My father is in trouble.”
“Trouble? The kind of trouble where you wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, your hand automatically feeling for the cold steel of the piece you keep under your pillow? The kind of trouble where you’re afraid to walk the streets at night in case the shadows follow you home? The kind of trouble where you have TV License Detector vans outside your house?”
“It’s the kind of trouble, Mr. Chuckles, where you get abducted.”
“That was my next guess.”