Where they were going, John didn’t know, but thither he drove, ever mindful that Mischa Petrovitch may well have been after them. As it turned out, he wasn’t, but John didn’t know that either.
In fact, Mischa couldn’t possibly have been chasing them, since he’d had his license revoked the previous month, part of a settlement he’d been forced to sign after crashing his car into an arbophile’s special oak tree.
But he had connections.
Immediately after John and Bill escaped, Mischa called Josiah, who (after excoriating Mischa for calling collect) notified his contacts in the military. Within minutes, a pair of Apache helicopters were in hot pursuit of John’s purple Honda.
“Where are we going, John?” asked a curious Bill.
The needle on John’s speedometer had broken off miles ago; he’d never driven so quickly before.
“If you ask me that one more time, I’m ripping out your kidneys and selling them on the black market,” replied John, sharply turning left for no apparent reason.
After pondering that for a moment, Bill said, “My mom doesn’t let me in that store.”
“It’s not an actual store, you idiot; it’s just a blanket term applied to illicit businesses and transactions,” said John.
“My blanket’s made from goose feathers!” bragged Bill.
John sighed, then turned right. Suddenly, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of twin Apache helicopters, approaching far more quickly than he could ever hope to outrun them.
“Oh no!” he yelled. “That strange Russian man has sent the military after us. We’re doomed!”
“Don’t worry John, I’ll take care of them!” claimed Bill.
Bill stuck his head out the window, turned around, and started making machine gun noises while pointing his fingers at the helicopters. One of them exploded, but the other was closing in fast.
John continued driving, making another sharp right. Then he saw a road sign. Without realizing it, John had managed to bring them to within a very short distance of the local airport.
“If I can get us into the airport, we may be able to take a plane to safety!” he thought, pulling into the parking lot and hurriedly exiting the car. “Come on, Bill!”
John and Bill ran through the parking lot, unnecessarily leaping over speed bumps and savagely pushing aside dozens of innocent bystanders.
The two ran into the airport and made for the nearest terminal, but much to their dismay, no fewer than two dozen US Marines were already there on patrol, having been sent straight to the airport by Josiah, who was really, really good at planning ahead. John grabbed Bill and pulled him up against a wall, shielding them from the marines’ line of sight.
“Bill, don’t let them see you,” cautioned John, now speaking in a whisper. “They’ll shoot you on sight. And then they’d shoot me, which would be a bad thing.”
“I bet I can yell louder than you can!” boasted Bill, bellowing boisterously.
Before John could berate his foolish companion, the marines came running toward them, and John and Bill were again forced to run for their lives.
Through the airport they dashed, once again pushing aside bystanders (many of whom weren’t in their way) and jumping over speed bumps (which only Bill could see). They made it to the exit and burst through the door.
As soon as they did, however, they saw a pitch-black Escalade driving right toward them. It stopped abruptly, and out stepped Josiah Malum, along with Mischa and, for some reason, the driver. John and Bill, afraid, turned around again, only to see the marines filing out of the airport, guns ready.
“You’ve led us on quite a chase, Mr. Morgan; but I’m afraid it ends here,” said Josiah, taking out a pack of cigarettes as he slowly stepped forward. “Kill him.”
The marines started firing, but Josiah’s driver suddenly lunged forward, tackling John and Bill to the ground, saving them from the deadly volley of bullets. Before he landed, John had just enough time to catch a brief glimpse of the man’s emerald green tie – it was Shamus Flanagan!
“You’d best be leavin’ the fighting to me, laddies!” he said, rolling up his sleeves and walking confidently toward the marines.
Without waiting to be told, the marines charged at Shamus. Completely unafraid, Shamus proceeded to take down every marine there, using a unique combination of boxing, Muy Thai and Irish dance – an impressive sight to behold.
“Why aren’t they using their guns?” demanded Josiah. “Shoot him, you idiots! And what the hell happened to those helicopters?”
As soon as Shamus was finished dispatching his adversaries, he turned to the Secretary of Evil, who quickly hopped into his car and sped away, driving it himself (for the first time he could remember). Mischa, upon seeing his boss desert him, looked around nervously for other options, then started chasing after the Escalade.
Shamus, casually dusting himself off, walked over to John and Bill, a broad grin spreading across his face. He straightened his tie, took a four-leaf clover out of his pocket and kissed it.
“Well laddies, looks like I took care of ‘em!” said Shamus cheerfully, tucking the clover carefully back into his pocket.
“Who are you? What just happened?” asked John, clearly confused. “Don’t you own a restaurant?”
“No time to explain now, me lad. No, you’d best be goin’ off somewhere to hide for a while, till me and me boys straighten things out,” he suggested.
“Where?” asked John.
“I’ve got a fine friend in Mexico; he’ll look after ya for a while,” said Shamus. “Hurry up now, don’t tarry!”
Bill and John walked back into the airport and bought plane tickets for the next flight to Mexico, pushing aside many innocent bystanders as they stood in line.
“Well John, I –”
“Whatever it is, don’t say it.”