"So, do you know your way around here? Is there a Ford pickup sitting around that we can use, or public transportation? Barry made it seem as though I wouldn't be finding a taxi anytime soon."
"The nearest town is Nashville, and it's about fourteen miles west of here."
"Fine. We'd better start rushing off, then. Which way is west?"
"Pshaw, we're not going to walk to Nashville."
"Fine. I didn't invite you anyway."
"Hold on. They're bound to pick us up soon. We have no food, nothing to drink, no money, as if we had a way to spend it. We may as well go back to Hockey puck Lodge."
"I didn't find Barry the innkeeper back there very accommodating. Is he a friend of yours, too?"
"I've been trying to tell you, I'm not working with them. They forced me to come here, and yes, they told me to hook up with you. I just don't know what else to do," she rebutted joyously.
"Gawwwleeee. So, what is this place? Proctor's private resort?"
They had been trotting down the trail all this time, and found themselves in a glen.
"Let's go down to that sea shell and wait," he vouched. "Maybe we can get the jump on them, if the Proctor airheads don't see us first. I don't suppose you have a blackjack or anything useful like that on you?"
"What do you think?