Yo Quiero Sam and Billy.

Billy blasted through the door carrying what looked like a videotape.

Sam:  What?

Billy:  I think we're gonna find out, boy.

Billy turned on the television, rammed the tape into the VCR and, 
grabbing the spanking new remote control, tossed himself into the recliner
he'd found in the room one day and appropriated.  He hit the play button.

Billy:  Jesus Jumped-up Christ!

Billy's voice wasn't much above a whisper.  He saw the Dawg lean forward,
his hand outstretched towards the image on the 60" screen.

Sam:  Jesus, Baby...what have they done to you...

Beth:  I'm being held in an undisclosed locattion.  It is quite secure, so
don't get any ideas about coming down here to rescue me into your head.  No
harm will come to me as long as the instructions I give you are followed to
the letter.  Bill, as your...paramour...

Sam:  What the hell is this?  YOUR woman?

Billy:  Somebody ain't gettin' the newsletter.  Shut up.

Beth:  ...you will feel compelled to pretect my honor and perform as
instructed.

Billy:  I ain't never done as instructed in my life.

Sam:  She's been hurt...her head.

Billy:  Simmer down, Dawg, don't look so bad.  

Beth:  The conditions for my release are simple.  They are non-negotiable
and no deviation will be tolerated.  Anything short of exact compliance
will result in my death.

Sam jerked as though someone had passed a charge through him.  Billy was
watching silently, intently, chin on his fist.

Sam:  Anything happens to that woman...

Billy:  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Shut up and let a man listen.

Sam:  What's this about?  Don't you pay your Terrorist Express bills?

Billy:  Very funny.  Terrorist Express.  I'll pay that bastard in full and
see his ass in hell...quiet down, dammit!

Beth:  Please, Bill...listen carefully if you value my life.

Sam:  He'll listen damn carfully if he values his own sorry hide...wait just
a goddam minute there, Strannix, rewind that, back it up.  Look there, in
the background.

Billy rewound the tape as instructed.  If there was one thing he knew the
Dawg knew, it was how to watch tapes for the slightest clue.  He hit 'play'
again.  Behind Beth, lurching through the frame like someone learning to 
walk on an artificial leg, was Deb.  She got about halfway, then fell to the
floor with an audible crash.  Billy began to seethe.  Sam watched as
Strannix' eyes hardened, his jaw tensed.

Sam:  It can't be...

Billy:  It damn well is.  Now we know what the cellphone was all about.

Sam:  I know she's clumsy.

Billy:  Shut up, you dumb shit.  Don't you know somebody tryin' to walk on
a busted leg when you see it?  Julio just signed his death warrant, boy.

Sam:  Son of a bitch only needs to have it filed, for my money.  What in
hell...where's Beth's ring?

On the screen, Beth was solemnly displaying her left hand.  It was bare
of jewelery.

Beth:  ...as proof that they have me as I've said, you'll find my diamonds
in the box this videotape came in.

Billy picked up the box, upended it, and caught the tiny ring in his big 
paw as it fell out.

Billy:  This what you're lookin' for, Dawg?

Sam snatched the little thing away.  He stared at it intently for a
moment, clutched it in a huge fist, then tucked it deep into the pocket of 
his jeans.  Billy rubbed his eyes tiredly, bowed his head in thought.
Abruptly he shied the remote across the room where it shattered against
the wall.  He stalked to the window and glared moodily into the street.

Sam:  I hate to admit this, Strannix, hate like hell...but I don't what to
do next.  This feels like your kind of shit.  I want my girl back safe.
I'll have to trust you.

Billy walked past Sam on the way to the basement, stopped briefly in the
door leading to the kitchen.

Billy:  You better get your gun.

Sam:  Already got it, son.  Who do I want?

Billy:  Sumbitch named Julio.  Stay put.  I got places to go and people to
see.  Do yourself a favor, Gerard.  Don't sit there and watch that tape.
Go out, take a walk, get some sleep, do something.  I'm gonna need all of ya 
if we wanna get 'em back.

Sam fell into a thin sleep on one of the bunkbeds in the second room
while Billy made a mad, unexpected dash to El Paso.  He'd gone down to the
vault, as those two damn comedians liked to call it, to load up on cash.
It was the one sure way to grease the rails of progress in the south.
Instead of the gentle rustle of bills in the breeze created by his arrival,
Billy heard a whole lot of nothing.  A certain punk was gonna get the 
message and the message was start economizing or get her ass whupped.
Now he had to replenish his funds and fast.  So he'd jumped in the Ford,
which was marginally better on gas than the Suburban, and gone tear-assing
through the West Texas night to the border crossing of El Paso.

He was a familiar figure there, even to the American INS officers.  They 
knew Billy smuggled Cuban cigars on occasion, also knew that he wasn't
above distributing a few freebies to keep the peace.  Once in a while, for
form's sake, he might bring across a case or two of tequila and pay import
duty on it, but only if the commanding officer was somebody he liked.
They'd have been much less sanguine had they known about the stacks of
cash coming in under the cigars, stuffed into his jacket and down his
boots.

While in Mexico, Billy emailed Tommy.  The message was short and sweet.

Billy:  One thousand choice Cuban cigars.  Ten bucks a pop.  You 
interested?

The email was answered within the half hour.

Tommy:  You know it, boy.  Ten thousand wired to your Ciudad Juarez bank
account.  Have one of your girls drop 'em off.  Alpine'll be fine.

Billy:  Thank you, come again, nice doin' bidness with ya.

Elmore had been in El Paso for reasons unknown to Billy, and Billy had
just happened to see him involved in a shoving match on a street corner.
Elmore was a talented boxer, but he was about ten seconds from taking a
fall he hadn't planned on when Billy found him.  He'd scooped the boy up
before he could get himself hurt, thinking that he might be able to make
use of Elmore.

Billy:  Elmore!  Gotta job for ya!

Elmore was doing something strange with a pocketknife and a callous,
but looked up at the sound of his name.

Billy:  You know Tommy's joint north of Alpine?

Elmore:  Been there a time 'r three.

Billy:  Good.  Run the old boy some cigars he just bought himself.  There's
a thousand in it for ya.  I'd take 'em myself, but I got no time.

Elmore:  F'r a thousand dollrs I'd run them ci-gars up Sam Gerard's ass.
Where d'ya want me t'meetcha?

Billy:  Sit tight.  Be back soon.

Billy's returned with his load and brought it to Elmore's ratty hotel
room.  Elmore watched him redistribute his load, making no move to help.
Thing with Elmore, he was a board short of a cord, but he was loyal.
Billy repacked the humidors and the money into separate boxes.  Elmore 
opened one of the humidors and removed a cigar.  He sniffed it at it
appreciatively.

Elmore:  Say, Billy, you think 'at ol' boy'd mind 'f I took me onnnea
these ci-gars?

Billy:  Go ahead, dude.  He'll never miss 'em.

Elmore pocketed five of the cigars, and followed them with the packet 
of money Billy tossed him.  He trusted Billy so implicitly that he merely
stuffed the money in his pocket without counting it.  Impulsively Billy
tossed him a second packet.

Billy:  Gas money.

Heaven forbid anyone should catch Strannix is an act of generosity.
Elmore didn't need a second invitation.  He sent the second packet after
the first and then, with a sunny grin on his face, he ambled over to Billy
to thank him, accomplishing this with a friendly slug in the shoulder.
Billy understood perfectly.  He slugged Elmore right back, upping the ante 
and increasing the amount of strength that went into the poke.  Elmore
responded in kind, making Billy rock on his pins.  Billy hauled off and
decked Elmore, and then they were beating hell out of each other.

Elmore:  Always good 't see ya, Billy

Billy:  Dammit, Elmore, if ya ain't a trip.  Gitcher ass in gear, boy.
Gotta get back to Lubbock.  Safe trip, man.

Billy was exhausted when he finally got himself home and laid down in
a bed that suddenly felt too wide and too empty.  But he was too tired to
move, and so slept uneasily.  The Hacker Dude woke him up, holding the
peeping cellphone.

Dude:  Came up to hit the head, heard it ringing in your pocket.  Here,
I'll go see what I can do with the signal.

Meanwhile...in another dungeon, a couple of damsels in distress were
having a discussion.  Trying to, anyway.

Beth:  Wonder if they've got the tape yet.

Deb:  'Magine so.

Beth:  Wonder what they're doin' with it.

Deb:  Watchin' it.

Beth:  Bet they're fightin like a couple of tomcats.  Bunch of macho
bullshit goin' on here.

Deb:  Wouldn't doubt it.  Sam's like an avalanche when he gets somethin' in
his head and Billy'd fight with a stump.

Beth:  S'pose this thing's charged up?

Deb:  Might be.

Beth:  Wanna try?

Deb:  Let's do it.

Beth flipped me the phone and I punched up Billy's number.  I heard his
phone ring twice...three, four, five times.  More than Billy would allow it
to ring if he's had the phone in his pocket or on his belt because he hated
the insistent chirping.

Beth:  Houston, do we have contact...?

Deb:  One ringy-dingy...Strannix, where are you?

Beth:  Man, if they're watchin' a football game with the ringer off I'll
kill 'em both.

Deb:  No fear, it's Billy's cellphone, but Billy doesn't seem to be carrying
it...Billy, you twit, pick up the...hello?

Billy:  Talk to me.

Deb:  I don't know how long this battery will last...Billy?

Billy:  Deb?!  Baby, talk to me.

Deb:  Billy...we're okay...at least, we're not not okay...we're in a 
basement someplace with a big old fat ass asleep in the hall and Julio
Iglesias' evil twin upstairs wanting to kill you.  He thinks you and Beth
are still...

Billy:  I know, baby, I know.  You gotta let him think that.  He's damn
jumpy if someone messes up his plans.  Has he...has he done anything to ya
...either one of ya?

Deb:  I think he wants to, to Beth, anyway.  I'm not his type and I called
him a nasty bastard so he tends to stay clear of me.  He hasn't actually
tried.  Yet.  Billy?  Are you coming?

Billy:  Baby, you get your ears on.  You hear that door cavin' in, that'll
be me.

Deb:  Beth's about trashed here and she's givin' me the old hairy eyeball.
Is Sam there?  Does he know?

Billy:  Yeah, he knows.  'Bout all I can do to keep the big bugger on a
leash.

Deb:  Gotta leash the Dawg.  Will you get him, Billy?  And, Billy...hurry
...here, I mean.  I'm scared.  I need you to come.

Billy:  Try and keep me away, Baby.  Dawg?

Billy jumped up, slammed the phone into Sam's midsection, and tumbled 
down the stairs.  He wanted to get away from that young and frightened 
voice.  He couldn't think straight when he heard it.  He just wanted to go
where he had to go and do what he had to do to find her and get that sound
out of that voice.  What scared him even more was the urge to do that, to
protect her.  Where the hell was that shit coming from?  The Hacker Dude
was busy manipulating his computer keyboard to enhance and isolate the
signal, a thread of sound in a sea of white noise.  He was going to kick
the Hacker Dude into even higher gear.

Billy:  Get that thing goddam traced this time or it's your ass, jackoff.

Billy yelled up the stairs.

Billy:  Dawg!  Get on the damn stick!

Deb:  Beth...Beth, come on, Sam's waiting.

Beth:  Sam?

Sam:  Honey, where are you, talk to me.

Beth:  I don't...I don't know.

Sam:  Are you hurt?  I saw what the bastards did to your eye.  Are you
okay?

Beth:  Got the mother of all headaches.  You got some ibuprofen on you?

Sam:  I'll bring it.

Beth:  When...when ya gonna be here, sweet boy?

Sam:  Soon as I can, Baby.  Hold on.

Beth:  Sam...Sam?  I can't hear you.

Sam:  I'm here, Baby, what is it?

Beth:  Sam, if you're there...I love you.

Sam:   Beth...you're breaking up!  Dammit, Strannix!!

Billy:  Sonofabitch!

Sam:  Did you get anything out of that?

Boots took the stairs three at a time.  In the basement, the Hacker Dude
was about shot to pieces.

Billy:  Santa Marta, Colombia!

Sam:  What?  Where?

Billy:  Santa Marta, Colombia!

Sam:  Just who in hell is at wherever the hell you said?

Billy:  Two young ladies needin' plane fare home and one dead sonofabitch.

TO BE CONTINUED...