Escape of the Nerk Twins

Omake Tre - SATISFACTION

A/N:  Wow, the last omake . . . .  Thanks so much to everybody for reading!  You are all amazing :0)

"But we do get a phone call, right?" shouted Paul after the retreating policeman's blue-uniformed back.

"Once we've processed your files," called the officer dully, not even bothering to turn around.

"Get back here, you lousy git!" yelled John, grasping the cell bars and attempting to rattle them. They wouldn't budge, so he awkwardly dropped his hands.

The police officer disappeared around a corner.

"Brian'll come and get us out," said Paul confidently.

John grumbled something unpleasant about the consequences of naïve optimism. The rhythm guitarist crossed the cell in two strides and sprawled across the cot at the back.

Paul followed his friend. "Budge up and give me some room, John! I haven't had a real bed in two nights."

John squinted up at Paul, whose head was framed by harsh electric light from the bulb on the ceiling.

"I haven't had a bed for two nights either," retorted John. "And this isn't a bed, it's a cot."

He thumped the cot halfheartedly for emphasis.

Tink! Tink! Something lightly tapped the bars of their cell twice.

Paul whipped around as John fumbled in his pockets for his glasses.

"Hello, boys," said Brian smoothly from the other side of the cell door. The manager stood elegantly in a pressed, pale grey bespoke suit. In his right hand he loosely grasped the curved handle of a slim, black umbrella, the object which he had tapped against the cell bars.

"Brian!" gasped Paul, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

John pushed himself up into a seated position on the cot, further rumpling his bedraggled suit.

"Your car has been impounded," Brian informed them.

Paul and John exchanged a horror-stricken glance.

"Did they get any of our things out of the trunk?" asked Paul, turning back to Brian.

"I was able to retrieve your suitcases and guitar," replied Brian. "However, nothing else was removed, as far as I am aware."

"So, are we going to Sheffield, then?" asked John, leaping up from his seat and strolling over confidently to the cell door.

"Tonight's concert was going to be in Leeds," sniffed Brian. Paul sauntered over to the door to join John.

"Well, are you going to let us out, then?" asked Paul.

"Was?" wondered John quietly. "Why did you say it was going to be in Leeds?"

Brian paused, twirling his umbrella a little. After a few seconds, he seemed to come to a decision, and smirked.

"I'm afraid I am not able to open this door," he informed them sleekly.

Paul and John stared at him.

"You see, it would – ah – be unfortunate if it were to come out to the press that I had bribed the police to get you out of jail," continued the manager smugly. "The public needs to see that you've paid the price for your shenanigans."

"You mean you need to see that we've paid the price for our shenanigans," cut in John acidly.

"Just one night will suffice to teach you a lesson, I think," said Brian. "I hope you enjoy your accommodation, despite the lack of amenities."

He strolled away down the white hallway.