Illya and Napoleon were sitting on their respective directors' chairs. Frank Cariago had just left to receive a phone call from his uncle. "Napoleon if Frank Cariago is going to be speaking with his uncle, shouldn't we be getting out of here?"

"What for?"

"His uncle could tell him that we weren't sent by him."

"We can't leave Illya, it isn't in the script. Didn't you read your copy?" He asked, knowing very well that Illya hadn't read his script.

"No my copy went missing before I got to this scene." Illya replied looking pointedly at Napoleon.

"Oh well, I guess I'll have to tell you what happens then. We sit here waiting for this guy to come back and then we make our break for it. We fail to escape and then you wind up in a vat of cement. I have to chisel you out."

"Then what happens?" Illya asked, hoping it couldn't get any worse.

"Oh in the climatic scene you end up riding on a stink bomb."

"Oh is that all?" He asked with a touch of sarcasm and trying not to let Napoleon see how he really felt.

"Well no, after this assignment you have to spend a week in the lab to remove the smell. So what do you think?"

"It seems a trifle unfair to me, Napoleon." Illya replied in his usual understatement.

"Well Illya, I don't write the scripts, I just enjoy them." Napoleon added in a gloating sort of manner.

"You'll get yours Napoleon."

The End

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