I saunter back to the dining room, complete with its fallen chair and open window. How far am I going to get, I wonder, before they realize someone should follow me?
I get almost to the end of the yard (and I wasn't exactly walking fast...) before I feel a hand on my shoulder. One of the red-haired cretins.
"Where did you hide the skull?" he grunts.
"Hi Jimmy!" I wave enthusiastically. "I'm so glad you're here!" This is a lie, of course, but I'm only being polite. Jimmy, however, just glowers.
"Now," I chirp, "the skull..." I put my finger to my chin. "I just cannot remember where I put it. It's the strangest thing. I know it's somewhere around here. Hmmm. What a dilemma."
"Do you think you hid it under something?" Jimmy asks helpfully.
I am astonished. I had no idea anyone was this easy.
"Maybe we should search behind these bushes," he says with the air of someone solving an incredibly complex math problem. Then he proceeds to turn his back on me and busily root underneath a indigenous flowering shrub.
I almost feel guilty for bludgeoning him in the back of the head with a decorative rock. Almost.
Besides, it's not like I killed him. He'll just wake up with a migraine...pretty soon. Maybe tomorrow.
I divest him of his weapons, his cell phone, and his wallet. The knives I leave, I have plenty of those, but I acquire a pretty nifty looking revolver. I stick it in the band of my pants, which I think is designed to hold such items as the gun seems quite comfortable there. As comfortable as any gun can be when it's pointed in the general area of your manhood anyway.
Now that I have decreased the enemy forces by 25 percent and have in my possession something with which to negotiate (meaning "threaten with"), I feel a lot better about returning to the Second Man's home.
Time to get down to the rescuing. I'll tell this story in it's most entertaining and heroic form. The stuff in parenthesis is just there for accuracy purposes.
I storm (quietly open) the front door and advance menacingly (walk on tip-toe) through the darkened hallway. I kick down (slip through) the door to the living room with my weapons drawn (hidden from view).
"YOU!" I shout (say normally whilst trembling), all manly. "LET HIM GO!"
The room is just how I left it, minus one idiot. Dick and his other two sons are still restraining the Second Man, who looks a little bit like someone who has just been woken up.
"Didn't we just discuss this?" Dick says, "Where the hell is the skull? Where the hell is Jimmy?"
"You people," I sigh. And I take out the revolver.
"Worst. Thugs. Ever. Seriously."
I point the gun at Dick (I seem to be doing this a lot lately). "I'm getting really tired of this game," I say. "Let him go, and I won't shoot you in the face."