"Get a jiggle on," I tell the PFY as I clamber into the work vehicle, "or we'll be late."
"Take it easy," the PFY responds calmly. "Stacks of time. The place doesn't even open for another hour."
"Yeah, but it'll take us that long to get there!" I snap.
"I'm sure we'll be ok," the Boss says, clambering into the back seat. "It's not like they're going to drink the place dry before we get there."
"Don't you believe it!" I respond. "Black tie casino evenings with open bars tend to finish quite quickly – especially when half the attendees are on their fifth gin and tonic before the chips are handed out and a vendor is picking up the bar tab."
"Chips?" the boss asks.
"The CASINO evening," the PFY says. "Hence the tux and tie combo."
"Oh, I thought it was just very formal," the boss burbles. "How does it work?"
"You get chips at the door, gamble for a couple of hours, then they'll run an auction of goodies with your winnings."
"And by goodies he means stuff the vendor hasn't been able to shift for the past year or two."
"Like the iPod knockoff with tons more capacity but with a 3.5 inch internal drive."
"Hmmm," the Boss says decisively. "You'd better step on it then."
"Like I said," the PFY counters. "Take it easy. This baby is kitted out like the Bondmobile!"
"Are the guys across the road coming?" I ask.
"Who?" the Boss asks.
"The IT gits from the place across the road – some government outfit. Last year they managed to win big by both cheating and registering stacks of people as attending – so they had stacks of chips. So we need to get in before them!!!"
"It's all taken care of," the PFY says, pointing to a red button on the dash with a small legend underneath it.
"You fitted nitrous oxide to a work vehicle!!" I gasp. "Brilliant!"
Seconds later we're out of the basement car park and barrelling across town
"They’re behind us,"” the PFY says, looking in the rear-view.
"The guys from across the road."
"White van, a couple of cars back, I recognise the driver."
"So it is," I concur. "Lose them?"
"Not a worry," the PFY says, pressing another button on the dash which results in a sudden lowering of the vehicle.
"What was that?" the Boss gasps.
"I've adjusted the shock absorbers to street race specs, changed the computer's fuel injection parameters to peak performance and disabled the redline revs cut-out."
"Uhh... Call me paranoid, but I think they just did that too," I say, noticing a corresponding lurch from the van now immediately behind us.
"Don't panic," the PFY says, pointing to another non-standard button the dash board.
"What does it do?" I ask, noticing no helpful legend.
"It lowers the wheel well under the boot."
"And it's full of waste oil!" I gasp.
"No," the PFY says, hurt. "The boot's full of all hundreds of old install CDs. Once they hit the road..."
"Ah," I reply. "No traction. Well you'd better hit that or the nitrous soon, because they’re about to overtake.."
"Just a few more secs," the PFY says, pointing to the dual carriageway ahead “...any moment now... >WHOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSHHHH< >SCREEEEEEEE<"
"THE BASTARDS HAVE GOT NITROS TOO!" I shout over the engine noise as the Boss almost wets himself and the Van behind us looms large in the back window "THEY'RE OVERTAKING!!!! >Crash< NO Hang on!!!"
"GOTTEM!" the PFY says smugly, taking his finger off the nitrous button as the van disappears into the rear-view in a cloud of tyre smoke...
"Not exactly," I say. "The CDs passed harmlessly under the middle of their vehicle”."
"Then what happened?"
"The spare tyre and wheel well didn't..."
"Ah," the PFY says. "Note to self: Lowered suspension affects the wheel well."
Moments the PFY pulls to a halt around the corner from the venue.
"You can't park here," the Boss snaps. "It's a no parking zone – we'll be towed!"
"I... don't have any cash for the meters."
"Right!" the Boss snaps. "I have - I'll drive."
"How about we meet you inside then?" the PFY suggests.
"Fine!" the boss snaps, getting behind the wheel.
Moments later we're inside grabbing our chips for the evening.
"May as well grab the Boss' chips while we're at it," I suggest, pointing out the Boss' name out to the woman at the desk.
"Sure," the PFY says. "And we should probably pick up the chips for our mates across the road."
"Their company?" the woman asks.
"They're with the Ministry of Defence," the PFY says. "I believe half of their party is... delayed..."
"And the other half?"
"Busy outside detaining a reckless driver with unnecessary force..." the PFY says.
"So Mr Bond," I say to the PFY as we watch the Boss being manhandled into an unmarked van outside. "What would you say to an ice cold lager?"
"Hello ice cold lager!!!!" the PFY burbles happily...