Escape of the Nerk Twins

Chapter II

If I owned the Beatles, I would have had them put subliminal messages in their songs to get the world to make me supreme dictator of everything! Unfortunately, I would have to be supreme dictator of everything to own the Beatles . . . .

A/N: Welcome back everybody! Thanks so much for reading! Special thanks to my reviewers: On WattPad, Macca40, InmylifeIloveLennon, MasterofFire, and cityofstarlight; on FanFiction, Macca's Little Teddy Bear, omgringo, and the Mysterious Guest. Grazie mille!

"That's a lot of crisps," pointed out Ringo as he and George ambled over to the counter, their arms laden with snacks. "You gonna share?"

George snorted. "You kidding? I'm not sharing my crisps. Not with you, anyroad. And be careful with that packet of jelly babies!"

Ringo narrowly saved the jelly babies from tumbling to the floor. Looking up, he saw Paul slip out the back door, glancing over his shoulder on his way.

"'Ey, look at Paul," said Ringo, pointing at the door falling shut behind his bandmate. George glanced over at the exit.

"What's up with him?" asked the guitarist.

Ringo shrugged.

They quickly purchased their mounds of sweet and salty treats, dumping the snacks into paper bags before venturing out into the brisk Highland wind. Clutching the bags, they dashed across the parking lot with speeds honed by experience escaping fans. The pair collapsed into the bus a couple of minutes early.

At precisely 4:10, Brian Epstein leapt into the Beatles' tour bus. He did a quick head count.

There are George and Ringo, the manager thought, adding the two mop-topped heads to his mental tally. He didn't let his eyes linger on their game of cards; instead, he scanned the rest of the bus. And there's Mal, in the back . . . ah, there's Neil, right down by the front. Hang on, where are John and Paul?

"Has anybody seen John and Paul?" asked Brian. The rest of the passengers looked up from what they were doing.

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago," said George. "Paul bought something at the gas station, I think."

"They're probably just taking their time in the loo," added Neil confidently. "They'll be out in a few minutes."

Brian stared fretfully out the windows at the scraggly grass and the brown hills beyond. "I'd better go back and check, all the same."

"I'll go with you," offered George, getting up from his seat.

"Thank you, I'd like that," replied Brian. He disembarked from the bus; George soon followed, leaping over the dirty, black, rubber-coated steps to land on the cracked asphalt. The youngest Beatle shoved his hands into his pockets for warmth, hunching his shoulders against the wind. He followed Brian back into the gas station.

Brian strode briskly to the desk, behind which sat the building's owner. She looked up from her newspaper and pushed a pair of rectangular, wire-rimmed reading glasses down her nose to look at him.

"How may I help you?" she asked crisply.

"Have you seen two young men lately?" asked Brian.

"Two specific young men," added George. "He's not just looking for any pair of young men."

"I've seen a lot of young men since your bus pulled in," replied the owner.

"They look a bit like me, or so I've been told," said George. "It's the haircut."

"Well, there was the one who was with you," she said to George.

"No, that's Ringo," replied George. "They're not that short."

"Oh, do you mean that lovely young man who just bought my Ford Anglia?" asked the woman with what looked suspiciously like a smirk.

Brian paled.

"Paul bought a car from you?" asked George incredulously.

Brian recovered his ability to speak. "Thank you," he said dazedly before sweeping out of the shop. George followed confusedly in his wake.

Brian clambered back onto the bus with George close on his heels. Mal, Neil and Ringo looked up at them, looking slightly worried that Brian and George weren't dragging John and Paul behind them by the scruffs of their necks.

Brian stared at the company.

"Well?" asked Mal finally. "Where are they?"

Something inside Brian snapped. "They've GONE!" shrieked the manager. "They just decided that it was time for a holiday! In the middle of the tour, they up and buy a Ford Anglia, cruising off into the wilderness without even a map! What in God's name were they thinking?"

Brian reached up to tug at his hair. George ducked out of the way of his elbow, alarmed.

"And it's not like this was their decision!" ranted Brian. "I can't believe I thought those antics in Ipswich were terrible! That's nothing, nothing, compared to this! Thousands of fans have paid to see them tonight! And now those two irresponsible idiots have decided that they're better than all this planning, all this hard work, all that money!"

"You know, George and I are in the Beatles too," pointed out Ringo. "We can still do the concert."

George nodded. Everyone else ignored them.

"Those bloody fools!" moaned Brian. "How on earth are we going to find them in time for tonight?"

"We aren't," answered Mal darkly. "We'll have to cancel."

"Those self-absorbed twits!" yelled Brian. "I've had it with their antics!"

George tried to slip past Brian to his seat but was whacked by one of Brian's wildly gesticulating hands.

Brian ran out of air and paused to take a deep breath.

"Could you stop shouting and let me sit down, please?" requested George.

Brian sagged. George took advantage of the opportunity and slid past Brian to Ringo.

"Damn," swore Brian, collapsing into the nearest seat and burying his face in his hands. George and Ringo exchanged an awed Brian swore! look. A bird cawed outside the temporarily silent bus, and the small, yellow gas station continued to sit quietly in the middle of the brown valley.

A/N: Do you think you have talent? Do you want your name in the papers? Well, I can't put your name in the papers, but I can put your username in the author's notes at the beginning of Chapter III! All you have to do is post a review below!