We got Pam and we drove on.

"Larry, I'm serious! Please tell me what in God's name do you think you're playing at?" Pam asked.

"I'll tell you as long as you promise to keep your head."

"Larry!"

"Pam, under the seat, there's a laundry bag. Get it out."

Pam got it out.

"Open it up."

She opened the bag and gasped.

"You great burg! This is exactly the thing you always swore you'd never do!"

"It's a break pedal, I guarantee it."

They continued back and forth for a few seconds.

"I got it all worked out!" Dad's thick accent showed more.

We pulled into a gas station. They continued.

"You're insane! You could get into trouble with authorities, maybe even bigger!"

Dad kept reassuring her that everything was going to be ok. Pam just kept going on and on until he snapped.

"Will you just try to stay cool!?"

He finished putting gas in the car. We drove off.

"What if we get arrested for this?" Dad asked.

"I'm English ain't I? All I gotta do is open me mouth - Bang! All we can do is pray that the law won't get involved."

We ended up at the snack bar. Dad was smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper.

"Ramirez was found dead last night at a costume party, police says narcotics were found on his person, they found drugs on him."

"That dead guy was Ramirez?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Dad got up and left. Me and Pam ran after him.

"Larry!" Pam shouted.

We got into the car and continued the trip.

"I can't be an impressionist Larry, I can't even do bleedin' Shirley Bassey!"

"We could open up our own club, bring in big name acts. We'll shine, we'll even be defined."

We saw a man on the side of the road.

"Let's bring him along. A few more people in the car could be a shrewd."

The man walked to the car, to Dad's window.

"Where you headed me pal?"

He had a Scottish accent.

"Uh, North Wales, Holyhead."

"Great!"

He got in the car. He had a blow up doll with him.

"This here's Big Olga!"

He put his seat belt on. He introduced himself as Des.

"So, who's the two ladies?"

"My girlfriend Pam and my daughter Leslie."

He continued to talk about show business.

"What kind of show business? Singing?"

"No, we do impressions. We're concentrating on development, you see. We'll come up with our own acts..from scratch. Scratch Records."

I rolled my eyes and giggled at the name.

"Who could name it as cheesy as Scratch Records, come on."

"It's still a work in progress."

"What'd you think of this?" He asked Pam.

"I wasn't consulted."

Des looked at me.

"What'd you think of all this? Scratch Records?"

"If Dad's happy about it then I'm happy. All I gotta say."

Dad smiled at me through the rear view mirror. Des leaned back in his seat and decided to take a nap.