The engine revved, and Namur squeeled the tires against the pavement just a little, to set the mood. What's a kidnapping without the smell of burning rubber while the culprits abscond? Lame, that's what it would be. And probably an actual kidnapping. But this was neither.

They cruised through town with the windows down, radio loud, then Namur rolled up the windows as they picked up speed in the countryside between villages.