Mayhem and drama ensues

Timothy lay on the floor of Smithson and Son's son's large meeting room in a dazed state. So dazed, in fact, that he did not realise Maureen was leaning in to give him mouth-to-mouth until it was too late.
The crowd around Timothy all tried to see what was going on at once.
"Ooh! Isn't she like, 70 or something?"
"Is she supposed to be using her tongue?"
"10 bucks says she has horse-breath!"
"Look, Timothy's trying to get up! Stop, Maureen, its ok now!"
It took five accountants to pull Maureen up. Timothy leapt to his feet, now completely awake and trying to get that hot horsey taste out of his mouth. (The kind also experienced after eating anchovies and warm milk together at the same time. Come on, we've all done it.)
"Beven! Where's Beven!"
Timothy looked around desperately until he spotted to long-bearded hillbilly trying to look inconspicuous in the background.
"You! Where's Beven Crackerpants gone?"
The hillbilly went a deep shade of red as everyone turned to look at him.
"I don't know nothing. I'm just a humble farmer who lives on his humble farm with his humble sister, cough, I mean wife..."
Timothy leapt forward and grabbed the humble hillbilly by the scruff of the neck.
"Tell me everything you know, or I'll, or I'll, I'll attempt uselessly to beat you up!"
The hillbilly shied away.
"He paid me good roadkill, cough, I mean money! I don't know a thing!"
Timothy dropped the hillbilly on the ground. Not because he had really finished with him, but because his weak little accountant's arm was getting sore.
Now he knew he had only one place he could look for Beven.
No, it wasn't Beven's house. Beven isn't that dumb. (Believe it or not.)
Timothy headed to the Gore airport. He knew Beven would be wanting to get out of the country with the George as soon as he could.

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