Arrange

"So all we've got to do is find it," said Crowley. "Go through the hospital records." The Bentley's engine coughed into life and the car leapt forward, forcing Aziraphale back into the seat.

"And then what?" he said.

"And then we find the child."

"And then what?" The angel shut his eyes as the car crabbed around a corner.

"Don't know."

"Good grief."

"I suppose-get off the road you clown-your people wouldn't consider--and the scooter you rode in onl-giving me asylum?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing-Watch out for that pedestrian!"

"It's on the street, it knows the risks it's taking!" said Crowley, easing the accelerating car between a parked car and a taxi and leaving a space which would have barely accepted even the best credit card.

"Watch the roadl Watch the road! Where is this hospital, anyway?"

"Somewhere south of Oxford!"

Aziraphale grabbed the dashboard. "You can't do ninety miles an hour in Central London!"

Crowley peered at the dial. "Why not?" he said.

"You'll get us killed!" Aziraphale hesitated. "Inconveniently discorporated," he corrected, lamely, relaxing a little. "Anyway, you might kill other people."

Crowley shrugged. The angel had never really come to grips with the twentieth century, and didn't realize that it is perfectly possible to do ninety miles an hour down Oxford Street. You just arranged matters so that no one was in the way. And since everyone knew that it was impossible to do ninety miles an hour down Oxford Street, no one noticed.

***

Good Omens - Wednesday