Boot Camp Blues IV

After returning to the lower apartment, they spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out what to do.  It seemed clear something had to be done.  They had to get out the apartment; their lives were in danger and so was their friendship.  Greg couldn't be sure which he was more afraid of, his lost friendship or the end of a ridiculously boring rollercoaster of a life.  Neither seemed the appropriate answer.  If he had chosen one, he would need that therapy.  Instead, he had another few drinks.  Bob joined him.

Bob came up with the idea of disguises.  They couldn't risk any attention.  They imagined their bodies as destroyed as the apartment above.  It wasn't a pretty thought, and likely, those guys would want to make it hurt.

Greg came of with the idea of changing their hairstyles.  Of course, there were no wigs around, so they did the next best thing, they clipped their hair.  It's amazing how different someone can look with the hair shorn.  Bob didn't even ask what Greg was doing with a pair of clippers down here in his extended panic room.

Bob went first, stripping down to his underwear, jumping in the shower and wetting down his hair.  He pulled in the stool from the kitchen and plopped himself down on it.  He handed Greg the clippers and closed his eyes.  When he opened them, he casually looked at himself in the mirror, smiled or smirked. Greg couldn't be sure which.  Bob then rubbed his hands over his head to remove the remaining now dried nubbins.  He wasn't very successful.

Greg's hands were shaking as he pulled the towel first in one direction, then the other, across Bob's egg-shaped head.  He had to admit Bob could wear a baldhead, but the lack of a tan made it perfectly obvious it was new.  The least he could do was not leave him with a towel-head razor burn.  He calmed down and finished the job.

He concentrated on keeping himself professional and didn't allow his eyes to stray from the job at hand.  He told himself he didn't want to miss any hairs and that was the story he was sticking to, no matter who asked, even himself.  He was glad Bob kept his underwear on, even though he had probably seen Bob naked more times than any other man in his life.  Another note he would keep to himself.  He was also going to stop focusing on it.  It wasn't healthy.

With the job finished, he immediately stripped down and jumped in the shower himself.  He kept his underwear on also, even though they were boxers, they would help.  He was counting on it, if not, praying on it.

Bob was still standing there in his wet underwear when Greg exited the shower.  He had the scissors in his hand and motioned Greg to the stool without even looking up.  He smirked that he was more professional and knew to start out with scissors.  Didn't Greg know white guys needed scissors first?  He spun off the scissors and then clipped his hair without missing a beat.  He was good. He was also quiet.  That was unusual.  Greg hoped he was musing about their escape plans and not his strange behavior.  He wouldn't have known how to explain himself.  He would tell him the truth some day, but not today.  No sense losing a friend and possibly his life in the same day. 

He was practically dozing off to sleep when Bob finished rubbing the remains off his scalp.  He stared at himself in the mirror.  He knew he recognized his newly exposed self, he just hoped no one else would.  He was amazed how much they looked like they did twenty years ago in boot camp.  He almost became tearful thinking about it.

When Bob finished, he smacked Greg in the head and sauntered out of the room.  He was pulling off his wet underwear as he walked.  They sailed off his foot and smacked into the wall with a dull thud.  Greg was frozen to the barstool.  He didn't know what to do.  He hopped up and ran to the shower.  It was time for a cold one.  It was time for a prayer.  What the hell was the matter with him?

He finally exited the shower and listened intently for a clue what was going on in the other room.  It was quiet, too quiet.  He wrapped a towel around himself and walked out.  The room was empty.  He even walked over to the closet, but it was closed and locked.  Bob was nowhere to be seen.

He tried not to panic.  The apartment wasn't ransacked or anything.  He hadn't heard anything.  Bob must have just left.  He sat himself down to wait.  What else was there to do?  It wasn't as though Bob couldn't take care of himself.  It just seemed odd he could wander off as Greg sat there barely able to manage keeping his terror in check.

Greg must have fallen asleep, or passed out.  He couldn't decide which.  He didn't have a headache, so he must have fallen asleep.  He stood up, stretched his cramped neck, and walked over to the window.  As he rubbed the goop out of his eyes, he peeked around the drawn drapes.  It was getting dark outside and still no sign of Bob.  He reminded himself not to panic. 

The best way not to panic was to make a plan, so he did.  He thought about it while he got himself dressed.  If Bob didn't return by the time he finished dressing, he was going to go without him.  He couldn't wait around here.  Maybe Bob got caught.  They would then be looking for him.  What he had to decide was whether he would follow through with their original plan or strike out on a new path.  Ah, there was the rub, a fork in the road.

He was tying his shoes when he heard the key in the lock.  He quietly hurried to the closet.  He might have to make a run through the apartment upstairs or possibly just hide out in the panic room.  Now he did think of it as a panic room.  He was certainly panicked as he closed the closet door and prepared to walk into its hidden chamber.  Curiously, he listened as the front door opened and a single set of footsteps entered.  The guy was whistling to himself.  It was a familiar whistle and a familiar tune.  It was Bob.  Greg sheepishly let himself out of the closet.  If he wasn't afraid of his shadow, he didn't know who was.  This was so unusual for him.  He couldn't begin to figure out when he lost his balls.

"I had to go try out our disguises.  When I saw myself in the mirror, I had to get some bronzer.  Two birds with one stone."  He held up the bottles.  "I also figured we could be blonds.  Why not?  How many chances do you get?"

Greg stood staring at him.  Then he blurted out, "I had to take a cold shower.  I think I needed to sober up.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  I'm losing my mind."

Silence and a strange look was all he got immediately from Bob.  Then the silence continued.  Bob looked at the floor.  When he looked up again, he was grinning from ear to ear.  "I took one before you.  Then I had to go for a walk in this thin jersey out in zero degrees.  It was getting too hot in here.  I'm just glad you blurted it out first.  If we survive this, we'll go into couple's therapy, but right now, here's the bronzer and here's the bleach.  You go first this time."

That and a few more drinks took the edge off.  There was no more pressure.  They had decided to leave separately and meet up three blocks away.  Bob had used one of his military security connections and obtained a rental car.  When Greg asked from whom, he just got winked at. 

They made it the three blocks to the car and were just buckling up when they heard a tap on the glass.  It was that familiar hollow metal tapping against glass.  It was not a welcome sound.

It seemed like hours, but more likely only one, before they were lead blindfolded from the van.  The place smelled like hay; so they knew they were on a farm, likely Fat boy's horse ranch.

"Just follow my lead," Bob says.  Usually they followed Greg's lead.  He was happy to let go of the reins, not that Bob really followed anyway.

"You guys amaze me.  You're facing death and dishonor and you dare to make jokes.  When they find your bodies diseased from radiation poisoning, there'll be nothing left to discuss.  They'll figure you guys stole the stuff, sold it, and were just too stupid and greedy to protect yourselves from it.  I'll swear to the bitter end that it must have been an accident, but of course, no one will believe me.  When the bombs explode and spread radiation everywhere, I'll be one of the companies they call in to do the cleanup."  Fitzroy paused to take in a few breaths.  "I never asked much of you guys.  I loved you both, perhaps too much.  But you know, who would you rather be, the rabbit or the fox?"

"Hey Big Guy, I think fat boy has the hots for you."

"No Little Guy.  I think he has the hots for you.  Should I tell him we're both ruined already?  Should I tell him he can't be first, next, or last?  Who knows, maybe he'll risk irradiation for a quickie?"

"Shut up!  Shut Up!  You sick cocky bastards."

"Whoa, he said cocky.  Yeah Bob, I think he has the hots for both of us.  Too bad he's an ugly fat fuck that can't pay anyone enough to have sex with him.  I can't believe he went through all this because you wouldn't let him blow you in boot camp.  What about it, Fitzroy?  Did you think nobody knew about you?  People complained all the time about you lurking in the showers, beating your little stubby in the bathroom at all hours of the night.  The C.C. was ready to dump your ass.  If you hadn't turned blue on the last days, you would've been gone, just as you're gone now."

"Fat boy, didn't you ask yourself what really happened to the plutonium?  Oh, don't tell me.  You didn't know it really was missing?"  Bob chimed in.

Even Greg looked over at Bob, with some awe, masked, but it was there.  Then he saw it.  Clearly, Little Man had figured something was up, noted the unaccounted for plutonium, and secreted it away without anyone knowing.  He could see it all so clearly.  It could have been on television.  Little Man likely gave it to the authorities.  Yeah, he could see it.

Fitzroy looked confused.  He dialed into his handheld and turned as though trying to keep a secret.  It was then that they knew they had him.  He couldn't kill them until he knew what was up.  In walked one of the guys he had sent out of the barn, some little sissy with a small silver case in his manicured hand.  He set it on the trunk of the car and turned to walk out as though he needn't be asked.  Fitzroy stared at him as if he'd never seen him before or knew he plucked his eyebrows.  He pulled out one of the heavy gloves from the trunk and quickly opened the case.  He gasped.  It was empty.  Little Man guffawed and Greg had to smile in spite of himself.  'I'll be damned," he thought.

"You hear that fat boy, that silence?  That's the FBI arresting your guys outside.  Not even a shot fired, I'm impressed.  Go ahead.  Call them, you dumb fuck.  See if anybody shows up.  I can't believe you didn't check the case before you dragged us out here."

When the feds burst in, they hit the deck and Fitzroy managed to get off a few rounds before he was plugged.  Little Man yelled from his prone position of top of Greg that they needed to check Fitzroy for a bulletproof vest.  It was just the move he would have made so he gave Fat boy the benefit of the doubt, and of course, he was right.  They handcuffed Fitzroy and shoved him in the back of an unmarked van.  He'd likely never be seen again.

Greg and Bob were laughing as they told one another the story over and over.  Greg just had one question, "Why did you let us cut our hair?"

"It was the only way I could get down to wet underwear without seeming obvious.  You know I'm an exhibitionist.  I also wanted to see you as a blond.  Blonds have more fun, you know."  He winked.  Greg blushed.