J. Gonzalez - They

“Too bad you don’t have an electric razor,” Vince said, grinning. “You could shave his head.”

“Fuck you, Vince,” Frank said. He was trying to shoot Vince an angry look but he was also grinning. Vince grinned back.

“Boys, boys,” Mike said, grinning. “Come on now, let’s not have any of that.”

Mike snipped at Frank’s hair, cutting the length off from his shoulders. He proceeded to cut the length from the top, gathering hair in his hands the way hairstylists do when engaged in their trade. Mike was doing a pretty good job.

When Mike was finished, Frank looked like a beefier version of Tommy Lee with a bad haircut. “Okay, so it’s not the greatest,” Mike said as Frank checked himself out in the rearview mirror. “You can get it fixed at the hotel.”

“Exactly,” Frank said, donning a black long sleeved shirt.

Their first order of business was exiting the parking structure and walking two blocks to a Men’s Warehouse on Main Street. They spent thirty minutes trying on and having minor alterations done on suits. The suits came with white shirts and dark slacks. They each bought a pair of shiny dress shoes to go with the new clothes. When they emerged from the store clutching bulky bags containing the clothes they had worn into the store they looked like three businessmen out on a lunchtime shopping errand. Frank’s hair didn’t look as bad now that he was wearing a suit. They walked back to the car, transferred their clothes to their overnight bags, and then headed to the Marriot to check in.

Mike pointed at a bulletin board where the events the hotel was hosting was posted. “We’re in luck,” he said. “There’s an audio convention going on here. Perfect.”

The name of the convention was the Stereophonic Association’s East Coast Trade Show and Convention. Mike casually approached the front desk. “Hi. I was wondering if it’s not too late to get a room for the convention.”

The desk clerk was a young guy in his early twenties. He checked the computer. “We had one cancellation. Are you with the convention?”

“Yes,” Mike said. “Our company sent us out at the last minute and—”

“Convention rate is one hundred and twenty dollars a night,” the desk clerk said, typing away at the keyboard. “Will there be three of you in the room?”

“Yes.”

Mike paid for the room with a credit card bearing his real name. When they got into the elevator, Vince asked, “Why are we using our real names now?”

“Just in case the police in Lancaster County run checks on motels in the area,” Mike said. “We don’t want them to track us with the pseudonym I used in Ephrata.”

Once they were in the room, Vince put his bag down on one of the two queen sized beds. “What do we do now?” he asked, flopping down on the bed.

Frank found the hotel directory. “Now I get this fucked up haircut fixed up.”

“And you and I get a new look as well,” Mike said.

There was a hair salon on the main floor of the hotel. Frank called and managed to secure three appointments. They headed downstairs for their respective haircuts and spent the next hour at the salon. Frank got his hair cut in a more traditional style. Mike’s hair, which he had allowed to grow a little long at the top and sides, was cropped short. Vince’s hair, which had been cut in a very short and conservative business style, was cut in a style similar to Frank’s. When they were finished they looked very different from the men that had been at the Family Cupboard in Lititz. Especially Frank. “It might be a good idea for us to dress rather conservatively until we get back to California,” Mike said as they rode up in the elevator. “And I’ll start growing a mustache. Shouldn’t take long at all.”

Once they returned to their room, Vince checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was almost two-thirty. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“We need to talk,” Frank said, heading to the desk. “We should probably get something to eat, too.”

“Let’s get something from room service,” Mike suggested.

Frank ordered angel hair pasta and a salad for himself, a hamburger and French fries for Mike, and a Turkey sandwich and potato salad for Vince. He also ordered three bottles of Evian water and a Pepsi. Mike and Frank took off their jackets and draped them over one of the beds. Vince kept his sport coat on. When the room service bellhop arrived with the tray, Mike gave him a five-dollar tip. Then they gathered up their respective lunches and gathered around the room, Frank reclaiming his spot at the desk.

“We need to find Mary Ann,” Mike said.

Vince shook his head. “No way. I’m not going back to Lititz. Not after the shit that went down. I don’t think you guys should go, either.”

“Mike has a point,” Frank said, twirling pasta around on his fork. “We gotta get her. I’m pretty sure we can get her to talk to us if we can find her.”

“Tom Hoffman said she hangs out at a place called Nino’s,” Mike said, nodding to Vince. “Where’s that?”

“It’s on Main Street in Lititz. Across the street from the post office.”

“How far is the police station from Nino’s?” Frank asked.

“Around the block.” Vince frowned at them. “It’s a stupid idea. There’s gonna be cops crawling all over Lititz, not to mention Lancaster County. What happened back there is going to be talked about for the next twenty years. It was like something out of a Quentin Tarantino movie.”

“Or John Woo,” Frank added, eating pasta.

“Who the hell is John Woo?” Vince asked.

“Don’t you ever watch movies? The Killer , Hardboiled , A Better Tomorrow ?”

Vince had no idea what Frank was talking about. Frank sighed and rolled his eyes. “Chow Yun Fat? Face Off with Travolta and Nick Cage?”

“I remember that one,” Vince said.

“Did you ever see The Replacement Killers with Mira Sorvino? That one had Chow Yun Fat in it.”

Vince shook his head and took a bite of his sandwich. “No, I didn’t.”

Frank looked disgusted. “Dude, when this shit is over, you and I are going to sit down in your house and we’re going to do some serious movie watching! Even my daughter knows who John Woo is!”

Mike attempted to change the subject as he chewed his hamburger. “We can drive down to Lititz this afternoon. We’ll go down there dressed the way we are now. It’s a workday so we won’t look too out of place. I have a fake badge somewhere in my bag. I can use it to try to coerce the kids we run into at Nino’s to lead us to Mary Ann.”

“Impersonating a police officer is a federal offense,” Vince said, a trickle of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, and if we don’t find Mary Ann we’re left right where we started,” Mike said.

“Suppose she doesn’t know anything, though?” Frank asked, spooning pasta onto his fork. “Seriously. I think we should find her, but what if she doesn’t know shit?”

“We’ll have to take that chance,” Mike said. “She obviously knows enough to have scared Tom Hoffman so bad that he was afraid to tell us what she revealed to him. Maybe she found out something about this Mark Lancaster fellow and his friend.”

“Like what?” Vince asked.

“Like what group they belonged to,” Mike said. He took a bite of his hamburger and chewed, frowning. “I think Clint told Mary Ann more than Tom let on. It’s obvious from his story that Clint spent more time with these guys than Mary Ann did. I’m guessing they don’t know about her. Or if they do, they don’t consider her a threat.”

“What makes you think she’ll talk to us providing you do locate her?” Vince asked.