Ex-Patriots Read Free Page A

George sat in the chair. His leather
jacket had been tossed aside on one of the tables, revealing the
cherry-red tank top that still made summer in Los Angeles feel too
hot. He looked at the crowd, then at the handful of people who
stood around his chair.
    Jarvis tucked a sturdy hacksaw under his arm
and clapped his hands. “All y’all quiet down,” he said. “No reason
to turn this into more of a circus than it already is.” He paused
to scratch his chin beneath his salt-and-pepper beard. “We all know
this ain’t a one person job. We drew lots last week and each of the
winners are going to get a chance at him.”
    To St. George’s left, Andy held a pair of
well-worn bolt cutters, and by his shoulder a woman clutched a pair
of bright blue tin snips. Billie Carter stood on the other side of
the chair with a pair of wire cutters. Mike Turner had another set
of bolt cutters. Right in front was a little Latina girl with a
black set of wire cutters. She was bouncing up and down. St. George
smiled at her and she blushed.
    Jarvis turned to the hero in the chair. “Last
chance to back out, chief.”
    The hero smiled. “I’m good,” he said. “This
is long overdue.”
    The older man shook his head and let his own
hair settle past his shoulders. “Personally, I think it makes you
look distinguished.”
    “Maybe,” said St. George, “but it’s too
damned hot in the summer.”
    “You let it grow any longer we’d all start
calling you St. Fabio,” said Mike.
    “St. Hippy is more like it,” said Billie. She
squeezed her wire cutters a few times for emphasis and a round of
chuckles echoed in the room. She still wore her hair cropped
military-short.
    Andy stepped forward and held up the bolt
cutters. He moved behind St. George and began to gather the golden
hair into a ponytail.
    “Et tu , Andy?” St. George said with a
grin.
    “How could I pass up the chance to cut the
hair off a legendary strong man?” Andy said with a smile. “If I
ever get ordained, I could tell that story every Sunday to a rapt
congregation.” He settled the ponytail into the mouth of the bolt
cutters, took a deep breath, and levered the handles together.
    The hair resisted. Andy took another breath,
threw his weight into it, and there was a crackle of sharp pops,
like breaking spaghetti. It echoed through the shop and the
ponytail dropped to the floor. The crowd hollered and applauded.
Andy looked at the gouged blades of his bolt cutters and shook his
head.
    Mike wobbled forward. It had been eight
months since an ex had tried to bite through his shoe and cracked
half the bones in his foot. Doctor Connolly still wasn’t sure if
he’d ever walk without a limp. “Little off the top, boss?” he said
with a wicked grin.
    Over the course of the hour, they sawed and
clipped and chopped at the hero’s hair. In the end the tools were
chipped and pitted, but the floor was covered with hair. There was
a final burst of applause from the crowd as St. George looked at
himself with a hand mirror.
    “Reminds me of a haircut I got in college
once.” He set down the mirror. “Hope everyone had fun,” he said,
and gave Andrea a wink. “Time to get back to work. The day’s
wasting.”
    The crowd funneled away as he shrugged into
the jacket. A few moments later he was alone with Billie and
Jarvis. “We ready?” he asked.
    She gave him a sharp nod. “Luke’s got the
extra fuel tanks loaded in Road Warrior . We’ve got overnight
gear if we need it. Stealth’s even letting us take three extra
cases of ammunition. One nine millimeter, two of three-oh-eight.”
She glanced at her watch. “Team assembles in thirty-nine
minutes.”
    The hero glanced at Jarvis. “What’s the armor
situation? Did Rocky get those last three sets of sleeves
done?”
    “He did not,” said the bearded man. “He says
it’s an art and it takes as long as it takes. I told him y’all
wouldn’t be pleased.”
    “Crap. What’s that give us, thirteen