By Sandra Angell / slangell@students.wisc.edu
The four men looked warily at the large boxes before them. Each of their expressions asked a simple question: "What have I gotten myself into?"
It had been three months since Vic had asked them to be a part of this mini-adventure, and each had agreed without thought of the consequences. The consequences these boxes meant.
Then their expressions took on another assessment of the four boxes. Perhaps they agreed to Vic's idea in haste.
The woman watched with eager -- almost hungry -- expressions on their faces. They had been giggling about this for weeks, from behind closed office doors, in the breakroom, their laughter filtering from the ladies restroom in bits and spurts... it was their first clue that something was up, and yet they said nothing... not to the ladies, anyway. But in the quiet of the office, now and then, or on assignment, or even via e-mail, there was that underlying concern for what the women had planned.
Now it was the moment of truth.
"We want to see these modeled... one at a time," Abbe said, the smile unhidden behind her authoritative eyes. She picked up the first box. "You first, Michael."
Michael O'Leary accepted the box and shrugged. "What the hell," he said, walking back toward his office. "It's for charity, after all."
Charity it was. Vic had been a Scout Master for several years, and aside from the year-end camping trip and awards ceremonies, he hadn't seen as much excitement in the kids' faces. A"Father and Son All Night Movie Marathon," was how it had been described to the others. It wasn't just a chance for these kids to watch their favorite movies but to have pizza and stay up all night. What kid wouldn't turn down a chance to do that?
Unfortunately, not all the boys had been so eager. Especially those boys whose father was merely a memory. Vic recognized this, and quickly acted upon it. He had obtained a list of all the boys without fathers from Scout Masters and then set out to find fill-ins... he targeted three of his co-workers immediately, and pursued their participation in this adventure with a vengeance.
Although you couldn't tell it by their faces now, Jake Stillwater, Sam Viperstone, and Michael O'Leary had stepped in happily. Michael had even hand-picked some titles from his personal movie collection, keeping in mind the age, attention span, and excitability of the guests. And, upon reflection, the whole Special Operations division had joined in, including the women.
The morning he approached the three men about the idea, Vic had told the group, excitedly pleased that the evening was going to be well-planned and supervised... but when he mentioned that one of the events included an award for the most creative father and son pajamas, Manda Fischer's ears perked up. "I'd love to help out with this," she said eagerly. "What do you say," she added, glancing at the three ladies in the basement, "that we design their costumes?"
Raising an eyebrow tentatively, Abbe leaned against the wall, sipping her tea, and said, "You don't mean sew, do you?"
"Well... no, I suppose you could shop for it," Manda said with a wink. Abbe smiled slightly but said nothing. She'd gotten enough heat for last month's bill.
"I'd love to see what the women pick out," Sam said with a chuckle. Then, looking across the room and catching Manda's expression, he quickly shut his mouth. Well, maybe not.
Jake, not benefiting from Sam's vantage point, had laughed and said, "Manda would have us all in footie pajamas, to be sure." Then he turned to face Manda's almost intimidating stare. He coughed, trying to look innocent.
"Well, Vic," Manda counterd, "you trust me, don't you?"
Vic took a long sip of his Pepsi and then looked at Manda, a perfectly blank poker face in place. "Yeah, sure. That would be great." Then silently thought to himself, Please no flannel Mighty Morphin' Power Ranger pjs.
An evil grin passed over Kennedy's face and she elbowed Sue with a wink. "Oh, I'd love to help out... and so would Sue."
Sue looked at Kennedy questioningly, then nodded in agreement. Abbe sighed, shaking her head.
Abbe was about to open her mouth to say something entirely, oh-shall-we-say-inappropriate, when she caught Ken's grin... she knew that grin. Abbe shrugged. "Okay, I'm in too." Her eyes glittered mischievously over the brim of her cup.
And that's how it had all began.
Now after several weeks of snickers and inside jokes among the ladies of the basement, it was show and tell. The proverbial moment of truth.
Manda immediately volunteered to outfit Vic and his "son" for the evening, Trevor. The rest had pulled names: Abbe had gotten Michael and Matthew; Ken had pulled Sam and little Jeff, leaving Sue, who had promised, with a wicked grin, to provide Jake and Sean with Batman and Robin pajamas. Including tights.
Abbe paced in front of Michael's door with a tight grin on her face. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes had passed since he entered the tiny room with the box. She glanced at the others, then swung back as she heard his door creak open.
Michael walked out, his arms outstretched and the familiar crooked grin on his face. Abbe beamed. His "costume" resembled a tuxedo, the one James Bond might wear to bed... if he ever wore pajamas. Fine black silk with faux lapels and bow tie, the outfit fit Michael perfectly. He smoothed the "jacket" and smiled again. The guys let out a collective sigh of relief.
"I had your regular tailor put this together," Abbe said, inspecting the seams. "He insisted on putting in real jacket pockets for your cigarette box," she added, tugging at the fabric.
"Ahh.. good man, Charles. Good man." With that Michael pulled out his cigarette box having already found the pocket. His eyes narrowed and he gently snagged the sleeve of her jacket, pulling her a step closer so she wouldn't dart away. "And how much can I expect this to cost me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Abbe smiled. "Not a penny, Michael. This one is on me. For charity, remember."
Michael nodded in approval, releasing her sleeve. Abbe walked back to the table and opened a smaller box. "Now, Matthew said that all he wanted to be was the 'bad guy,' soo...." She pulled out a black long-sleeved T-shirt, black sweat pants and a small black ski mask. "I don't think Matthew would understand that we've seen bad guys rarely wear this sort of get-up, but he should have fun with this."
The women all nodded in approval. "And the best part," Abbe added, pulling out a tiny black tool belt with a rope, a fake knife, squirt gun and a walkie talkie. "I had the guys up in electronics put this together for me."
She removed the walkie talkie and pushed the button. "Hello, Michael," she said in stereo... her words came from both her mouth and also Michael's left Pajama pocket.
Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver pen. He twisted the instrument and the box in Abbe's hand came alive with static and then Michael's cultured voice, "Very nice, Abbe. Matthew will love this. Very Bond."
The rest of the men around the table looked at the pen as if Michael had just opened the best present Christmas morning.
Abbe sat down, dropping the walkie-talkie back into the box. "Now that wasn't so bad," she said with a smile. "Vic, I believe you're next."
Vic looked down at his box and then wearily at Manda who simply smiled back. He then picked up the box and headed to his office. Meanwhile Sam and Jake played with Michael's pen and the walkie-talkie. It wasn't long and Vic came out into the bullpen with a large look of relief on his face.
Manda had been the only one of the women to make the costume herself and it was beautiful. Vic was dressed it what appeared to be regular army issue BDU's... well, if the army had ever made their field uniforms from camoflage flannel. As he walked out of the office, Vic was attaching a green army utility belt around his waist. The belt held many little things including plastic grenades with candy gum inside, a mini flashlight and a small squirt gun, with a laser sight, in the holster.
"Oh Manda, it's wonderful," Kennedy exclaimed, moving to inspect the costume. The rest of the group nodded in agreement.
Manda pulled a smaller box from the floor. "Trevor's is exactly the same. I also called a friend I know who works in Narcotics and got a hold of these." She pulled out two pairs of night vision goggles, and said, "They aren't the most recent in technology but they'll work for a slumber party. And we have to return them on Monday."
Jakes and Sam's attitudes had changed completely. Not only were they impressed with what they'd seen so far, but actually excited to see the last two sets of pj's. Sam accepted his box from Kennedy, walking confidently back to his office. "I'll be right out ," he said with grin. Vic sat down to examine the goggles.
When Sam closed the door to his office, Kennedy couldn't help herself. With a grin on her face, she put her ear up to his door. Sam had been kissing up for three weeks now, explaining that a Brett Favre Packer Jersey for him and a Deion Sanders Cowboy jersey for Jeffrey would be the best choice for such an event. Kennedy had agreed. "And it would be certainly easy to buy."
"Exactly!" Sam had said. "No sense spending a lot of time on this affair. I'm sure you've got lots of things to be doing."
Kennedy had simply smiled the kind of smile that would make Abbe proud.
"What the...!" A muffled curse came from Sam's closed office.
Kennedy cleared her throat, fighting back her giggles. "Um... Sam, I talked to Jeff. Seems he's not really into football." She couldn't help but chuckle. "It seems he likes the Cowboys about as much as I do. So, we opted to go a different route."
Sam burst from his office wearing green and gold.
Just not the green and gold he had expected.
He had on lime green skin-tight exercise shorts and a tight T-shirt; he still had on his black socks, having elected not put on the matching boots, and was holding a pillow in the shape and color of a tortoise shell with attached suspenders.
Sam looked at Ken imploringly, trying to ignore the snickers and laugher. "What the hell am I supposed to be?"
"I believe you are called Michelangelo. A Mutant Ninja Turtle," Kennedy said with a smile as she pulled out a orange Zorro-type face mask from her pocket and tying it behind his head.
In that moment, Sam looked like "The Incredible Hulk" meets "The Muppet Show." Vic had nearly choked on his Pepsi and by this time Stillwater was on the floor, convulsing with laughter.
Sam shot him a look, but Jake was too far gone for it to be effective. Sam sighed, glancing back at Ken. "How could you do this?" he whispered.
"Oh, it wasn't so hard." She smiled, leaning over to help him with his shell. "You never know what I might pick out." She patted his back, adding, "At the end of the night you can take off your shell and sleep on it like a pillow. Jeff's is exactly the same." She gave one suspender strap a pull and letting it fly back against his barrel chest.
With the shell neatly fitted against his back, he looked even more ridiculous. It looked like a small sponge against his huge back. When Stillwater saw this, he howled all the more. Sam turned crimson-red under the collar of his T-shirt and groaned. "I am not going outside looking like this."
Sue leaned down under to table, handing a box to Jake. "Your turn, Mister Funny Man," she said with a grin.
Jake stopped laughing so abruptly that Sue had to look to make sure he was still breathing. He stared at the box in front of him as Sam walked back to the table, tugging at the turtle shell. "Yeah, Stillwater, let's see yours," he said with a pout, slumping down in a chair. The motion caused the shell to ride up over the back of the chair.
"Fine," Stillwater said, taking the box from Sue. "Can't be worse than Michelangelo here."
"Don't be so sure," said Sue, a wicked grin crossing her face.
Sam watched Jakes go and then turned to Ken, still pouting. "They get walkie-talkies and night goggles and I'm wearing a shell on my back."
Manda turned to Sam. "Oh, but you look darling. Think of how excited little Jeff will be."
Sam forced a weak smile and then crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Kennedy. She simply chuckled.
After ten minutes, Sue walked up to Jakes' door. She knocked, clearing her throat. "Hello?!? Time for your runway appearance, Stillwater."
"I am not coming out like this," he repliedfrom behind his door. "This is ridiculous!"
"Oh, come on, you big baby! Get out here."
The door opened a crack, but that was all. "Where the hell did you get this?" Jakes whispered through clenched teeth.
"A catalog," Sue said, pushing against the door. "And it wasn't cheap either. So get your butt out here and show the others."
"No!" Jake said, but before he had a chance to close the door again, Sam pushed it fully open. The taller agent stared blankly for a moment and then started to laugh hysterically.
Peering around Sam's shell, Sue clapped her hands in delight. "Looks like a good fit," she said, glancing at the others. Soon the rest of the group had assembled outside Jake's office door. The sight standing before them was incredible.
Jake was dressed in pajamas that any Elvis impersonator would be envious to own. Although they were made of silk, they looked like baby blue polyester. The sleeves and legs flared out, with a V-neckline at his throat, revealing a flesh-colored panel with painted gold chains on it. A rhinestone-studded belt with a huge buckle wrapped around his waist. The outfit even came with attached footie slippers that resembled white rhinstoned Seventies cowboy boots. And it was a perfect fit.
Sue walked over to the box on Jake's desk and pulled out a long white cape studded with rhinestones and lined with baby blue. She started to snap it into place, saying, "You see, Stillwater, Sean wanted to be a prince. So with him dressed as a prince, you should definitely be the King. After you mentioned the Elvis case file so many times this year, I thought to myself, there can only be one King."
With that Sue pulled a pair of rhinestone studded sunglasses from the box and slipped them on Jake's face.
Sam fell back with laughter, nearly taking Manda out with his shell. Even Vic and Michael were laughing. Abbe couldn't stop giggling, although she vehemently denied it between hiccups. Jake stood staring back in defiance.
Obi Wan had just pulled his light saber to his chest as Darth Vadar took a large arching swipe. Obi Wan's robe and weapon fell to the floor and Luke screamed. A sharp, piercing scream. It was about then that Michael started to feel a "force" of his own. He needed a cigarette. And he needed it now.
Michael stepped over Matthew, who had fallen asleep even before Kirk and Picard had befriended one another in the earlier movie, and walked toward the exit sign.
He looked over at Vic, picking up the remnants of the Pizza that had been supper and gave him a wave with cigarette in hand. Vic nodded back. Jake and the Prince were quietly discussing the ever popular debate of Star Wars versus Star Trek at the table before him; as Michael passed Jake, he shot him a smile. Before reaching the exit he stepped over Sam giving him a little tap with his loafer. Sam looked up from his shell pillow and gave Michael a smile then went back to the movie, as deeply involved as little Jeff was to his right.
Michael stepped out into the alleyway. He lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply, enjoying the crisp night air. He leaned his head back against the brick wall, with his eyes closed and exhaled slowly.
Then a strange feeling came over him. He slowly brought his head forward, eyes open and alert.
Something didn't feel right. His instinctual radar went up. He scanned the shadows of the alley between the church he had just come from and shop in front of him.
Someone was watching him. He could feel it.
Nonchalantly, Michael took a drag from his cigarette and held his breath. Listening he slowly exhaled and flicked an ash from the cigarette tip. Then he heard it.
A small noise of metal being leaned upon. In a split second, he looked up to see an object coming at him from the fire escape. The metal can hit him squarely on the side of the head and fell off to Michael's right.
Michael staggered, registering a liquid running down his face. He reached up to wipe what he thought was blood when the odor finally registered. It was gasoline.
He quickly stepped to the left and dropped his cigarette, smashing the glowing tip with the sole of his shoe.
Michael's vision blurred, but he saw the shape of a man jump from the fire escape and run down the alley. Shaking his head, Michael tried desperately to clear his mind, but instead he lost his footing and slumped to the ground.
He reached in his pocket and grabbed his silver pen. Twisting the top he spoke into it, "Matthew... Matthew, wake up!" Michael waited and repeated the call with all his energy.
A sleepy voice came to life from the pen. "Michael it's me... over."
Michael smiled weakly. "Matthew, would you please find Vic and tell him to meet me in the alley... and then you go back to bed, understand?"
"Got it," the little voice said and then he added, "Over and out."
Within seconds both Vic and Jake were in the alley. Vic saw Michael first, nearly unconscious and slumped against the wall. He quickly ripped the sleeve from his pajamas, balled it up and pressed it hard against Michael's head.
Michael looked up at Jake, blinking to clear his vision. "He took off to the right... about five-ten... dressed all in black... and reeking of gasoline."
Without hesitation, Jake took off running, his large white cape flapping behind him. Vic helped Michael to his feet and back into the building. As Sam saw the two enter, he quickly got up to help. Within minutes, Michael was propped up against two turtle shell pillows, with eyes closed against the spinning room.
Vic put in a call to emergency medical services and then turned to Sam. "Stay here," he said softly. "I'm going to help Jake." As he moved toward the door, Vic paused suddenly, slightly tilting his head to one side. "Reeked of gas..." he mumbled. Then his eyes lit up. "Sam, get everyone out of here now!"
Sam looked at him questioningly at Vic, his mouth opening to ask Vic for clarification. Just then sprinkler system clicked on showering the room with water and the buzz of fire alarms upstairs could be heard. It registered quickly with Sam and he and Vic started waking up boys and fathers and pushing them toward the exit.
The small boys stumbled from their wet sleeping bags, dazed and confused. Vic moved his way toward the front of the room as the smoke started to billow down the stairs.
Then the lights went out, leaving only the small lights on the fire alarms.
The boys screamed, only being outdone by the screeching fire alarms that had finally come to life in the church basement. Vic felt down to the goggles at his chest and brought them up over his glasses. Seeing a group of boys huddled in the corner, he made his way to them.
Sam had gotten Michael out and a safe distance away. He returned to the building several times, carrying out boys under each arm, his lime green shorts had all but turned black from the thick smoke. Of course, he got the strangest looks from onlookers, but he ignored them. Until it dawned on him that he was still wearing the thin orange mask. Thank God I wasn't still wearing the shell! he thought, reaching up to rip the mask off. He entered the building again.
Sam and Vic had just ushered the last of the boys out when the fire trucks came screeching to a halt in front of the church, both gasping and coughing. Vic pulled the goggles from his eyes; circles of black revealed where the goggles had once been, making him look much like a raccoon. Sam chuckled himself into another coughing fit.
Vic approached one of the firemen, explaining that there was no one left in the building. He also pointed to the alley where they would undoubtedly find the gas can, proving the blaze was caused by arson. The fireman nodded and made his way through the crowd now starting to form around them. Vic then set out to find the EMTs; once found, Vic and Sam helped them load Michael into the ambulance.
When the ambulance pulled away Vic and Sam reviewed the troops of pizza-and-potato chip-stuffed, soot-covered, soaking-wet boys and fathers. Vic sighed, turning away. That's when he caught a glimpse of Jakes Stillwater walking up the street, dragging a man with him.
As he got closer, Jakes stared, open mouthed, at the blazing building. Vic noticed Jake's face was bloodied and his blue silk pajamas were stained from head to footied toe. His white cape still managed to hang on to his back by two snaps.
The man he was dragging was equally bloodied and bruised. His hands were tied in front of him with the white rhinestone studded belt that used to be a part of Jake's costume. He looked thoroughly surprised and disgusted at being caught, and the expression on Stillwater's face was equally fierce.
A flash went off in Jake's face and he pushed the cameraman away. Then looking at Vic, he asked, "So I take it Michael caught the guy in the middle of that?" Nodding toward the blaze, Vic helped Jake drag the prisoner over to the police car blocking the road.
"And Michael?" Jake asked, " And the kids?"
"They all got out. Michael is on his way to the hospital. The bleeding stopped and they think it is a mild concussion," Vic said between coughs. "He'll be fine, but they wanted to check him out, just to be sure. We'll head over to the hospital after all the kids have been picked up."
"Come in."
Jakes Stillwater looked up from his paperwork, wincing as his eye stung as he once again tried to open his swollen eye too far.
Sue Bannion slipped in, bearing a mug of steaming coffee. Not the usual basement sludge, though. This came straight from Starbuck's. She set it down on his desk. "Ouch!" she remarked, seeing Jake's wince again. Sue dropped down into the chair by his desk. "So how are you feeling?" she asked.
"Fine," he replied flatly, looking back down at the file in front of him.
Sue smiled. "Still haven't forgiven me yet, huh?"
Jake didn't look up.
"You big baby," Sue said with a grin.
"Are you trying to get on my good side?" Jake asked sarcastically, leaning back in his chair.
"I guess so. Or at least make peace." She paused. "I won thirty bucks from Abbe, Ken and Manda for best pj's, and I suppose you should get part of that for modeling them so nicely." Stillwater smirked. "So, how about lunch?"
There was a long pause. "Okay," he said, not one to turn down a free lunch. "But it's going to cost you more than thirty bucks."
Sue stood up, shrugging. "Okay, you win. Wherever you want to go." Closing the file, Jakes stood, then winced as he pulled his jacket on.
"Ribs still hurt?" Sue asked
"Yes," he groaned. "That guy had a hell of a punch."
The two walked out into the bullpen, pausing at the status board to sign out. Abbe saw them pass her office out of the corner of her eye and poked her head out with a smile. "Hey Stillwater! I've got something here you might be interested in."
Abbe passed him the morning edition of the Post. "I found another Elvis story for your collection," she said with a grin. She tapped the page. "You might find this one very, um, personalized...."
Sue, who had leaned over his shoulder to see the article and accompanying photograph, stifled a laugh. Abbe was less successful.
Elvis Apprehends ArsonistElvis is alive and well. And in the district, it seems.
Wearing baby blue flannel, he apprehended a man suspected of setting fire to the First United Methodist Church on Wisconsin Avenue this past Saturday night. The fire abruptly ended a Boy Scout sleepover. None of the eighteen children participating in the annual event was injured in the attack, but Georgetown Medical Center released one adult chaperone after a mild concussion was diagnosed.
The suspect, not yet identified by police, is being held without bail pending psychiatric evaluation.
Elvis was unavailable for comment.
Jake looked down at the newspaper and sighed. He glared at the women, issuing a warning. "Not a word," he said. "Not one word!"
~ END ~
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