Man Down

Checking his watch, Sam nodded to himself. He hadn’t seen Cameron in almost a half hour, but as long as he wasn’t pacing back and forth, he didn’t much care.

Looking over to George, “It’s time,” he said.

George nodded, looking around. He spread his left hand away from his body, as if asking where the fuck is Cameron.

“Get the bags ready,” Sam said, moving down the hall. “Hey!” he called out, peeking into the lunchroom. Empty. Pushing open the shitter door, “If you’re  in here tugging one out or pinching a loaf, get it done, it’s time, everything is in place.” No response. Sam frowned.

Barging into the bathroom, “I’m not in the mood to play any fucking games, where the fuck are you?” he asked, kicking open the first stall door. Moving to the second stall, he kicked the door. Cameron’s clothes, body armor, boots, weapons were all there, just sitting in a pile. Sam stared at it a moment, shaking his head. It didn’t make any rational sense. Grabbing the weapons, he returned to the front of the bank and set them down on the counter.

George looked in his direction and Sam motioned him over with a nod of his head.

Weaving through the sprawled hostages, he crossed the floor to public side of the counter opposite Sam. “What’s up?” he asked, looking at the weapons.

“He’s gone,” Sam said.

“Who? C? What do you mean gone? Like dead?” George asked.

“No, vanished, nowhere to be found, all of his gear and clothes were in the bathroom, but he’s just gone,” Sam replied.

“Gone? That don’t make any kind of sense at all,” George commented, shaking his head from side to side.

“I know. I want you to check around back, make sure we’re still secured, grab C’s clothes out of the bathroom on your way back out. Any trouble, you holler, you hear me?” Sam instructed.

George nodded, “You got it.” He returned less than five minutes later, Cameron’s clothes in hand. He shook his head. “No sign, we’re still locked up tight.”

Sam frowned. What the fuck? Did Cameron find a way out? How does someone just disappear from a bank surrounded by an army of cops, and do it while naked? Even his underpants were in the pile. Like that wouldn’t draw at least a little attention. Did the cops somehow snatch him? If they did, why the hell would they strip him out of his clothes? That didn’t make any kind of sense. Did he loose his mind and decided to hide out somewhere in the bank? Again, naked? Cameron could be a bit of a loose cannon, but this absolutely defied sane comprehension. Where the fuck are you Cameron? You picked one hell of a time to pull this shit.

Sam motioned for George to put the clothes on top of the counter. “Just put them there, I got an idea.”

Looking over the hostages, he spied a man similar in body shape and size to Cameron. Pointing at the man, he said, “You there, in the grey suit.”

The middle aged man turned his head to look at the skull faced robber. “Me?” he asked.

“What’s your name?” inquired Sam.

“Steven,” answered the man.

Sam motioned him over with an index finger. Steven got up, moving slowly. “I want you to put these clothes on,” he said, indicating Cameron’s clothing.

“What?” the man asked, puzzled expression on his face.

“Put it on,” Sam repeated, enunciating every word slowly.

Steven was about to voice protest, but though better of it. Removing his suit jacket, he pulled Cameron’s clothing over his own, including the body armor. He removed his shoes and pulled the pants up, belting them in place.

“Mask too,” encouraged Sam.

Steven nodded and pulled the skull mask over his face. Attired completely in Cameron’s stuff, the man could easily pass as one of the robbers, except for the fact the man was unarmed. Pulling magazine from the handle of Cameron’s pistol, he moved the slide and ejected the bullet in the chamber and tossed it to Steven, who bobbled it before it fell to the floor.

“Pick it up,” encouraged Sam.

Steven bent over and took it.

Sam nodded. “Now lay down.”

Steven again nodded and returned to his spot. Looking back to Pat and then over the remaining hostages, he picked out another man, this one smaller than Pat but suitable for the purpose he had in mind. Calling the man over, his name Blaine, Sam had him remove the clothing from Pat’s corpse. Blaine made retching noises, peeling chunks of clotted blood away from the clothing.

“Put it on,” instructed Sam, nodding toward the man.

Blaine shook his head, coughing and on the verge of vomiting. “I can’t” he protested, eyes watering from trying not to throw up.

Sam walked over, slight limp. “Put it on, I’ll not ask a third time,” he repeated, voice low and threaded with menace.

Blaine nodded and slowly began to pull on Pat’s blood soaked clothing and gear, stopping once in a while to control his impulse to gag.

Sam nodded, “Good,” he said, “Now go lay down near Steven.”

The man nodded and moved around to lie beside the other man garbed like the robbers.

Looking at George, “Bring me the bag with the party favors,” Sam instructed.

George nodded. Grabbing a duffle near the door, he hefted it up with one hand and brought it over to the counter. Opening it, he pulled out the brick of material that suspiciously resembled plastic explosive and put it on the counter near Sam.

Still lying on her stomach, Elayne rested her chin on her hands, quirky smile on her pretty mouth as she felt a delicious tingle of sensation from between her thighs as Cameron squirmed within the confinement of her tight panties.