Page 51 of Just Friends

The next step was to strip; he held his breath and pulled the shirt off attempting to keep it from touching his face before dropping trou and stepping into the shower. Some people insisted on remaining in their underwear during the process, but it was uncomfortable enough without having soaking underwear stuck to your ass, and everyone can see everything anyway.

After following decontamination protocol in the shower, he moved to the next section of the makeshift triage center; they gave him a towel with all the softness of coarse grit sandpaper. During the shower, the cotton in his skull thinned, and sounds were coming again. Weasel gingerly dried off and wondered if it were possible for his testicles to rescind while someone else handed him a paper gown and a foil rescue blanket. Duane Hartwell was dead. It could have been him. Hartwell had been in the car they stole, and because of a few months’ difference in their ages, Weasel got off scot-free, and Duane got a record. He shook the thought away; Hartwell decided and paid the price for his actions.

Weasel turned to find Bonnie Willem wrapped in her sandpaper towel, her eyes slid down his naked body and lingered like he was a steak on a menu. “My eyes are up here, Agent Willem,” he said. Bonnie snorted a laugh and retrieved her paper gown and foil blanket. If he’d blatantly stared at her the same way, he’d be enrolled in a sexual harassment seminar next week.

“You’re not shy,” she said.

“Why? Cause I don’t have any hang-ups over nudity?”

“Just one aspect I’ve noticed.” Agent Willem dropped her towel, and he made a point of not looking in her direction while she slipped on the paper gown.

“Well, hope you got yourself a big eyeful, cause I’m covering up in the latest style of paper hospital gowns,” he said.

Agent Willem’s smile didn’t reach her eyes; her hair usually twisted up, now wet and flowed to her mid back, making the hardened DEA Agent appear softer. There wasn’t a thing about her as a woman that interested him, a high-ranking law-enforcement official, sure.

Weasel sat in the chair covered in a foil blanket and closed his eyes. A portable outdoor heater was brought in to keep them from suffering hypothermia. The commotion behind the strip club had calmed, and the firefighters were searching for any hotspots in the rubble that remained of the meth lab. Weasel, Willem, and a handful of SWAT team members were the only ones decontaminated and placed in observation to watch for a delayed reaction.

He looked for Ty, but was not finding him there. The quarantined group sat around in plastic chairs brought into a cordoned off area for those that went through the decontamination process. Without a phone, he couldn’t contact Rebecca. If she’d heard, there’s no doubt she’d be crazy with worry. He wanted to see her. It would be insane to show up at her door at the early hour of the morning, but he needed her. Bonnie Willem returned from her checkup and parked beside him.

“SWAT cleared that building,” she whispered.

“Yep.”

“Seems they missed that trap door.” He didn’t respond. “How’s your head?”

“Better, but everything is still a little muffled. You?”

“Same.”

“We’ll have to write up the report on what happened and let that speak for itself, Agent Willem.”

“Thanks for saving my life. Call me Bonnie.” Rather not. Weasel shrugged in response. He would have done it for any officer.

The nurse practitioner crossed over to him and placed the blood pressure cuff around his arm, again. “Time to check your vitals, Detective Anderson.”

Weasel growled. “I’m fine. Let me go home now.” He needed to curl up with Rebecca and to forget this day existed.

“It’s protocol, Detective,” she replied, “you know that.”

“You could clear me.”

“Not much longer.” She noted the blood pressure, which was probably sky high and set her fingers on the pulse points in his wrist.

“Are you sure you want to be alone tonight?” Bonnie asked after the nurse left.

Weasel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I won’t be alone,” aiming to nip any invitations in the bud. “I’ll be with my girlfriend.”

Bonnie Willem studied him for a moment. “Didn’t peg you as the one-woman type.” Brushing fingertips up his forearm. “Maybe, you’re not taken for tonight.”

“I’m taken every night.” And he wouldn’t jeopardize it for a random woman. “We need to talk to SWAT about how they missed the trap door,” he said switching the subject.

“The DEA will handle the investigation, Detective,” Agent Willem replied.

“It’s nothing personal, Bonnie. If I were single, it’d be a different story.”

Ty Haney came into the makeshift holding area with plastic bags looped around his arm and crossed straight to them. “I was able to round you guys up some clothes. He dropped a bag in Weasel’s lap containing a gray sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Warmer than the paper gown and foil blanket.

“Thanks, brother.” Weasel walked back into the changing area and swapped the paper coverings to legitimate clothing. He was grateful she didn’t follow him. When he returned, Haney had taken over his seat and he and Willem were in a lively discussion. He was hopeful she’d moved on to his friend. Ty was single, so getting laid by Willem could do him some good.

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