“I’d like to say our friendship, my sense of loyalty to a brother, my concern for your safety—but really I just want to go for the drama.” I glared at him in the mirror. “But,” he added, “all that other stuff is true, too.”
“I’m guessing you need to bring a suit, maybe a bulletproof vest, and some weed. And I’m not sure when we’re coming back, I may hijack the plane and take us to Vegas or Jamaica or somewhere like that.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll bring a bathing suit, too.”
I met Spence in the hall and he told me, “Put on some workout clothes and meet me and Rob down in the basement. You need some exercise and shit to get rid of that living dead look you have going on this morning.”
I ran into Brent on the first floor as he was heading to class. I asked, “You’re not going to this dinner thing with the rest of us? There’s plenty of room on the plane.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got a psych experiment we’re working on. I need to go feed the lab rats—and by lab rats I mean freshmen.”
“What’s the experiment, like, what’s the purpose?”
He looked a little puzzled. “You know, I’m not sure anymore. But I can tell you one thing, none of them are ever going to look at Dog Chow the same way.”
He passed a little packet to me. I asked, “What is this for?”
“If things start to go bad with your father take one or two, once they kick in you’ll think he’s Santa or the Easter Bunny or the Pope or someone equally warm and fuzzy.”
I stared at the pills in wonder and slipped them into my pocket.
As I passed through the basement there were a handful of guys stationed at the drone monitors. Quinn was there and looked away from his screen long enough to tilt his chin my way. I got flustered and gave him this lame-ass wave and went into the weight room.
Rob was on an incline bench doing crunches so fast that I thought he was going to snap in half.
Spence was doing arm curls and generally working on his upper body.
I got on a rowing machine and figured I’d do a little homework for class.
Just when I thought I was going to pass out Spence said, “Okay, we’ve got a full day of media dodging, travelling, and dinner with America’s most wanted, or least wanted, couple. I still need to pack my clothes and stock a cooler for the plane.”
I pointed at Rob. “We still need to get him a decent suit.”
We walked out of the weight room and all of the sudden Dave pounced from out of nowhere and tackled Rob to the floor. They rolled around on the floor knocking over shit and cursing at each other. Spence and I ran over and pulled them off of each other and I was stumped when they both started laughing. “What the fuck?” I asked, “Why were you two tryin’ to kill each other?”
Rob laughed and threw his arm around Dave’s shoulders. “It was my idea, Foster! I asked Dave to come at me when I least expected it, you know, just to keep me on my toes. We’re going out into the real world today, and I want to be ready for anything.”
Dave nodded, “I wanted to attack you, Foster, to see how he’d do at the whole protection thing, but Rob was afraid I might hurt you. It wouldn’t look good if I broke your nose or your leg or something on his watch.”
I stood over Dave and looked down at him. “What makes you think you could take me down, little fella?” Before I knew it Dave had me pinned to the wall and had his arm against my throat. “Why are you just standin’ there, Rob?” I gasped, “Get this little fucker off of me!”
We went upstairs to get ready and the showers were almost full with guys who had overslept for their noon classes. The four of us had to share two showerheads and although Dave seemed happy I felt a little awkward trying to clean up without bumping into anybody. One of the brothers pointed at Rob and asked me, “Do you really think you need government protection in here, Foster?”
I shook my head. “He’s only here to protect me from your wandering eyes, Porter.” Some of the guys laughed at that and Porter turned his back to me.
When we walked back to the room Dave was following Rob like a lost puppy and I stopped him from coming into the room. “Go get ready, Dave. We’ll meet you downstairs and then we’ll all go to get Rob a suit.”
Rob shook his head. “I’m not sure why all four of us need to go out to buy one suit. I mean, I can go by myself, or Spence can go with me. I can get you into a private plane and a hotel without too many problems, but you being out in public around here is a different story. They’re waiting right out your front door for you, we don’t need to stir things up like that.”
I was throwing shit into a suitcase and I passed a duffel bag to him. “We’ll just do the trunk thing again, it’s only a few blocks to the store. We’ll take care of this on the way to the airport.” Rob had put on a pair of jeans and I handed him a t shirt from the thrift store that said Stop Making Stupid People Famous across the front of it. I put on an old pair of jeans because I didn’t have time to mess with thawing any out, and tugged on an Under Armor tee. I grabbed my Hawthorne cap, some sunglasses, and my wallet. “Getting your suit won’t take long, and we’ll be out of town before the press figures anything out.”
“Okay, but how long is this going to take? What time does the plane leave?”
I raised an eyebrow at him as I loaded my shaving kit with pills and condoms and breath mints. “You’ve flown on Air Force One, it’s the same basic concept. The plane leaves when we tell it to.”
Spence and Dave were waiting at the car by the side door when we got downstairs. “We put something in the trunk to make you feel more comfortable,” Dave said as he opened the trunk lid. I nodded my approval when I saw a big cooler and climbed in. I grabbed a beer before he left me in darkness and I settled in for the ride. I felt the car speed up after we got through the security but I managed to down another beer before the trunk popped open and they helped me out. I looked around and frowned. “Why are we in an alley?”
A door opened in the middle of a tan brick wall and Gustav waved us in. Spence said, “I told him to let us in through here. He’s got a sign on the front door that says he’s closed for an emergency—we’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”
Dave and Rob were walking in with Gustav and I told them, “We’ll be in there in a few minutes. Gustav, go ahead and start showing him fabrics and colors and whatnot.” Spence and I split a joint and had a few beers and were about to head in when Dave came back out. “Problem in there?”
He shook his head no, leaned into the unlocked car, and came out with Rob’s gun and shoulder holster. “Rob asked me to bring this in for him, we need it for the fitting.”
We all went inside to see how things were going. Dave led us through a storage room with racks and racks of suits and then into the back of the store itself, where Rob was standing in his underwear and t shirt and looking a little lost. Gustav put his hands up and sounded concerned. “I am asking for what the purpose of this suit that this man is attempting to wear for a person such as himself. But he denies me this, he is demanding that purpose is secret. I know not if suit is for night of disco, or teaching the, who you say ‘morons’ at Hawthorne’s college—”
I corrected him. “Students, not ‘morons’, Gustav. And no, he’s not a professor.”
He nodded. “Okay, Jake Foster, if you are insisting. But I am hearing ‘morons’ when parents of...a ‘students’ come in shop.”
Dave nodded. “Gustav, ‘moron’ is what Hawthorne parents usually call their children. It’s a common mistake. Foster’s a student, but I call him ‘moron’ all the time. English can be tricky.” He held the gun and shoulder holster up for the tailor. “He’ll be wearing this under his jacket.”
Gustav nodded gravely. “I see, now. His secret is his being in the moblia.”
I corrected him. “It’s either ‘mob’ or ‘mafia’, but not moblia.”
Rob nodded at Gustav. “He’s right—but no! I’m not mafia, Gustav. I’m one of the good guys, a federal agent.�
� Gustav still looked lost. “Police, Gustav!”
Gustav looked doubtful and said. “How is this, that you claim to be ‘police’ and a good guy all at same...sentence? But if you are confused the important part is that the gun goes with the suit. Now we can begin with suit which you and friends find adequate for disco and gunfight, like the James Bond, okay?” He pointed at Rob’s underwear. “This is undergarments you wear with the disco gun-fighting suit? These are your child’s, no?”
Rob looked down at the red, white, and blue boxer briefs. “These are Jake’s, Mr. Foster’s or whatever!” Gustav looked at him and then at me. “I mean, no, not usually these. I wear boxers.”
“Very well. Take those off and give to orphanage. For best disco gunfight suit measurement you will go like most gentlemen of Hawthorne, like these boys who could be my very own morons, these boys go to school without the children’s cartoon undergarments you are wearing. So today, you will go...let me correct the word...you go, commando?”
Spence whistled in admiration. “Very good, Gustav. Commando is exactly the way most of us morons go.” He handed Rob the suit pants and told him, “Put these on so we don’t have to see all of the most excellent commando disco gunfight suit fitting, okay?”
The three of us wandered into the front of the store and picked out some plain white shirts and the ugliest ties Gustav had in stock, we figured that would make Rob happy.
Spence asked, “Where the fuck do you think Gustav is from?”
I shrugged, “I used to think Europe, but that accent and his knowledge of English changes every time I’m in here.”
Dave looked back at the fitting room and said, “I’ll bet Foster’s trust fund it’s all an act. He’s probably from Jersey, but nobody is going to sell five thousand dollar suits to the parents of Hawthorne morons unless he has some kind of European accent.”
We each picked out a tie to wear to dinner and then piled everything up next to the register. When we wandered to the back of the store Rob was swatting Gustav’s hand away from his crotch. He warned the tailor, “I think you’ve measured just about enough down there, buddy.”
Gustav shrugged. “If my...fondling?...bothers your self then I will stop. But mostly it is difficult to properly tailor suit for commando morons. Things move left, they move right, hard to pin member down for best fitting of trousers.”
“Don’t friggin’ pin anything down there, Gustav!” He looked at us and said, “He’s already got everything else ready to hem or tailor or whatever, I’m done.” Rob stripped out of the suit and put his jeans and shirt back on but tossed his underwear into a trash can.
Gustav shook his head. “Such a waste of colorful undergarment that would give joy to orphans.” He turned to me. “I am happy to have commando disco gunfight suit ready for police moron to wear to secret disco event ready, ready in one hours.”
I nodded and looked at the other guys. “Let’s wander down the alley to PreBar, have a couple beers while we wait.”
Rob looked at me and wrinkled his brow. “It’s kind of early, isn’t it?”
We started walking out Gustav’s back door. “They’ve been open for hours.”
“That’s not really what I meant, but okay.”
We found the door and wandered inside, the place was packed but we scored a booth in the back. The smoke was thick and it added to the whole Jack the Ripper feel of the place.
We ordered a couple of pitchers but Rob waved off the mug offered to him and said, “I think I need to stay sober.”
Spence smiled. “Good thinking, we’ll need a designated driver.” We sat around and watched the TV on the wall, commenting on the commentators ranting on ESPN. After about an hour we wandered back down the alley to Gustav’s.
He was waiting for us at the back door with the suit and the other shit. He held the suit up and pointed at Rob. “This must be worn to confirm delivery.”
I shook my head. “We trust you, we need to head out, so I’m afraid we won’t have time for him to try it on.” I shook Gustav’s hand and we started to walk out. I looked at Rob and said, “You can put it on once we takeoff. I don’t think you’ll need it on the way to the airport.”
Gustav looked puzzled and then smiled. “So there is urgent need for commando disco gunfight suit, it will be worn to secret location far away and soon.” He looked at me and said, “Police moron most likely has no dollars to pay for urgent secret suit. Mr. Jake Foster will be paying?” He eyed Rob again and pointed at him. “Unless police moron has many pockets full of corrupt money. They often wear that, too.”
Rob started to protest but I cut him off. “Just bill my account, Gustav.”
“And the invoice will be engraved...?”
“I think ‘urgent commando disco gunfight suit’ says it all. It’ll give my accountant something to ponder.”
When we got outside I stood beside the trunk but Spence shook his head and told me, “I don’t think we need to be that extreme, just wear your hat and sunglasses.”
“You still need to pop the trunk—the cooler’s in there.”
“Do you think having dinner with your father and Megan is going be easier if you’re wasted? That’s probably not the best game plan for this event.”
“It’s the best plan I’ve come up with so far.”
Rob drove out of town and hit the interstate doing somewhere around a hundred miles per hour. We made it to the airport and Rob cut around the corner of the general aviation terminal and brought us to a screeching halt just under the wingtip of the jet. He passed the car keys to a guy and watched as a crew packed the small amount of luggage we had into the hold of the Gulfstream. Rob held on to his suit and I held on to the cooler and we all boarded the plane and it started moving across the tarmac as soon the cabin door shut. We all took seats and buckled up quickly as the jet started moving faster and zigged and zagged to the runway. A guy came out of the cockpit and said, “Hi, gentlemen.” He sounded a little doubtful as he noticed the grungy clothes we were wearing and probably smelled the beer, too. “It’s just me and the other pilot today, did you fellas need anything before takeoff?”
Spence pulled a beer out of the cooler and opened it. “I think we’ve got things covered back here, thanks.” He nodded and went back up front, thirty seconds after that we lunged down the runway and began a steep climb. I was seated with Spence at a little table and I was facing the back of the plane. I was kind of staring down at him and hanging a little from my seatbelt so as soon as the ride smoothed out I stretched out on the couch across the aisle. The Gulfstream looked like it seated about a dozen people so the four of us spread out and made ourselves comfortable. Rob picked up his suit, hung it over the back of his seat, and began to strip in the aisle.
I told him, “We just saw your strip show about an hour ago, and you were in the showers with us an hour before that—I think my Secret Service agent should be a little more...clothed. Why don’t you put on your commando suit in the bathroom?” Dave looked disappointed but Rob just shrugged and headed to the back of jet.
I dozed off for a few minutes and then Dave shook me awake and pointed at the TV. “Spence won’t let me change the channel to the news, he says he’s never seen this episode of Duck Dynasty before.” I glared at Spence and he handed over the remote, then he walked to the front of the cabin and started digging through the galley for food.
Dave flipped to FOX News where the banner read, “America’s White House Crisis—Are Liberals the Cause?” The anchor in the newsroom was interviewing a guy who looked like he was in his mid-thirties, he was standing in front of a fountain inside a mall and staring into a camera. He had an NRA cap on, a camo t shirt, tattoos wrapped around both arms, and just enough facial hair to look a little threatening.
“Gee, it looks like FOX picked a random person out of the crowd to interview.” Dave shook his head at the TV and said, “The next sentence out of his mouth will contain the words gun, America, rights and terrorism.”
I nodded.
“And all in a southern drawl that makes me sound like I’m from the Bronx.”
Dave and I fist bumped as the man said, “Well, Sean, it ain’t no secret that them democrats organize terrorism things like this on a regular basis to force unconstitutional gun laws right here in America and take away all our rights so that they can force us to be slaves to communism and what have you. No thank ya, I’ll be ready when they come to take my guns. I’ll kick some commie ass.”
Spence walked over with a bag of pretzels and opened a beer as he sat down with us. “What am I missing, here? Who’s the survivalist on the screen—he’s not making threats against your father, is he?”
I shook my head. “No, but look at that tat on his right bicep—the President’s name and my father’s right below it. I bet he’s regretting that ink a little right now.”
The banner at the top of the screen changed and Megan’s face appeared below it. “And coming up next.” the anchor sounded like he was announcing the end of civilization. “We’ll discuss this woman’s influence on the fall of the President and her connection with Hillary Clinton. We already know that Hillary Clinton is a democrat, that she has lived in the White House, is frequently seen wearing a dress, and is also related to a President. Is it a coincidence that these two women are so similar? John V. Graham will be here live to show us the eerie similarities and how the only logical conclusion is that there is a radical progressive threat to hard-working Americans and their right to bear arms. And what exactly, does the Senator’s son have to do with all of this? Patty Beckingham, noted author and evangelical motivational speaker, will be here to discuss the damning body language of all three possible players in this scandal. Does her thorough analysis mean that the picture taken of them at the convention is clear evidence of their involvement in a dangerous conspiracy, one that could be catastrophic to the federal deficit and adverse to the millions of gun owners in this country?”
Spence looked at me and grinned. “Well, we always thought you were just another dumb jock, but you and your father both banging Megan seems to indicate you three are plotting for the overthrow of the government.” He pointed at my crotch. “I always knew that thing was dangerous, but I didn’t know it had its own agenda.”
Foster's Fall (Foster's Life) Page 12