Fish & Chips (Cut & Run 3)

The man sitting at the table was handsome, probably about Ty"s height and build, just a little slimmer. He had short, spiky hair bleached an unnatural platinum blond that contrasted oddly with his dark tan. He wore a sleeveless vest that tied with a simple cord of leather at the crest of his ripped chest, and his entire upper body was well-muscled and toned. He was also clean-shaven and completely devoid of body hair.

He looked to Ty like he should be standing under a waterfall in a g*y  p**n o.

Zane paused in place, eyes a little wide, looking from Del to Ty to Del and back.

Ty blinked rapidly at the guy. “I"m supposed to be… him?” he finally asked in a stricken voice.

“Good thing you"re a hell of an actor,” Zane murmured as he continued comparing them.

Ty glared at him briefly and looked back at the man behind the glass. “I"ll never pull this off,” he said to the other men in the room.

Zane tipped his head to one side, openly appraising Ty"s body. “I don"t know,” he said distractedly. Ty looked back at him hatefully, feeling himself blushing under the scrutiny.

“He"s not what I"d call stupid. But he sure as hell isn"t the brightest bulb in the pack,” McCoy informed them. “He knows just enough to keep his mouth shut. But that and the fact that he"s pretty and got himself a rich husband are about all he"s got going for him.”

“Holy f**k, man,” Ty finally muttered. “I"m gonna be this dude for how long?”

“Relax, Grady. You have the easy end of this,” McCoy assured him. “Garrett"s guy is the real brains here, and no one who"s familiar with them will expect you to do anything but lay in the sun and work on your tan. Garrett? In the field, you"re the lead on this one. You"re calling the shots. Grady is just there as scenery and backup.”

Zane snorted as Ty turned to look at McCoy in outrage. Backup?

They were partners; there was no lead and backup!

“Ty, we"ve booked you an appointment at some spa with a name I can"t pronounce,” McCoy went on as he handed Ty a slip of paper.

Ty reached out woodenly and took the certificate. “I"ll get on board with the hair color,” he bargained pleadingly. “You"re seriously gonna make me wax my chest?”

“You see that guy in there?” McCoy countered with a point of his finger at the man in the interrogation room.

Ty swallowed hard. He had done a lot of things he wasn"t proud of in order to assume identities that weren"t his. He"d changed his appearance, changed his behavior, treated decent people horribly to make an impression on a scumbag, prepared crack cocaine for others to smoke, taken lives, and any number of other things he didn"t care to remember. He knew how important a part the smallest thing could play when trying to convince a stranger that you were someone they thought they already knew. He looked down at the silver ring on his finger and back up at the man behind the glass with a heavy sigh.

“There"s a good man,” McCoy said with a pat to Ty"s shoulder.

Ty glanced at Zane as he felt himself blushing slowly. Though Zane"s face was composed, Ty could see the laughter in his eyes.

“I don"t know how they"ll get rid of the tattoo, but they"ve assured me they can,” McCoy added with another pat to Ty"s shoulder.

“What?” Ty cried as he looked at McCoy in outrage.

McCoy just smiled at him. “This guy was obviously never a Marine,” he reasoned. “Now, Grady, you get going,” he ordered before Ty could have a meltdown. “You"re getting the works, so you"ll probably be there all f**king day. Garrett, come with me,” McCoy said as he gestured for Zane to follow him. “I"ll introduce you to yourself,”

he said wryly as they headed out the door.

Ty felt the sudden urge to beg Zane not to leave him there. He could feel the raised writing on the slip of thick, cream-colored paper in his hand. He looked down at it, thinking of all the procedures the makeover would entail. Salon Láurie… waxing, tanning, bleaching, manicures, lotions, scented mud….

Del Porter said something suddenly, complaining about being left in the room for so long. Ty turned to look at him in shock. He pointed his finger in outrage and turned to the other agent in the room. “He"s British?” Ty cried.

Special Agent Lassiter, who"d been standing there silently the whole time, covered his mouth with his hand and merely nodded in answer, unable to keep from laughing any longer.

“DO YOU realize what kind of shitfit Grady"s going to have over this when this is all done?” Zane asked McCoy as they walked down the nondescript hallway of holding and interrogation rooms.

“Oh, I"m looking forward to it,” McCoy said with relish. “I want pictures, Garrett. They"ll be great for the newsletter.”

Zane rolled his eyes. “I hope your insurance is up to date,” he said as they stopped at another door. “Grady doesn"t forget people who f**k around with him.”

“He gives as good as he gets,” McCoy said good-naturedly as he opened a door. Zane grunted and walked in.

The man on the other side of the two-way glass was as different from Del Porter as night was from day. And McCoy was right. Zane did have a general resemblance in height, build, and coloring. But Corbin Porter was definitely high-class. Or he thought he was: finely cut hair slicked back, a ruby stud in one ear, an expensive designer suit with a high-collared shirt rather than a tie, custom cuff links, manicured hands, and Italian leather on his feet. He held himself like a man accustomed to receiving respect, or possibly groveling.

“I didn"t say anything to Grady because I didn"t want to mitigate his horror. You"re going for a haircut and manicure too,” McCoy said with a twist to his lips.

Zane nodded distractedly as he studied Corbin Porter. The man was… arrogant. That was the word Zane was looking for. Arrogant.

And possibly vain as well, but only to the point of knowing he was a fine-looking man.

He was also confident and controlled. He had propped one ankle over the opposite knee as he sat casually at the table, one forearm resting on the edge. He wasn"t fidgeting or twitching. He was simply waiting. What gave him away was the anger sparking in his eyes and the tightness around his mouth.

“Do you want to talk to him?” McCoy asked Zane.

Zane slowly shook his head. “I"ve met his type before.”

“He"s hardly a drug runner or a computer hacker,” McCoy pointed out.