He hadn't fought before now. They had guns, he was unarmed (not that he wanted a gun); they were three muscled bodyguards, no, goons, to his nonviolent, good-looking, one. The suspect, Antoine Callaway, had somehow trapped Peter in his house, and then surprised Neal as he was getting out of the car. There hadn't been much conversation beyond the usual gruff commands as they ignored his attempts at conversation. Removing the anklet hadn't been very pleasant, either. But now, they were going too far.
Neal was panting; his body sprawled on the ground, aching from the punches the goons had landed. Callaway, amused at the show of resistance, was smiling as he approached Neal, who hadn't yet gotten up.
"How funny, you won't fight for your freedom, but you will for your hair. I'll admit, I will miss it just a little bit. Being able to yank you around by it, but the payoff is more than worth it." He was running his fingers through Neal's hair as he spoke, punctuating his point with a strong tug. Neal kept silent and still, glaring. He knew he couldn't win this one. He'd find other opportunities.
They took him to a small barber shop. Apparently, the owner owed Callaway. He was a young, nervous man that didn't engender Neal's confidence, and he didn't think he would be able to do much to charm him into calling Mozzie or the FBI in the space of a haircut.
The sudden buzz of the electric razor made him flinch. He managed to keep it small, but he couldn't keep himself from making that tiny movement. He hated Callaway so much more for that.
The barber went slowly, the pressure steady and sure against Neal's scalp. He shivered as his hair fell away, stray locks brushing his face and neck, sliding down the bib all barbers and hairdressers used. He hated the itchy feeling as single hairs stuck to his sensitive skin. The brush the barber used to clean him wasn't much better, and didn't work very well. He wished he could use his hands to scratch, but Callaway's goons had shackled him to the chair, and there wasn't a lock-pick handy.
His hair was one of the few vanities he indulged. It had always been amenable to his wishes, and he had loved it well in return. Callaway might not know all the details, but he knew that taking away something so integral to his appearance, his identity, would put him off balance. Neal was determined that the ploy wouldn't succeed.
He examined the result in the mirror, "Classy," It wasn't really, horrifying and army-like were the words that came to mind, but he didn't have to show it.
"I'm glad you like it, Neal. We'll be helping you create a personality to match."