Eew!
Eew.
Eew.
Eew.
Rex Monoso, now all alone inside Morelli's bathroom and breathing through his mouth, tries hard not to gag as he smells—or rather feels—the combined odor of stale beer, cheese, garlic and soured human oil and sweat seeping out through every pores on his skin. He has survived undressing this yikes oh so yikes body by thinking happy thoughts and keeping his eyes and fingers carefully away from all those dark tangled yucky bodyhairs. But now he wonders if he will ever have enough courage to reach for Morelli's cheap artificial musk-scented shower gel.
Rex has always been a practical hamster. Life, as far as he's concerned, is but a bigger hamster wheel. He seldom wastes his time asking stupid questions such as "What have I done to deserve this?" or "Why me?". He, like Ranger, just concentrates on the future ahead—after spending a reasonable amount of time panicking and hyperventilating like Stephanie always does, of course—and keeps moving forward. And there's no way he's going to let a stupid bottle of suspiciously pink gooey liquid block his path to become a badass attack hamster/Trenton police detective. So he throws all his worries and fears behind and bravely takes hold of the half-empty bottle, and jumps and screams when suddenly the shower curtain is pulled all the way open by a familiar lean weasel-like man.
Time stops dead and freezes with a confused frown as the two Italian men, one completely and totally naked while the other still panting from his run, stare at each other in awkward uncomfortable silence.
What the Hell is Vincent Plum doing here in Joe Morelli bathroom at this unholy hour of the night in nothing but a silky red velvet sleeping robe?