Notes: As per usual there is no money, no fame, no fortune, and sadly no hot and cold running Merry Men.

This chapter is a little Saturday Night fun. Enjoy, on behalf of Kevan (and of course Marilyn)

05 If Handcuffs Could Talk

by Marily (Ranger Hunters) and Kevan

uploaded by Alfonsina

Strip Tease (Steph)

"So nobody had any new ideas for our next girl's night out?"

"Nope," Lula declared.

"Sorry, Steph, nothing," Connie said.

Mary Lou just shook her head.

"What are the old ideas? I mean, what do you usually do?" Kat—Katja—was the new member of our little band. Her brother works for Rangeman and she was visiting for the summer.

I knew the guys were all panting over her but there was nothing they could do about it since they had the whole 'family members are off limits' thing in effect. I was pretty sure she was seeing someone and I suspected it might be one of the guys, but we hadn't reached that level of sharing confidences yet. Well, I'd find out eventually.

"Same old, same old," I told her. "Dinner. Movie. Club. Shopping. We're tired of it all so that's the goal for lunch today—a new idea."

"Hmmm, well, back home we would go to the beach and ogle all the hot guys—"

Lula snorted. "Shit, you wanna do that go to Rangeman. Those men are hot."

I swear Kat blushed a little. Her fair, blonde coloring, made it difficult to hide, even with a tan.

"Well, we can go to the beach here," Mary Lou said before I could start interrogating Kat on the reason for that blush.

"Nope," Lula insisted. "Nuh-uh. Not in May. It's barely warm enough to be sittin' outside on this here patio."

It was a bit cool, but there was no breeze, the sun was shining, and the restaurant had just opened the new outside patio. Everyone who'd eaten there said the food was to die for.

"Okay, no ideas for now. Let's eat and see if food inspires us," I said as I picked up the menu and flipped it open.

"Ohmigod, do you see what I see?"

Huh? I drug my eyes off the menu which offered twenty-three types of hamburgers—and truffle fries—and turned around to see what had caught Mary Lou's attention.

Four black SUVs and a black panel van had parked across the street in front of the abandoned Driftwood Apartments building. Doors opened and heavily-armed men in black spilled out. All in boots, cargos, and painted on T-shirts.

Ranger. Tank. Lester. Bobby. Malware. Az. Rav. Breeze. Bones. Hector. Ranger's whole A-team and more.

Okay, so I knew someone had bought the old building and was planning on renovating it—which was good because it was an eyesore—and I remembered Ranger saying something about the new owner hiring RangeMan to clear out the squatters who'd taken up residence, but I didn't realize that job was today.

The guys usually worked in pairs. For Ranger to bring all his top guys, they must really be expecting trouble. Who was in there? The reincarnation of Charles Mason? Or just a lot of squatters so they'd need the extra manpower to control them? If that was the case, bringing the top guys seemed like overkill.

And early afternoon—what was up with that? Ranger preferred to do 'renovation jobs' just before dawn when the people being evicted would be asleep, drunk, high, or passed out. Basically, when they were least expecting it and most vulnerable.

"Oh, that man is looking fine!" Lula was fanning herself with a menu.

"Which one?" Mary Lou wanted to know.

"Pick one," Kat said. "Just not Mal," she added quickly. Malware—Mal—was Katja's brother. Stands to reason she wouldn't see him as seriously hot, even though he was.

No shit, pick one. Throw a dart. Draw a number. Any of them were fine eye candy. Of course, I was sleeping with Ranger and therefore biased, but still, a woman can look, can't she? And drool. And have seriously carnal fantasies. And develop wet panties. Appreciative drooling and wet panties are allowed.

I looked, and appreciated the view, until the guys split up and all of them disappeared into the building except Bones and Hector who stayed with the vehicles. The Driftwood was four stories. I hoped Tank wasn't going to throw anyone out a window today. I didn't see a fire escape on this side of the building.

"Damn," Connie looked flushed. Probably a hormone tsunami over seeing all the guys together. Alone or in pairs, they induced wet panties. En masse, women should not be held responsible for their reactions—like dragging them to the ground and ripping those body-hugging black clothes off.

We weren't the only ones appreciating the view. Most of the women on the patio were staring and quite a few were fanning themselves. So were the waitresses—and a couple of the waiters.

When the guys disappeared into the building, there was a collective sigh of disappointment.

Well, they'd be coming back out. It just might take a while. In the meantime, might as well eat. There was a hamburger and fries with my name on them.

Xoxoxox

I had turned my chair so that I could see the Driftwood from the corner of my eye—I wasn't the only woman in the place who did—and was halfway thru my hamburger when the scream of a fire alarm split the air.

We all jumped.

Connie nearly choked on her tea and Kat swallowed a bite of tuna wrong and grabbed for her water.

I held onto my hamburger, but it was a close thing. Hey, food is a priority, and this was in the running for the best hamburger I'd ever tasted.

The alarm was coming from the Driftwood. Was there a fire? Were the guys okay? I put down my hamburger and was just about to cross the street and find out when people started emerging from the front entrance.

They were all soaked, with their hands cuffed behind them. Water dripped off them. They stumbled and shuffled, prodded onward by Ranger's men who were equally soaked and dripping. The squatters looked miserable, weary, and defeated, like a bunch of half-drowned rats. The guys looked pissed. And rather than looking like half-drowned rats, they looked like a pack of wolves that had been unwillingly dunked in a river and were out for revenge.

There was no panic, no mad rush to get away from the building. No one grabbed the fire extinguishers that I knew were in all RangeMan vehicles, and I didn't see any smoke or flames. I was betting one of the squatters pulled the fire alarm when the guys charged in, hoping to distract them, and it set off a sprinkler system.

The guys unceremoniously herded the squatters toward the panel van and shoved them inside. I winced. There were going to be lots of bumps, cuts, and bruises tomorrow. The guys were seriously pissed. One man fell four times, face down in the dirt with no way to break his fall, with a little help from Az each time. Then when Az shoved him toward Bones who was at the van door, the man somehow managed to hit his head, both arms, and both shins on the doorframe before landing inside. Huh, want to bet that's the asshole who set off the alarm?

I was a little worried about the alarm, though. The police and firemen would be here soon, and I didn't know if that was going to be a good thing or not. I've never been totally sure about the legality of Ranger's 'renovation jobs' and didn't figure this was a good time to find out.

Bones slammed the van door, then he and Hector climbed in the front seats and took off. Scratch that worry. Guess they drew the short straw and had to relocate the vermin.

Ranger did the hand-twirl with a finger pointing up and, without any of them having said a word, the remaining guys disappeared back into the building. Huh. Definitely no fire, then. Even they weren't crazy enough to go back into a burning building—okay, so they are crazy enough, just not without a damn good reason and I didn't think evicting a bunch of squatters would be good enough. They were wearing their normal gear, which basically meant that any one of them could defeat a small third-world country's army without help, but they were not carrying any boxes, bags, or other kind of clean-up gear, plus the building was too big for them to rip out everything not nailed down as they usually did on these jobs. They were way over-gunned and way under-janitored, so I was guessing they hadn't finished clearing the building or there was something they needed to revisit.

I went back to my hamburger. Yep, still delicious. I could hear sirens not too far off, coming closer. It sounded as if the boys in blue and red were going to be joining the guys in black soon. Between the alarm and the sirens, conversation was impossible. I was working on my fries, while keeping an eye peeled to see when they came back out. Men-in-black are sexy anytime but when their clothes are wet and plastered to their bodies… Let's just say I wasn't the only one who'd appreciated the view and was watching for their return. I was reaching for the last fry—hey, clean plate club—when there was a muffled whump! from deep within the building, audible even over the still shrieking alarm and approaching sirens.

Everyone froze. And all eyes—those that weren't already trained across the street—snapped to the Driftwood. There were no more explosions. No smoke. No fire. No windows blew out. I was busy making deals with any deities listening that the guys were okay and the building didn't collapse. It seemed like a year but couldn't have been more than a minute when two black-clad men exited the front entry. Ranger and Tank. They looked to be in one piece. They were moving fine and I didn't see any obvious blood but with black clothes how can you tell? There was a gap of maybe thirty seconds, during which time three fire trucks and a police cruiser pulled up, and my anxiety spiked until the other guys erupted through the door—and I mean erupted.

All six of them were running flat out when they hit the doors, burst through, and leaped down the steps leading up to it. Az, Rav, Lester, Mal, Bobby, and Breeze all running from something? I was expecting the hounds of hell, a tyrannosaurus rex, Godzilla, a balrog, or all of them to come through the door next. I mean, these guys do not run from things. They are the reason other people run away, usually while pissing themselves. I was looking at the empty doorway, waiting to see the cause of the commotion so it took me a few seconds to realize what was going on.

All six of them had stripped off their vests and utility belts and hurled them to the ground. As I watched, my eyes widening in disbelief, their T-shirts followed the vests and belts. Frantically, they were yanking boot laces free, tugging off boots, and reaching for the waist of their cargos.

Connie yelped and whipped out her phone.

Hey, the guys are serious eye-candy. If Connie wanted to record a visual for future reference, how could I blame her?

But what the heck was going on? Why were the guys stripping off their clothes as fast as possible and why weren't Tank and Ranger? And why wasn't I recording this? Women all over the world paid good money to see guys built like this strip—and this was free.

I grabbed my phone and opened the camera app in two seconds flat. Hey, I was sleeping with Ranger but this was a serious opportunity not to be missed by any woman with hormones.

The guys were down to underwear—well, Lester, Bobby, Mal, and Az were down their last layer while Rav and Breeze were commando—then those last bits of clothing were gone and all six were naked, and gorgeous, and…

All of them were rubbing and scratching at their arms, legs, torso, ass, pretty much everywhere. What the hell?

I saw Ranger talking to a man who seemed to be in charge of the firemen. He wore a white dress shirt and had arrived in his own red car with flashing light. He nodded, gestured toward the firemen, who were suiting up in full gear including face masks and air tanks. One of them stopped and yelled something to another fire guy who was busily turning dials and valves on the side of the fire engine. The latter adjusted a few valves, pulled a hose off the truck, turned toward the six naked formerly-men-in-black, and let them have it.

Oh, sweet nipple clamps! I'd thought it couldn't get any better. It did. The sun turned the giant spray of water to diamonds as the fireman moved it around, playing it over all the guys who were eagerly sluicing their bodies down, hands running over every toned, sculpted muscle, drawing attention to one body part after another. The guys were definitely not body-shy, I thought as Breeze rubbed his groin. That's when I learned he was into genital piercing; he had a PA and a Jacob's Ladder! Omigod. That is not something you see every day…uhm, every year. Whatever. Az and Rav were washing—wiping?—each other down, hands running over the other's body. Didn't look like the first time they'd done that. I had a momentary flash of Az and Rav in bed doing wickedly carnal things to each other. Down girl! And Lester… Crap on toast! He was hung like a stallion. Now that I saw what had been locked up and hidden from view by that chastity belt, I was amazed it had been able to contain it all. Bobby gleamed like a chocolate sculpture and Mal looked like he'd just come out of the surf, maybe after a wipeout on a surfboard.

Through the sheeting water, I saw firemen enter the building, but guys in full turnout gear didn't stand a chance of holding my interest over naked RangeMen.

What a visual feast of male perfection. I was hyperventilating and squirming in my chair. From the pants and moans, I could tell Connie, Mary Lou, Kat, and Lula were in the same state, but I couldn't tear my eyes from the spectacle.

I heard several glasses break as the women holding them dropped them, and so many indrawn breaths I was surprised there wasn't a breeze. No way was I taking my eyes off what was happening.

"Damn skippy! This is way better than that lame ass Chippendales," Lula declared loudly.

I nodded, unable to form words. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Connie nodding too. I assume Mary Lou and Kat were nodding also. Hell, every woman in the place was probably nodding. When you're right, you're right, and Lula was right. This was way better than any male revue I'd seen or even heard of.

Tank and Ranger—sans vests and utility belts—joined in, tossing towels to the naked guys and helping wipe them down. Crap! Whatever they had gotten into must be bad, but at that moment I was thanking the sex gods they'd gotten into it. Tank and Ranger weren't naked but they might as well be because, thoroughly soaked, their T-shirts and cargo pants plastered to their bodies left little to the imagination.

The fireman turned the hose off and our six strippers stood there a moment, dripping, water glistening on their luscious bodies. Yep, these panties are a goner. Rav and Az bent over, wringing water from their long braids while Lester and Mal just shook their heads, sending water flying. Breeze was sluicing down his body. Bobby gave an all over body shake, like a dog after a swim. I heard moans and whimpers from all around me. Hey, I think I contributed a few myself.

Three black—what else?—duffle bags, retrieved from the SUVs by Ranger, flew through the air and landed on the wet ground. Az opened one, pulled out a dry T-shirt and cargos and started dressing. I wanted to scream in protest. Breeze, Mal, Bobby, and Lester followed suit.

Rav, still naked, started waving his hands and yelling—although we couldn't make out the words—and gesturing toward the building. Damn! Okay, I know he's half-Italian but that gesture even Joe Morelli's Grandma Bella won't use and the next one was so eloquent it had an Italian accent.

And then, as I was staring at Rav's naked, sculpted body, it hit me. The perfect idea for girl's night out.

x0x0x0x0x0x

The impromptu male strip show ended pretty quickly, with the guys putting on dry clothes and throwing their wet ones, along with their gear, in the back of one of the SUVs. They still looked, if not pissed, at least highly irritated.

The guys split up and drove off in the SUVs, Ranger and Tank in the last one to depart, after Ranger had talked further with the fire chief and also had a brief consultation with Carl and Big Dog who had responded. Good thing it wasn't 'Picky' Gaspick. He'd have probably tried to arrest the guys for indecent exposure and then they'd have been forced to draw lots to see who killed him. Saying the guys were not having a good day and were pissed is sort of like saying an aircraft carrier is just a boat or the Concorde is just a plane. Serious understatement. I pitied anyone who ran afoul of them the rest of the day.

"Damn that really big guy is built. He can eat crackers in my bed any day," I heard some woman behind me say.

Really big guy. All the guys are big and muscular so to stand out in that crew she had to be talking about Tank.

Lula jumped up and spun around, fists on her hips. "That fine man be mine! Don't be thinkin' you gonna get your hands on his fine self!"

Uh-oh, Lula was in rhino mode. I hoped the woman would have the sense to keep quiet. Not knowing who made the comment, I scanned the patio. There were a lot of cell phones in hands. Huh. Looked like there was going to be lots of video of that strip show. I made a mental list of how many of the women I knew; I was going to need that video.

xxx

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. All reviews are forwarded to Kevan and she very much appreciates your support and encouragement!