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Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato

by

MyMerryMen

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Chapter 2

"Tell me again. Why are we doing this?"

The question caused Tank to cut his eyes over to Lester and raise his eyebrow.

"Okay, okay." Lester threw up his hands in surrender and exhaled deeply. "Just checking."

He, Tank and Bobby were sitting in their Escalade in the underground garage of the Trenton Marriott and couldn't bring themselves to exit the truck. 1840 hours. They were twenty minutes early. Rats!

"Man, I can't believe this shit is really happening." Tank rubbed his pan-like hands over his bald head. "Why did she have to ask for all three of us?"

"That doesn't matter, bro. The real question is why did my cousin agree to this?" Lester shot back.

From the backseat they could hear an anguished groan and turned to see Bobby with his head back and his eyes closed practicing some deep breathing. The greenish hue to his complexion had become more intense and he was a picture of misery. Tank and Lester both grimaced and turned back.

"I'd rather be in some –stan right now. I mean I'm in a fucking relationship. If Lula gets wind of this I'm a dead man."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Lester growled. "Do you think just because I prefer variety instead of settling down that this is less hard for me? And why wasn't Lula there last night?"

"Stomach bug… or too much Cluck-in-a-bucket. Your choice."

"You shouldn't be here," Lester said after a few minutes of tense silence. "After all the Jackpot wasn't A Night With Ranger because he's in a relationship with Steph so it's not fair that you are here now. You should be home with Lula."

They listened to another tormented groan from Bobby before it was Tank's turn to exhale deeply.

"Give me that frigging list again."

Lester shoved his hand into the front pocket of his cargos, extracted a worn piece of paper and passed it over to his fellow in misery.

"Dear Bobby, Lester and Tank, or shall I say Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato?" Tank read out loud, his voice cracking slightly. "I expect you tomorrow evening in the foyer of the Marriott at seven p.m. on the dot. We will have dinner (dress in suits) and then go dancing (bring a change of clothes). Afterwards we'll return to my hotel room and it will be my pleasure to give each of you a deep-tissue massage (I'm certified). For the rest of the night I have special plans for you that will be kept secret for now. However it is necessary for you to come prepared for that part. Clothing will be optional. For your emotional well-being you can bring a pair of briefs (they should emphasize your sexiness) and shave all of your body and I mean ALL (it's going to be worth it, I promise). Equipment, illumination and body oils will be provided by me. I can't wait to get my hands on you."

"Shit," Lester breathed out and squeezed his eyes shut. "I feel like a piece of meat. And what does that mean 'clothing will be optional' and 'equipment, illumination and body oils will be provided'?"

Tank folded the piece of paper and pushed it into a pocket of his cargos. "You are not meat, bro. You are lettuce. That's salad. Besides, you are a man-whore. There isn't anything you haven't done… yet. What's the problem?"

"Funny, really funny, Tank! Or shall I say Tomato? She is at least sixty. And she had this greed in her eye. I could be her son and she was practically stripping me with her eyes last night."

"I can't do this," came a strangled moan from the backseat. "I just can't. I think I'm going to be sick."

Tank and Lester heard the car-door open and the next second Bobby bolted past them to the trashcan by the elevator. They both curled back their lips in disgust as they watched him retching, none of them feeling the need to get out and help. He was a medic after all, he knew best what he needed. When Bobby finally straightened up, he no longer looked green but pasty and slick with sweat. Not a pretty sight. Poor guy, this was really getting to him.

TBC...

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