Let Sleeping Tank's lie – A Cautionary Tale

Chapter 2

Lester rubbed his hands over his face, and sighed. They really had done it this time, that was for sure. In the past, the crates had held something useful, but not on this occasion. Zero was freaking out, and even Bobby seemed a little concerned at their prospects of success on this little adventure.

In a nut shell, they were still naked and had little to use to get them back home. Those fucking tiaras were causing problems too. Thankfully his had only been woven into his long, light brown hair, and after a lot of cursing, it had come free. Bobby's had been embedded in his corn rows and the only way to remove it was to undo the tight braids, leaving Mr. Brown with a 4 inch afro. But Zero – damn that was harsh! The offending piece of metal had been super glued to his scalp. Nothing short of sticking his head in a bucket of warm water for an hour would shift it. Nail polish would have it off in a shot, but Ranger and Tank had not been kind enough to leave them with any of that. What also concerned Lester was that he was 99 percent sure that the accursed thing held a tracking devise. He and Bobby had learnt the hard way the first time they were abandoned in some hell hole, that it was imperative to lose the tracking devise at the earliest possible opportunity, otherwise they'd meet with a lot of Rangeman sponsored surprises along the way back home.

They had no money, no weapons and no clothes. The plane had started to fly over an unidentified land mass about 20 minutes ago as well, making Lester nervous. They had to get their shit together as this ride could be about to end at any minute. The usual SOP for a plane of this size was a twenty minute descent, and as far as he could tell, it was still maintaining altitude for the moment. Thank the gods for small mercies, he thought.

Bobby rubbed his chin again. By his calculations - based upon the last time he shaved, they must have been drugged while sleeping last night. The sun was high in the sky – nearing its zenith, and his stubble told him it was about 8 AM Trenton time – which meant that they must be heading for somewhere in Africa. Les was still sporting his goatee beard, which told Bobby that no one had shaved him while he was out if it, so his time-by-stubble-length theory should hold true right now. It looked like they still had a couple of tricks that Ranger and Tank didn't know about, but it was a cold comfort right now. It didn't matter where they were dumped; they still had to survive with nothing.

Those damn crates held a shipment of condoms, a load of children's toys – including some super soaker water pistols, and a box of pneumatic drills. Something nagged at the back of Bobby's brain – this shipment seemed familiar. He voiced his concerns to Lester.

Les chewed on his lower lip for a minute, his brow creased in concentration. "That film," he said, "You know – the one with thingy out of whatsit, and that bar and that famous director bloke."

Oh joy, Bobby thought. Twenty questions time with Lester. "No, can't say I do. You'll have to try harder than that, bro."

"That hot chick with the snake, and the dead things, and that cool tattoo at the end – It's on the tip of my tongue."

"From Dusk 'Til Dawn?" Zero piped up.

"That's the one!" Lester exclaimed. "Salma Hyeck – damn, she's a hottie."

The three men studied the crates again. Fuck! Some evil bastard had indeed watched that movie recently and decided to replicate the contents of the crates of stolen merchandize at the bar in the film.

"Do you think they have vampires in Africa?" Zero quizzed.

"No," Lester growled. "This is just the boss' idea of a sick joke."

"Didn't they have a cross bow in that film?" Bobby asked.

"Well they did," Zero stated, "But I haven't seen one yet. Maybe we need to look again."

Lester looked over the crates again, and then tipped the one full of condoms over. Thousands of little packets spilled to the dirty floor, but the crate contained nothing else. "Why do I get the feeling that they're making it really hard for us this time?" he mused. He righted the crate and something tripped his highly tuned bullshit detector. "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed, "It's got a false bottom."

Five minutes of swearing and cursing later, and the hidden contents lay exposed at their feet.

"Please tell me this is some sort of bad dream," Zero screeched.

"They are going to pay," Bobby growled.

The Hercules cargo plane banked left and began its slow decent towards a formidable looking desert. "Let's saddle up gentlemen, we need to be ready to roll," Lester said with a sigh.

The three men smeared on the supplied sun block, fastened the hot pink sarongs about their lean hips and jammed their feet into the bright pink, plastic flip flops.

"Just shoot me now," Zero muttered as he jammed the Glock in the waist band of his ankle length sarong. "I don't think I can live with myself if anyone ever found out about this."

"Suck it up, man," Lester snapped as he split the rest of the items between the three pink and yellow, daisy print beach bags. They had two spare clips for their guns, enough water for two days, malaria tablets, water purification tablets, a Swiss Army knife and food for one day each. The final insult was the neon pink straw hats to keep the sun off them in the hottest part of the day.

"Plan?" Bobby questioned.

"Find civilization, get to a phone and call in the cavalry to come pick us up. We can spend 10 days somewhere warm and then make our way back to Trenton. But we need to lose that fucking tiara first, or we're in for hell on earth and we might have to actually do some work for a change."

Zero looked confused. "Care to explain?"

"Sure," Lester said with a shrug. "Got a mate with a plane. We ditch the tracker, call up my contact and get a lift out of where ever to somewhere little more civilized for a holiday, and then fly back into Trenton on fake passports. Then we go back to the offices, cursing and swearing and spitting mad. The beach holiday gives us an ample amount of time to dream up some horrendous tale of our journey through hell and back. Ric hasn't a clue. He thinks we slog our way across hostile territory and live off roots and berries for three weeks, when in fact we spend quality time on the beach, chilling out and chasing women. Why do you think we pull all that shit at work? It's the only change we get for some decent time off,"

Zero slumped against the wall. "You two are certifiable!"

"Nah, we're just opportunists," Bobby said with a grin.

A/N: Can they remove the tiara from Zero's head? Will they find a phone? And do Rangemen look good in pink? Stay tuned to find out.