CHAPTER 8

"Wolfwood, do you see any Beard Bandits?"

The man in question snorted. "For the millionth time, Spikey, no, I do not see them."

Vash had been bent on capturing the "Beard Bandits" that had supposedly absconded with half of his facial hair. In reality, they were just a story Millie had created to spare Wolfwood from the outlaw's wrath. The priest began to wonder if Vash's revenge would have been more tolerable than the current situation he found himself in.

The blond gunman peered over his shoulder at his "roomie." "Hey, you're not even looking. How do you know that they're not out there, plotting to remove some other innocent's beard, huh?"

Vash had flat-out refused to shave off the rest of his facial fuzz, stubbornly holding on to the remnants of his beloved beard. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

"I don't know, Spikey. I'm freaking starving," Wolfwood responded grouchily. He rummaged through what little they had for food purposes, which merely consisted of a half-full box of doughnuts and a jar of peanut butter. Aw, great, the clergyman thought. He made a mental note that he should go grocery shopping soon.

Wolfwood slumped in a chair at the table, deciding he'd rather eat peanut butter straight from the jar instead of another God-forsaken doughnut, and flipped through the day's paper. He and Vash had made the headlines: CRAZY PERSON FORCES MAN TO JUMP FROM SAND-STEAMER, MIRACULOUSLY SURVIVES FALL. Thank goodness the gunman hadn't been wearing his red coat or had his hair spiked—that would've been disastrous if the citizens of Corning saw that Vash the Stampede was making people jump off of sand-steamers.

Before long, the priest had polished off the peanut butter, read the entire newspaper as well as completed the daily crossword, showered, and was just about ready to call it a night. Conversely, Vash had stayed at the window since the suns had set. It was close to eleven o'clock now.

"Good night, Spikey," Wolfwood said as he settled down in to his bed.

Vash was suddenly standing above him with his hands on his hips.

"You're not sleeping tonight, Wolfwood."

The clergyman stared at his roommate, confused. "Why?"

"You're helping me watch for the Beard Bandits," the outlaw explained, pulling the priest out of bed and depositing him in front of the window.

"No, I'm going to sleep," Wolfwood protested, heading back to his bed.

Vash's hands tightened on Wolfwood's shoulders. "No one in this room is sleeping until we catch the Beard Bandits." The look in the outlaw's eyes frightened Wolfwood; it could only be described as insanity. "Not. One. Wink."

Vash's craze with catching the imaginary Beard Bandits was revealed to the girls when they encountered a zombie-like Wolfwood, who relayed that his roommate hadn't allowed him to sleep for three days now due to a futile watch for the non-existent thieves. Pity was taken upon the poor priest, and he now was fast asleep in the insurance agents' hotel room.

"Gee, I didn't think that Mr. Vash would take the story so seriously," Millie said.

Meryl rubbed her temples. "He's taking this whole beard thing way too far," she sighed. "We have to find some way to get rid of it as soon as possible. Who knows what in the world he'll do next…"

The shorter insurance agent had nearly exploded when she'd read the newspaper a few days ago about the scene Vash had made. Now a sleep-deprived Wolfwood was passed out in her hotel room. Meryl didn't even want to think of what kind of situation Vash's beard-related antics would land them in next. She had a feeling that it would involve writing reports. Lots and lots of them.

All of a sudden, a brilliant plan dawned upon her.

"I've got it!" Meryl exclaimed a bit louder than she'd anticipated.

Both girls quickly glanced over at Wolfwood. He hadn't woken up, thank goodness.

"I think we can use Vash's obsession with the Beard Bandits to finally get rid of the rest of that beard," Meryl explained, quieter. "Here's my idea…"

Millie listened and nodded in agreement. "Yes, that should work."

Meryl grinned. This plan was foolproof, or at least Vashproof. And if all went well, she would no longer have to look at Vash's beard and his face would be the way it should be…

Wait—why should I care what Vash looks like? Meryl thought as she caught herself thinking about how nice it would be to see the blond-haired liability's face clean-shaven again. Ah, why did I have to start liking him like that? she despaired inwardly.

With some effort, Meryl brought her mind back to the task at hand. As soon as Wolfwood was fully rested, the final strike against the Humanoid Typhoon's beard would begin.

Oh, it was going to be good.