“Fresh meat,” Eric read the sign with a chuckle as he pulled his light blue uniform shirt on over his white tee shirt. “I guess you must be Greg.”
The man nodded frantically as Eric looked over the boys’ recent work. They had Greg strapped to a long board in nothing but his boxers. Greg’s mouth was taped shut with a piece of two inch white medical tape. Someone, probably Johnson, drew a big happy face on the man’s stomach. To top it off they leaned Greg against the chain link fence with the sign tapped across his h*ps for the entire world to see.
Eric put his bag down on the sidewalk and worked on tidying his uniform. “The name’s Eric. I’m really sorry about this, Greg. I meant to get here sooner, but I got a little held up.”
Greg tried to shrug against his restraints.
“I gotta tell you that I’m a little embarrassed to work with these guys.” He gestured to Greg’s predicament. Greg nodded slightly. “So juvenile.” He shook his head in disgust and bent down in front of Greg. Greg tried to look down to see what Eric was doing, probably hoping that he was getting a pair of scissors to cut him down.
Eric stood up with an aerosol can in his hand, absently shaking it. “I tell the boys if they’re going to do something, do it right the first time. We take a lot of pride in our work around here, but this,” he gestured lazily towards Greg, “has amateur written all over it. I’m sorry, Greg, but I have a reputation to protect.” With that Eric sprayed green spray-paint on Greg’s brown hair.
After a few minutes Eric stepped back to examine his work. “Hmm, better, but not quite what I’m looking for.” He shook his head and bent down to retrieve something else from the bag. This time he stood up holding a red marker.
View more books of R.L. Mathewson