Back in Mountie headquarters, Striker and Casey’s father were deep in conversation. Casey sat in an armchair in a corner, his arms dangling, his head thrown back against the cushioned chair top.
What a day! Images of the whirlwind hours passed before his closed eyes. Terrible moments like when he thought he couldn’t escape; chilling moments like when he thought Mandy had been kidnapped; numbing moments like when he heard shots and saw bullet holes in the airplane’s wing.
Mandy! he thought, hoping she was all right. That dirty gag couldn’t have been good for her throat, and the way they tied the cords round her wrists? If I hadn’t got to her when I did, the circulation would have been totally cut off. What a miserable pair of crooks!
“Casey, wake up! Casey!”
Casey opened his eyes. Striker was standing over him, his father a few feet away.
“How’s Mandy?” Casey asked.
“Really pretty well, considering,” said his dad. “The ambulance did take her to the hospital, but the doctors there released her after they’d examined her throat.”
Casey sighed with relief, sat up, and stretched. “Gosh, I’m glad about that,” he said.
“Duty calls now, Casey,” said his father.
“What the heck is that, Dad?” asked Casey, looking at a black garment his father was holding up. A black, woman’s garment. “You’re kidding,” he said. “I have to wear that?”
“You do,” said his dad. “Those two men know you, Casey. One tied you up. They’ll spot you in a minute.”
“The company catering the party at the Tyrrell loaned us the smallest waitress’s uniform they had. Try it on.”
Casey pulled the uniform over his T-shirt and pants.
“Fits not too bad,” the staff sergeant said. “Now try these.” He handed Casey a pair of low-heeled black flats.
Casey untied his sneakers and pulled them off. He tried forcing his heavy tube socks into the shoes.
“They’ll fit if you wear these.” Striker handed Casey a square plastic package.
“Tights?” said Casey. “I have to wear girls’ tights?”
“I’ll show you where you can shower and change,” the staff sergeant said.
The shower felt good. Trying to get the slippery black nylon uniform over his partly dried body didn’t. It kept sticking to the damp parts. Casey put on his shorts, tore open the package of tights and held them up.
“How the heck?” he said out loud.
He tried putting the tights on standing up.
“It can’t be done,” he said. “How do girls ever do it? I swear it can’t be done.”
Casey spread his damp towel on the floor of the shower room and lay down on it. He got the left leg on okay. When he’d got the right leg pulled on, he found he twisted the tights somehow and he couldn’t stand up. He took the right leg off, twisted it around, pulled it over his foot, and up his leg.
”All right,” he said. Standing up, he found he had about eight inches of extra tights at the top to deal with. He folded the elastic over and down. His feet slid easily into the shoes. He gathered up his T-shirt, pants, and socks and went back to the staff room.
“You look fine.” Casey’s dad was trying not to laugh. “You’ll look even better with this.”
He centred a blonde wig on Casey’s head.
“And you’ll look even better with these.” The staff sergeant fixed a white cap on Casey’s wig and tied a tailored white apron around his waist.
“He still looks too much like Casey,” said the chief superintendent.
“How about I wear a pair of glasses?” Casey suggested. He was getting into the situation, realizing how heavy his responsibility was going to be.
“Wait a sec.” The staff sergeant walked over to a tall filing cabinet and opened the bottom drawer. “Lost and Found,” he said, taking out three pair of glasses and handing a gold-rimmed pair to Casey.
“Way too much distortion,” said Casey, “I can hardly see anything.”
“Try these,” Striker said. Casey took a pair of rimless glasses from him.
“Yikes. These are worse.”
Casey put on the last pair: big ones with blue plastic rims and little rhinestone butterflies at the top corners.
“They’re okay,” he said. “What do you think?”
His father and the staff sergeant both nodded.
“Go take a look at yourself,” said his dad.
In the shower-room mirror, Casey was surprised to see a shortish, blonde, very nice-looking waitress with fancy blue-rimmed glasses.
“I need lipstick,” he said, coming back into the staff room.
“Right.” Striker crossed again to the lost and found drawer. He and Casey’s dad opened half a dozen lipstick tubes.
“Blondes like you should wear pink,” said his dad.
“Yes, they should,” Striker agreed. “Come here. I’ll put it on for you.”
“Now you’re really ready.” His father nodded, satisfied. “Go take a quick look.”
“Now I’m really ready,” Casey agreed, smiling into the mirror.