I was still struggling to find a nickname for Mark. In bed, I called him my big stallion. But you couldn't call someone that in public. So I just called him Mark.Inside the restaurant you wouldn't know its part of a shitty warehouse. Rice paper walls and dark wood made it seem like a traditional Japanese house. The art on the walls were reproduction Japanese woodcarvings and watercolor painting. Simple, austere pieces of birds, flowers, waterfalls, or Mt. Fuji with a Haiku written in Japanese characters down the side. The waitresses were dressed in simple kimonos, black, with red flowers and cinched with red, wide sashes tied in elaborate bows at the small of the back.The waitress led us to a circular table with a black, flat grill in the center. Another couple was already sitting there; a boorish man, short and round, his black hair greased back and dressed in an ill fitting, gray suit and red silk shirt without a tie. His date was a very attractive woman, porcelain face surrounded. A couple of the guys had shocked looks on their faces. “Well, yeah, I mean, the Colonel knew about them months ago but decided against removing them from anywhere near our secret laboratory. The Colonel and the Sergeant were getting ready to try and paint them with a wide brush and get them scooped up into all of this and maybe even pin the breaking into the lab and the escape of the prisoner all on that family and head of security for the facility.”A couple of the guys nodded along with Dr. Lipscomb’s explanation of the machinations behind the scenes. “That m-m-m-ight of worked,” Cpl. Smith mentioned with admiration.Dr. Lipscomb agreed, “Yeah, but the good Colonel let it drop when his new orders came in, and his hands were cleaned of everything. I mean, that sort of thing was not his forte. It’s like sending a bunch of guys from the motor pool to go rebuild a small schoolhouse of some backwater village in west Africa. They could get it done, but it ain’t gonna be the best-built.
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