Undercover Cops: Mission Accomplished by Manny

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The auditorium was packed. Every seat was filled with uniformed officers, prosecutors, federal agents, family members, and dignitaries. The air was filled with anticipation. On stage, a large banner read: District Attorney’s Office — Valor and Service Awards

Everyone who touched the case seemed to be present. The bust was historic -- a three-year undercover operation that dismantled an international drug ring hiding behind a chain of elite salons.

The two men who made it happen were summoned to the stage. As they strode into the spotlight, a spontaneous applause broke out which turned into a five-minute standing ovation. Side by side, the two acknowledged the praise with contained smiles, trying to project an image of modesty. But, inside, they were ecstatic. The case would be the making of their careers.

Furthermore, the award ceremony was the final step before they could get back to their usual selves -- normal family life, the beat, the barber shop!

Luke was the leader. Dynamic, indefatigable, charming, and gregarious. He sported a center-parted mullet, channeling David Cassidy, down to the same deep chestnut tone. His glossy mane shimmered and shone with natural, fiery auburn highlights that absolutely blazed in the spotlight. As Luke turned from side to side, acknowledging the crowd in all parts of the semi-circular auditorium, his hair was on display. It had played a critical role in bringing down the drug traffickers. Flowing over his collar in back, his hair was a feathered fantasy of fluff that would have had all hip youngsters in the 1970s drooling with envy. Luke sported in a tailored navy suit with no tie, the top button of the loud floral-print shirt undone -- still in character, still undercover.

Les was the solid team supporter. Reliable, willing, determined, and methodical. With tanned skin and a mass of soft, dark curls -- the result of many visits to the tanning booth, as well as a late-night perm at the salon -- he looked like one of the lifeguards on Baywatch. To pump up the crowd and acknowledge the applause, he shook his curls about. The mass of hair added a good six inches to the circumference of his head! That night, Les was worlds away from the spiffy crewcut he normally sported on the beat, shorn bi-weekly to precision. He wore a tailored black suit with a snappy bowtie that popped with lime green polka dots against the pale melon-colored shirt. The outfit, along with the big ‘fro made him look more like a fashion photographer than a cop.

The crowd ate up all their theatrics. But, some wondered whether the duo would be able to return to their "real world" of less dramatic uniformed cop work. They seemed so engrossed in their cultivated personas, strutting about like stylists, fashionistas, influencers, musicians, male models -- not like cops!

The District Attorney stepped up to the podium, voice booming.

"Today we honor two officers who redefined what it means to serve. Who infiltrated a world of luxury, deception, and danger -- and who never broke cover. They placed the needs of the police force above all else," the DA began.

He gestured to Les and Luke and applause broke out, again.

"They endured lengthy separations from family. They endured risk. They endured tanning booths, manicures, highlights, facials and perms!" he exclaimed.

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

One cop shouted out, "Love that perm, Les!"

To acknowledge his friend, Les playfully preened and fluffed his curls.

The DA continued, "But they never wavered. And because of them, an international drug network is no more."

He lifted two plaques -- two engraved, gleaming tributes of official acknowledgement. They would certainly become the focal points of Luke and Les’ cramped cubicles.

"Detective Leslie J. Rinaldi. Detective Luke R. Donnelly. For dedication, ingenuity, and sacrifice.... We present you the highest award our office can bestow."

Les and Luke stepped forward. They accepted the plaques. They shook hands. They posed for photos. They nodded solemnly to acknowledge the second standing ovation.

The DA returned to the microphone, "I’ve asked each of them to share a bit about their three-year adventure. If you want the facts of the case -- you know, the dry boring stuff -- read the affidavits and transcripts used in court to lock away the thugs. Tonight, we want the personal side! I’ve heard Luke that calls the comb in his back pocket his ‘blade’ and that Les has the inside scoop on volumizing mousse!"

The applause went wild. Luke and Les stared at each and had a brief argument about who would go first.

"He says, it’s me," Les deadpanned. "So, let’s go to the very beginning, how we were identified as candidates for the job. There was a holiday party. We were all asked to bring our high school graduation portrait phots. Fun game, right? Who’s who, who changed most, who improved with age, etc. Well, the boss wanted them for another reason -- hair! Who rocked long hair, who had nice, glossy hair? With all the buzzcuts, recons and bald fades on the force, it was hard for him to tell.... And, the undercover assignment was sending us into the strange and unknown world of salons! So, why not choose one of the females on the force? Because the men at the salon we infiltrated were interested in other men, other men with lots of thick, long hair!"

"My turn, Buddy!" Luke interrupted. "We spent a year in research at HQ, analyzing the network of salons that spread from Bangkok to Brussels to Bogota. But, the central nerve, the central distribution point of salon ‘products’ network, was right here in our port city of Baltimore! Lots of stuff was moving about. I know it’s a big business, but just how many facial creams, depilatory creams, collagen creams, hair tonics, you name it -- how much of that needs to flow around the world? During that year, our hair grew and grew and grew! I’d had long hair as a teen, so I was used to the world of blow dryers and hair care. In fact, I’m ashamed to admit it now, but my locks were a bit of an impediment to my becoming a cop, back in the day."

Les picked up the story, "Luke does have amazing hair! During our very first foray into the salon world, it caused a stir. In fact, the senior manager of the salon preempted Luke’s assigned stylist and took over the new client himself ‘just to make sure he had a positive experience.’ I’ll call him ‘John’ -- it was he who eventually became our key insider witness. But, that came after a long year of frequent beauty routines; only then was Luke able to flip him. We found so many reasons to visit the salon to work on gathering intel. My first manicure! Clear polish only, see?!"

Les held up his hands. Luke urged the crowd to chant, "Needs of the Force!"

Luke resumed, "Yes, dear John and his bald head! Poor guy. Younger than me, but afflicted by severed MPB. His wrap-around fringe was kept in a sharp, tidy fade. The dome made him look manly, yet he was attracted to men with an abundant mane. Any psychiatrists in the audience to explain that?! Anyway, after many, MANY long sessions of John handling my locks, washing them, styling them, trimming them, shaping them -- threatening to highlight them!! -- well, one day, he offered to give me a tour of the facilities. By then, Les and I determined that the front was a legit salon. Lots of activity, lots of honest profit in the world of beauty. No drug activity in the commercial side of the premise. The ugly drug stuff was behind the front. So, I told John that I wanted to see EVERYTHING, even the warehouses and remote parts of the building. I suggested that maybe if we got lost in the back -- close your ears, honey! -- he might discover something else about me. It was what he wanted to believe, and I had to give him some of what he wanted. But, I got a good look at all the crates, bills of laden, dispatch markings, etc."

Les continued, "The plaque does say, ‘for sacrifice!’ Luke established a ‘hide and seek’ game with John. He would come in from the gym and have his hair washed daily, right before lunch. At noon, John would let Luke slip into the huge, but empty, distribution complex and give him 15 minutes to hide. John would eat his lunch while Luke snooped around -- ostensibly looking for a good place to ‘hide,’ but in reality photographing and rifling through everything. Then, at 12:15, John would enter the ‘seek’ mode and try to find Luke. In total, the searching and documenting phase was half hour, most of the time. The rules of the games established that if Luke was found by 12:30, John would get a treat. Sorry, Mrs. Donnelly...."

The audience in the auditorium spontaneously roared, "Needs of the Force!"

"I was a great hider!" Luke beamed. "He did find me a few times, though...just enough to keep the ‘game’ going as long as I needed. And after one of those rare 'treat' moments, I was able to first suggest to John that he might help the public with some insider knowledge. I let him have a follow-up treat the next day, and he agreed to testify! John is in the witness protection program now. He should be on stage with us, sharing this award.... Now, let’s talk about Les’ perm!"

Les picked up, "We needed to get into the warehouse at night when the action was happening. We knew that the salon products were the top layer in the crates, and that drugs were the remaining 90%, but packed in the same bottles and jars. But we needed photos of the distribution team who trafficked the stuff -- preferably videos of them in the act of dispatching to strengthen the prosecution -- but they only worked the drug operation at night, after the front salon closed. It was John’s idea! He told me to schedule a perm for the last slot. If you aren’t aware, getting a perm is a lengthy procedure! John said I should show-up very late. The receptionist would try to make me reschedule, but John would intervene and offer to stay afterhours since I was such a loyal client. As John worked to transform me, the salon slowly cleared out. Talk about torture!! He was rolling my hair so tight to the scalp, it felt like he was pulling it out! The horrible stench of the chemicals! The heat of the dryer…! Sheeesh!"

Without prompting, the audience roared, "Needs of the Force!!"

Les continued, "By the time John had fluffed out these WONDERFUL curls, the place was EMPTY. Just the three of us. John led us into the back and we began our police work. Recording, photographing with huge, long-distance zoom lenses...taking notes. John identified the major players. He wasn’t a part of the trafficking, but he had a pretty good idea of how it operated. He also gave us the identity of the king linchpin -- a burly man with a big bald, tattooed head dressed in black latex-like clothes and bulging muscles everywhere. A scary man with a scar on his face who’s probably, at this moment, frightening everyone in the jail where he’s been locked away!"

Luke resumed, "Really scary! But not as scary as this huge mop of curls, Leslie!"

The crowd roared.

"And the best place to get rid of the fluffy curls -- a lot faster than it took to get them!! -- is a barber shop! A traditional barber shop that’s fully equipped with a huge line of Oster balding clippers! Real haircuts! That’s next on our to-do list! Wonderful haircuts! Barber shop haircuts!" Luke exclaimed.

"David Cassidy’s double will be bowing his head before a big set of Osters first thing tomorrow morning," Les laughed, swatting at the mullet. "Off with this glossy shag...Luke’s going back to his signature..."

"FLATTOP!" his colleagues in uniform shouted.

"And a bald fade for Curly Sue!" Luke exclaimed, playfully grabbing a mass of hair and dragging Les off the stage while barking, "Haircut time!"

Once in the wings of the stage, Les commented, "I didn’t know your pretty boy look back in the day almost kept you from becoming a cop."

Luke blushed. He was away from the limelight now. He ran his fingers through his feathered, glossy mane.

"Strange thing. Playing the undercover part, I’ve reconnected with it...and, now I’m dreading the return to the uniform team, starting with our visit to the barber shop tomorrow," Luke said in a low, raspy voice.

OMG! Les had no idea. He just assumed Luke was play-acting.

"I was thinking about asking to stay where I am now and not returning to uniform," Luke murmured, almost feeling ashamed.

There was a silent pause; Luke had a queasy look on his face.

He added, in almost a whisper, "There’s something else...John wants to keeping seeing me."

"John?! And you...?" Les questioned, feeling a bit queasy himself.

"Those treats? Uh, there were more than the few I let onto...and I’m not sure I was just role-playing," Luke confessed, burying his face in his hands to hide the shame.

"I don’t know what to say," Les murmured. "I thought I knew you."

Luke suddenly shifted the dynamic. He looked up and reached into the mass of Les' curls.

"But I do want to watch this fall! Are we still on for 10:00 a.m. at the barber shop in Glen Burnie?" Luke asked, forcing a smile.

"That shrimp of a barber is going to have to get up on a stool too whack off this curl collection," Les laughed, happily adding to the light chatter.

But, he needed to say one last thing, about Luke’s revelation, "You’ll snap back, Buddy. We spent a long time getting into a world that we need to get out of now. Your family needs you back! John needs a new identity and a new life. Let’s start with the haircut. The flattop will be the first and most important step of your ‘recovery’ program!"

The next morning, they met outside the shop in Glen Burnie exactly at 10:00 a.m.

"Thanks for your understanding yesterday, Les," Luke said. "You’re a great friend."

"Glad to see you came. Is it flattop time for you, or just a trim?" Les asked.

"The Glen Burnie Barber Shop is no place for feathery fluff to get a trim! Barber Chris is a maniac with the clippers," Luke remarked in a flat, raspy voice. "Whether I climb up the steel footrest of the barber chair or not, well...we’ll see."

Les pushed the door open. The place was exactly as he remembered it from before the assignment -- a shrine to blunt masculinity. Checkerboard linoleum in olive‑green and white worn smooth by decades of boots. Three vintage white‑enamel barber chairs with matching olive‑green vinyl seats, but just one barber.

Barber Chris! He was short and built like a fire hydrant -- thick forearms, a chest like a keg, and a jaw that looked carved from granite. He was handsome in that rough, old‑school way, with a clipped mustache and a fade so tight it looked sprayed on.

Chris glanced at the two undercover cops as they entered and offered no hint of recognizing his former regular clients.

"Just finishing up here, fellows. Won’t be but a few minutes. You can make yourself comfortable there," he said, nodding toward the waiting bench. There was no line, so the wait would be brief.

Chris’ eyes lingered on the two pretty boys. Yes, he would relish the challenge. And, no, they would not leave his establishment with any of that length or flair!

Les moved to the waiting bench with a spring in his step. He was a man about to shed a costume he’d been trapped in for too long.

On the other hand, Luke took his time, shuffling to the bench while pawing at his glossy David Cassidy mane. The shimmering drape of hair fell around his shoulders like a protective curtain.

Within minutes, the barber was finishing up with his client, removing the cape and collecting his fee.

"NEXT!" Chris bellowed as he snapped the cape with a practiced flick, the fabric popping in the air like a flag in the wind. "Which of you fellows is first? Hop on up!"

Les didn’t hesitate. He strode with purpose toward the chair, his curls bouncing, grinning like a man about to be liberated.

Luke was grateful for the final reprieve as he watched from the waiting area. He sat with his arms folded in subconscious defiance and looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Chris fastened the tissue strip around Les’ neck, then secured the cape -- olive‑green, of course -- with a big metal clip and stepped back to take in the sight. He squinted and tilted his head, then spun the chair around to get a full view of the concoction of curls at his disposal.

The barber let out a low whistle and purred, "Well, this is quite a situation, a disaster even. But, I’ll fix you up good."

Les laughed cheerfully, "That’s why I’m here!"

Chris extended one of Les’ curls and then let it spring back.

"You boys get lost on the way to the salon?" he teased.

"I’ve been three years undercover, and I’m ready to lose it," Les said calmly.

"Lose it, huh? Well, I do two kinds of cuts here: short and shorter," Chris boomed out, staring at Luke in the waiting area.

It was a warning shot across the bow.

"Make me look like a cop again!" Les exclaimed. "Give me a bald fade!"

"A bald fade? Whoa, a real man’s haircut! Not like lover boy’s over there! Son, I could stuff a mattress with what I’m gonna strip off your head," Chris said, reaching for his most powerful set of Osters.

He glanced again at Luke, who stiffened.

"And your buddy over there? Just keeping you company, or is he going to take his turn under the cape?" Chris asked.

Les didn’t want to touch that question with a ten-foot pole and demurred. "You just focus on me, for now."

Chris’ chiding continued, "Look at him over there. Pretty as a TV star. That hair’s practically singing, ‘Come on, get happy!’ Such a gay little tune."

Luke hunched over and stared silently at the floor. He needed to think. He was grateful for the privacy his glossy mane gave as it covered much of his face.

"Bet he’d look real good bald," Chris remarked before snapping on the clippers. "All right, perm boy. Let’s mow the lawn. No, let's harvest the cotton!"

The determined hum of the Osters filled the shop.

Les exhaled, it was the moment he had waited for and dreamed about for three years!

Chris brought the clippers to the very front of Les’ forehead in a matter-of-fact, business-like way.

"Sit up straight! Time to tackle the mess," Chris snapped.

There was no hesitation; the barber thrust the clippers straight into the center of Les’ forehead, plowing a clean, pale strip right through the mass of dark curls.

At first, the curls were caught in an interlocking web, clinging to their place of primacy on Les’ head. Chris wouldn’t have any of the resistance. He pulled off a shorn mass and tossed it into Les’ lap.

The second drive down the top of Les’ head created a copious curl cascade. A thick, heavy shower of dark spirals tumbled down to the cape, bouncing off Les’ shoulders, sliding into his lap, and spilling onto the olive‑green linoleum in soft, springy piles.

Les let out a full‑bodied, relieved laugh, followed by a brief cheer.

"Oh man...that feels amazing!" he exclaimed.

Chris moved fast -- shockingly fast for a man of his size and build.

He circled the chair like a predator, carving away years of undercover identity with ruthless efficiency. Each pass sent another avalanche of curls sliding down the cape. Thick coils bounced off Les’ chest. Long spirals clung fleetingly to the cape before dropping to their destiny. Smaller tufts gathered around the base of the chair. A growing mountain of dark curls spread across the floor like a pelt.

"Three years...gone in three minutes," Les remarked in awe as he stared at the new him that emerged in the mirror.

"Time for the fade," Chris quipped.

Then, he called out to Luke, "Made up your mind yet, Pretty Boy. This haircut is going to be over before you know it. A baldy for you too, Cassidy?"

Luke decided to stop his waffling. The taunts were getting on his nerves. Just do it. It had to be done....

"No, it’s gonna be a flattop for me," he said casually, flicking back his feathered mane.

"Good choice!" Chris exclaimed. "You got the hair for it."

Ending his internal debate did Luke a world of good. He leaned back against the hard bench and ran his fingers through his hair. Sure, the silk felt great. Sure, the beautiful hair shone like a shampoo commercial in the glow of the shop’s neon.

But, the flattop was an old friend...to feel the clipped nape again, to fuss over the erect strands, to occasionally push the envelop and feel the clippers graze the top of his head. Those were all good memories!

Chris pressed the clippers to Les’ skin, shaving the sides down to nothing -- a true bald fade.

As he stared in the mirror, Les admired the emerging fade -- pale white skin that blended into the faintest shadow, followed by a band of clipped pelt and topped by some sparse remnants of the perm -- but he wanted it even shorter!

"Keep going. You’re not through yet," Les said.

"Oh, I’m not stopping till I hit bone," Chris replied without a pause. "I just hope Pretty Boy there is as happy with his landing strip as you seemed to be with your new crop."

"No landing strip for me," Luke replied defiantly. "It’s going to be a boxy top with beveled edges."

Luke felt good retaining some control and drawing firm boundaries that he intended to enforce.

"Whatever," Chris groused.

Chris put the final touches on Les’ transformation by clipping down the top to crisp stubble and blending it into the skin‑bare sides with surgical precision. He stepped back and emitted a sigh of satisfaction.

"One more good deed done," Chris said in a self-congratulatory manner.

Les admired himself in the mirror. He was a completely transformed man -- sharp, clean and unmistakably a cop again.

"Perfect," Les remarked, sending a green light for the barber to unfasten the big metal clip.

Chris flicked the cape, sending one last shower of curls to the floor.

As Les got up, Chris turned...slowly...toward the bench. His eyes locked on Luke.

"All right, Cassidy. The chair! Your turn to come clean," he laughed.

As the two colleagues crossed paths exchanging places, Luke glanced at Les’ bald fade. His friend was unmistakably himself again.

Luke strode with purpose to the chair. Yes, the undercover persona had been fun, but it had been work. The intimacy with John...he had done was required. Needs of the Force! "Cassidy" had been a role he’d slipped into so deeply that he almost forgot where the character ended and where he began.

Luke put on a bit of a show for the martinet barber by flaunting his hair one last time -- letting the long, silky locks slide through his fingers. They were indeed beautiful. They’d been admired, envied, touched, styled, complimented. But they weren’t his, the way the flattop was his.

Chris became impatient. "Cassidy! Chair’s open. Stop preening like a princess and get your butt in it!"

"You’re speaking to an officer of the law, sir!" Luke snapped. "A decorated one!"

"And, I’m gonna make you look like one," Chris retorted with the same edge.

As Luke took a seat, he felt a wave of relief. He was ready.

Chris was quick with cape. Now his prey was locked in. And the way he’d been sassed and talked down to by "an officer of the law!" He interacted with cops daily. They were a key part of his clientele. Luke would get his boxy flattop, but Chris would have his fun in the process.

The barber did NOT reach for the clippers straightaway. Instead, Chris took a pair of shears out of a counter drawer as if he were withdrawing a sword from its scabbard. Long, heavy, stainless steel shears with a hinge that clicked like a lock being thrown.

He lifted the entire droopy front section -- the David Cassidy curtain that had defined Luke’s undercover persona -- and let it fall forward over the hazel eyes.

"Can’t have you peekin’ at the world through this shag anymore," Chris said as he primed the shears eagerly.

Luke didn’t flinch. He was going to take the taunts and theatrics like a stoic man. Let the barber have his fun!

Chris lifted the droopy fringe again, combing it upward with slow, deliberate strokes. The dry hair makes a soft whispering sound as it slides through the teeth of the comb. The barber toyed with the doomed fringe like a cat plays with a captive mouse.

Then, he combed the curtain straight down, once again veiling Luke’s eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, Chris slipped one blade of the shears beneath the drape of hair and dragged it up the forehead. Higher and higher, almost to the top.

SNIP!

The shears clamped shut on a mass of Luke’s prime lock. The sound of scissors cutting through the thick, dry hair filled the shop.

A heavy slice of gloss fell straight down, hitting the cape with a soft thwap.

SNIP!

Another shank of hair fell.

SNIP!

And, another!

Luke blinked and stared at himself in the mirror. Those three snips transformed him. He looked hideous. Like a character in Dumb and Dumber!

Chris chuckled.

"Oh yeah. That’s the sound! Music to my ears, shears slicing off dry hair as the blades close shut. Been a while since I got to take down a mane like this," he crowed.

Chris lifted another section with his comb, this time from the side, where the feathered layers had once framed Luke’s face.

SNIP, SNIP!

Another massive sheaf of hair fell.

The comb gathered another clump higher up, and…

SNIP!

More of the Cassidy look fell away as the haphazard whack was delivered. The shears sliced through the dry hair with a satisfying, rhythmic brutality. Each cut was decisive, final, echoing through the shop like a countdown. Luke continued watching in the mirror as the softness disappeared. The undercover persona dissipated more with each snip.

Then, Chris seized the mullet and, without any ceremony, whacked it off -- brutally!

CHOP, CHOP!!!

"Look, ma! No more mullet," Chris laughed.

Luke rejected victimhood by laughing along.

"When are you going to switch to big gun there?" he asked, pointing at the Osters.

Les watched Chris cast the severed mullet to the floor. It fell like a dark rope, landing with a heavy plop, covering a mound of his shorn curls. The growing piles at the barber’s feet were mingling the vestiges of two undercover cops.

Chris pushed Luke’s head forward in the authoritative way barbers have to communicate the hierarchy.

"HEAD DOWN, Cassidy!" he barked with the enthusiasm of a marine drill sergeant.

The clippers plowed up the back in a brutally tight drive.

Les watched the action intently, happy to see the back of Luke’s neck, freshly exposed and looking pale after years under the mullet.

Luke felt the cool air hit his neck -- it was a shock, a memory, and a homecoming.

He kept his head bowed so that Chris could clear off the shag entirely and begin the process of crafting a crisp, immaculate deck. The Osters continued their essential function.

Suddenly, the barber wrenched Luke’s head to the side and took the clippers up through the sideburn and temple. Chris was on a power trip, and Luke remained putty in his hands.

All the pampering at the salon...the fawning over his locks...John drooling with desire...Luke’s hair admired as a living tribute to the Goddess of Beauty...all a receding memory!

Now, he was begin to enjoy the opposite treatment: Chris’ brutal take down accompanied by relentless humiliations. Being treated like a marine recruit -- like scum! -- made his testosterone surge! In a weird way, it was refreshing and invigorating. The taunts, the drastic change, the efficient tools employed by the barber.

And, a haircut for $11! That’s how much the salon was charging for a bottle of Perrier!

As Chris shifted focus to begin taking down the top, a uniformed cop entered the shop. His badge gleamed; the gun in its holster and the handcuffs snapped to his belt oozed authority.

"Hey, Chris," he called out with a friendly greeting.

Then, his eyes locked onto Luke.

"Can it be? The hero himself?! Recipient of the highest award for valor and service?!" the cop gasped.

He shook hands warmly with Les and praised his bald fade.

"I see your curls on the floor there! Looks like someone emptied a stuffed animal," he laughed. "It’s great to have both of you back. And, we’re so proud of your work. It’s a tribute to the whole force."

"What did Cassidy do?" Chris asked, his curiosity peaked.

"You can read about it in the newspaper. It’s the lead story of the Baltimore Sun today," the cop replied.

"Then, I need to take extra care in crafting the flattop. Our men in uniform need extra care," Chris noted, sounding a tone of respect.

"So do those working undercover and everyone supporting them," Les added.

"Sure I can’t talk you into a landing strip, uh, what did you say your name was?" Chris asked his client in a much more respectful tone.

"It's not Cassidy! It’s Luke. And, just graze the top of my head lightly," Luke instructed.

The barber plowed the clippers through the plush deck.

AHHHHHH! It felt divine! The vibrating teeth, tickling his scalp ever so lightly. Chris delivered the perfect touch!

"There, just a hint!" Chris exclaimed. "Lather shaved sides and back?"

"Do it!" Luke exclaimed.

Yes, the old him was back. He knew it, he felt it, he wore it proudly in the form of a perfect flattop!

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