CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Bam!” Max busted out the aisle of the wig store the next day, holding a bleached-blond, Gene Wilder-looking wig. “You like it?”
Leslie groaned, checking out the hair dye on the shelf.
“What’s wrong? You said you hated the wig I’ve been wearing. You don’t like this either?”
“That one’s worse than the one you got on.” She took it. “It isn’t even human hair.”
“Do you know how much human hair costs? This ain’t no fashion show, Les.” He tossed the hair back on the wig head. “I’m trying to be inconspicuous.”
“Then why don’t you dye your hair?” She grabbed a box of blond dye. “It’ll look natural and you won’t have to wear those cheap, itchy wigs.”
He read the bottle, pursing his lips under the beard. “Blond, huh?”
“Blond would be attractive on you.” Leslie smiled, crossi
