Still, there were many other places Gus would have preferred to be. And none of them contained gun-toting mimes.

“Take off your clothes and throw them on the ground,” the mime said.

Shawn winced. “My mother always told me not to take off my clothes for strange men in a public restroom.”

“Then I’ll shoot you,” the mime said. “If I have to kill you to protect Rushmore, I will.”

“I know some people really love that movie,” Shawn said,

“but this seems a little over the top. And can you really tell me that Olivia Williams would have ever forgiven that idiot kid after he almost killed Bill Murray?”

“Stop it!” the mime shouted. “Get undressed now!”

“I don’t see a back door in this building,” Gus said. “Once you pull that trigger, everyone outside will know you’re not an adorable mime.”

“If such a thing exists,” Shawn said.

“How long do you think that latch will hold out once the police bring the battering ram?” Gus said.

“I’ve got six bullets in my gun,” the mime said. “Two for you, three for him, and one left over for myself. The latch will hold out long enough for that.”

“How come I get three and he only gets two?” Shawn said.

“Take off your clothes,” the mime said. “I won’t tell you again.”

“What do we do?” Gus whispered to Shawn.

Shawn stared at the mime. Then he lowered his gaze and pulled off his T-shirt.

“You, too,” the mime snapped at Gus.

It took Gus a lot longer to get down to his boxers than it did Shawn, who had apparently dressed with exactly this scenario in mind. Even his shoes were slip-ons, which he slipped off in less than a second. Everything Gus was wearing seemed to have more buttons than he remembered, and his fingers slipped and fumbled with every one. Somehow the laces on his standard brown dress shoes had been tied into triple knots, and it took what felt like hours for him to undo them. After a few more hours, Gus stood next to Shawn, dressed only in his boxer shorts, his bare feet adhering to the linoleum.