Thirty-Four

Bailey insists we stop at Scissors & Sizzle before continuing on to the Dog House. The owner, Marjorie, lives above the salon and after one look at Bailey and her tape-strewn hair, opens the shop without question.

Bailey sprints to the bathroom then joins Marjorie at one of the sinks at the back. I make sure the front door is locked and the window blind is firmly closed to block out interior light.

I have no idea what the Red Swan is going to think of the mess we’ve made of his building or what he’ll do about me springing his trap, but I know it’s best if we’re surrounded by friends rather than on our own.

With Marjorie busy tutting her tongue and snipping her scissors over the mess of tape in Bailey’s hair, I pick up the salon’s phone and dial Kristy.

“It’s me,” I say. “You can let Roxanne go now.”

“I’ve been watching the news,” says Kristy in a tone that manages to mix both concern and uncertainty. “Is that you?”

“Depends. Is it about a lottery winner who’s moving to the Bahamas to soak up the sun and be fawned over by half-naked sex gods who make a bottomless Long Island iced tea?”

“No, it’s about a street riot that seems to have set fire to a building containing an illegal arsenal. The police are warning everyone to stay clear because bullets keep going off in the blaze. And there are bodies inside, but it’s too dangerous to retrieve them. Even the firefighters are having to wear bulletproof vests.”

“Now why would that make you think of me?” I ask.

“Roxanne was talking about her sister while you were gone. Well, I say talking, but it’s more like ranting. You didn’t tell me she’s possessed. I’m scared to get too close to her in case she tries to bite. Is she on drugs?”

“Open the door and unlock the handcuffs; she’ll run away.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. But first, tell her that her sister is safe, and if she wants to see us we’re heading down to the Dog House. But also tell her to be careful. You too.”

“Me?”

“Just don’t talk to any strangers. Some bad men might come looking for me.”

“Oh, Dix, what are you into?”

“It’s OK. I’m handling it.”

“Not very well! A man tried to shoot you in your own apartment!”

“That’s dealt with.”

“So this is new trouble?”

I hesitate. “Kinda.”

“You need to talk to Frank.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “It might be time.”

“Keep safe, sweetie. Our baby needs an auntie.”

I inhale sharply, my voice filling with unexpected emotion. “Are you—”

“Not yet,” says Kristy, cutting me off. “But I will be.”

So long as I don’t bring angry Russian mobsters to your door, I think. Jesus, what have I done?

I hang up the phone and walk to the sink where Bailey is having the last of the gunk washed from her hair. Looking down at her, I suddenly begin to laugh.

“What?” Bailey asks, horrified.

“You’ve just escaped the clutches of a mad Russian mob boss and what’s the first thing you do?” I ask. “Go to a hair salon. How frickin’ girly is that?”

Bailey’s mouth is caught between a pout and a smile. “I’m a hairdresser,” she says. “Besides, some of those wrestlers were cute.”

I laugh even louder.

“I like you Ms. Bailey Brown,” I say. “You’re my kind of gal.”

I turn to Marjorie. “Is there a TV around?”

She points to a small flat-screen mounted near the row of industrial hair dryers that still look like they belong in the 1950s. The remote is attached to the wall beside the TV with Velcro.

I tune into the local news and am rewarded with a full-screen image of black smoke and steam billowing from the building we recently exited. Firefighters pour on the water. The fire appears to be mostly extinguished, but the top two floors have been gutted. The camera pans down to focus on an attractive Asian woman with
perfectly symmetrical eyes, seductive lips, and overly wide shoulders. Her face is serious to let us know this isn’t the weather report.

I notice her lips moving before the words scroll across the bottom of the screen. Because of the noise usually generated by the full-helmet hair dryers, Marjorie has the TV set to display closed captioning.

Authorities are saying they have no explanation for what started the initial melee that is believed to be responsible for spreading the fire to the building. One witness has described the events as spontaneous hooliganism, and indeed the police did find one man hog-tied and stuffed in a nearby garbage can. We’re told that man has been taken to the hospital in police custody and will be facing several weapons charges after his injuries have been treated. Despite rumors currently trending on Twitter under the hashtag SFAttack, police are adamant there is no terrorist connection being considered at this time. However, authorities on the scene are also reluctant to offer any explanation for the large arsenal of ammunition that has been igniting inside the building. Nor are they saying anything about what are believed to be numerous bodies still inside. One reliable source has claimed there may be as many as twelve—

The reporter touches her ear as a question comes in from her anchor.

That’s correct, Clive, she says when the captions catch up to her lips again. When we asked about a possible gang connection, Detective Sergeant Frank Fury blanked us with a strict “no comment.”

The fiery twinkle in her eye tells the viewer that she doesn’t appreciate Frank’s unhelpfulness. She touches her ear again and nods.

Drugs have not been ruled out either, Clive. In fact, one bystander who didn’t want to go on record has informed me that the building housed at least one illegal meth lab. And as you’ll remember from my award-winning investigative piece last year, crystal methamphetamine is an extremely dangerous drug to produce exactly because of its flammability. This, she indicts the building behind her with a subtle hand gesture, could quite easily be the result of a drug cook gone wrong.

I switch off the TV. When the on-the-spot news teams aren’t spoon-fed information, they tend to ramble and hope nobody notices. Drug cook gone wrong? Good grief.

I turn to Bailey. “You nearly ready? I could really use a beer.”