Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Julius
I loved Saturdays at the salon. It was always our busiest day, and the energy was off the charts.
Migs had his playlist going, people were chatting, and the scent of fresh coffee, coconut curl cream, and hairspray filled the air.
Tori was mid-foil on a balayage, and she was doing it all on her own, even if I was keeping an eye on her.
I was so proud of how confident she was becoming.
Harper was checking out one client, and Devon was shampooing her next cut.
Everything was just as it should be, even with Axel sitting out front in the parking lot keeping an eye on the place.
We could all hear Migs telling his client about a date that had ended in a mid-dinner emergency. Because Migs never did anything quietly. Apparently, the guy had to go feed his cat, and his client was fighting hard to hold back a laugh.
“If a man abandons you for a cat named Sir Pouncelot,” I called across the salon, “that’s divine intervention.”
“Like you wouldn’t drop everything for Trixie,” he called back to me, and then, quieter or at least quieter for him, said, “I thought it was sweet.”
I grinned at them in the mirror and turned my attention back to my client, a sweet, nervous college kid named Dani who had finally worked up the courage to cut her hair to her jawline. “You ready to see it?” I asked, one hand on the chair, the other holding a hand mirror.
She bit her lip. “What if I hate it?”
“It’s just hair, sugar,” I reminded her softly. “It’ll grow back. But you won’t hate it.”
She nodded. “Okay, I trust you. Let’s take a look.” I turned the chair and lifted the mirror so she could see the back, and her eyes went wide and shiny. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh! I—okay, I love it. I love it.”
“Of course you do,” I said, leaning down to wipe a tiny stray hair from her cheek. “Because you look edgy and fabulous.”
“Devon,” I called over, “would you grab a few styling samples so she can keep it this perfect at home? Get her the little tub of curl balm and that travel-size texture spray—no crunchy nonsense.”
The bell over the front door jingled, and two women chatting about a fundraiser bake sale came in.
I glanced past them out of the front glass at a black SUV across the parking lot.
It was clean but unremarkable, the kind you forget the second you look away.
Which was the point. It did make me feel better, though, knowing Axel was there.
I finished dusting Dani off and unclipped her cape. “Devon will take you up front and get you squared away, and if anyone says you don’t look like a bad girl in a music video, send them to me and I’ll fight them in the street.”
She giggled and hugged me. “Thank you.”
“Always.”
She headed up, and I set about clearing my station—comb into Barbicide, shears into their little leather sheath, towel into the hamper.
The salon phone at the front desk rang, loud and insistent. Devon answered it with his professional voice on. “Shag Shack, this is Devon, how can I— oh, um— one moment, please.” He covered the receiver. “Jules? They’re asking for you.”
I glanced at the clock. My next cut wasn’t due for eight minutes. Hopefully, it was a client and not a stupid telemarketer trying to sell me something. I slid behind the desk, bumping hips with Devon on the way and taking the phone.
“Shag Shack, this is Julius,” I sang, already smiling.
“Don’t talk, just listen.”
The voice on the other end was flat. Carefully shaved of any human emotion.
I leaned my hip against the desk. “I’m sorry?” I said. “Who is this?”
The man ignored my questions and continued on. “You’re not going to laugh, you’re not going to get cute, and you’re not going to look around. You’re going to keep your face exactly the way it is.”
My smile died a little, and the back of my neck prickled. I stared at the little bouquet of pens in the cup by the register and willed everything in me not to glance at the mirrors.
“Someone in the salon is watching you,” he went on in that same blank, patient tone. “He’ll know if you tip off your friend.”
My friend. Heat washed over my chest. Out the window, I could see Axel slouched behind the wheel, pretending to scroll his phone while his eyes tracked every reflection in the glass.
I saw him because I knew what I was looking for.
No one else would give him a second thought, or at least they weren’t supposed to. Apparently, this guy had.
“Who is this?” I asked again, but my voice wasn’t singing anymore.
“Let me make this very simple,” the man said. “You have a niece, yes?”
My grip tightened around the phone so fast my knuckles clicked. “Who are you?” I said calmly, because the alternative was screaming.
“Her name is Lainey.” He didn’t stop. “Silver bow at the game last week. Front row of the cheer line. You were very proud.”
I heard my breath drag. I couldn’t feel my legs. The salon dimmed and brightened in a slow, nauseous rhythm, like a power flicker. “If you touch her—”
“You’ll do exactly what I tell you,” he growled into the phone.
“You will hang up. You will not tell anyone anything. You’ll walk to the back, you’ll go out the employee door by the dumpsters, you’ll get into the car that’s waiting, and you will keep your mouth shut.
If you speak to a single person between now and then, we’ll make sure your sister will never see her daughter again. ”
Lainey. They had Lainey. My mind was reeling as options ran through it. I could call Gator. That’s what I should do. I should call Gator.
“Say you understand,” the man said, interrupting my thoughts.
I couldn’t call Gator. I wanted to, but I couldn’t risk Lainey’s life. Shit. My mouth was dry and I couldn’t get the words to come out. I took a breath, and I swallowed. “I understand.”
“Good.”
I reached for a pen and glanced around to see if anyone was watching me. Other than the two women who’d entered last, everyone was getting their hair done. The women had their heads bent together, looking at something on one of their phones.
I didn’t think anyone was actually watching, but I couldn’t be sure. My hand shook as I reached for one of my business cards from the holder on the counter. I wrote fast, in small letters so no one could read them from across a room.
They have Lainey. Call Gator. Back door.
I didn’t add please. I didn’t add I’m sorry.
I just grabbed a bobby pin and used it to put it on the side of the cup that held our pens.
Devon would see it next time he wrote in the appointment book.
Or Tori would see it. Or Harper would. Someone would see it.
A hundred times a day, we reached for one of those pens.
I stepped back. Nobody stopped me. Nobody said a word.
It was like everything was moving in slow motion.
The salon breathed around me, oblivious to the way my ribs were trying to climb out of my body.
Migs flicked a towel over his client’s shoulder.
The blow dryer wound down with a lazy sigh.
A woman at the product shelves called, “Do y’all have this in the bigger bottle? ”
Harper answered, “We sure do, hon. Devon, can you grab one?” Which meant that any second, he would be checking them out, and he would see my note.
I moved.
Not fast enough to be noticed. Not slow enough to make myself stand out. I walked past my station, past Tori’s, into the little hall that led to the color bar and the staff bathroom and the back door.
Then I flipped the lock on the back door and took a deep breath before stepping out. I’d never found the alley behind the salon threatening, but today it was like the air was so heavy with a sense of malice I could taste it.
A dark sedan idled with its nose pointed toward the other end of the alley. The passenger door hung open, and a man wearing a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweat jacket leaned on the car. When he saw me, he slowly moved his jacket over, revealing a gun he held tucked tight against his side.
He motioned for me to come to him, and everything in me wanted to turn around and go back inside, but I couldn’t.
I had to do this for Lainey. I took a deep breath.
I would be fine. I had my trackers—I felt the urge to reach up and make sure my earring was there, but I stopped myself—and I knew Gator would find me.
My fear ratcheted up with each step, but I had no other choice.
“Phone,” he said, voice flat like on the phone.
I handed it over, and he turned the screen to check for recordings or calls, then killed the power and slid it into his pocket.
“Get in.”
“How do I know you really have Lainey?”
“You’ll just have to take your chances, or let Lainey take hers…”
I looked at the open door. The car had tinted windows and the seats were black leather, so the interior of the car looked like a hole.
I don’t know if I was hysterical from fear or if my normal dramatic self was peeking through, but I had the feeling I was about to climb into a dark cave and almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
I thought about Gator, and how his voice got lower when he said you’re safe, like it was a vow. I thought about Axel sitting out in the parking lot and how long it would take him to notice he hadn’t seen me in the window, about whether Devon had seen the note yet.
Then the back door of the salon clicked open again.
“Jules? Your client is here.” Tori’s voice, confused and close. My breath quickened. Shit, I had to get her out of here. I had no doubt this goon wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if he thought it was necessary.
The man’s hand moved, and the gun appeared like it had been conjured out of his sleeve. He didn’t point it at me. He angled it just enough toward the door that a clever person would see the line.
I turned my head a fraction. “I just needed a second,” I said without inflection. “Be right in.”