Chapter 5
STEVIE
The screams disappear, and I no longer see or hear anyone outside.
My heart is racing. With my back to the door, I slide down to the floor, clutching my phone to my chest. Blood pounds in my ears, so I rest my head back, close my eyes, and take deep breaths through my nose.
What have I done? Was the phone call from a person we did a job for?
Aside from Gears and Jasper, no one else has my number.
Maybe I’m in over my head and the job isn’t as innocent as cleaning up, keeping quiet, and getting paid well. Someone could be watching the crew, me, keeping tabs on our comings and goings.
I drop the phone onto my lap, hug my legs into my chest, and rest my head on my knees.
This is messed up. I just wish Alicia were still alive.
She’s the only one I could and would call.
Throughout the night, my body jerks awake when my head falls off my knees, waking me again.
I’m too on edge to go into my bed. The phone call rattled me more than the people outside.
At some point, I fall asleep, jarred out of a nightmare by the commotion in the garage.
Gears is here!
Throwing on sweats and gym shoes, I run down the stairs out of breath, searching for Gears. He’s by the coffeepot, and when he sees me, he pauses before taking a sip of his coffee. I give weak hellos to the others as I approach Gears.
He says, “You look bad.”
My fingers brush through my hair. “There were people in the lot, running around. I heard several screams.” I take a breath to calm myself. “Could we look at the video footage to see who it was?”
Gears’s face shows no emotion as he bites into a donut. He chews and his eyes are on me, but distant. It’s like I’m not even standing in front of him.
“Gears?”
When he’s done chewing, he takes a sip of his coffee, and says, “I’ll check later. We’re busy today.”
I hadn’t noticed the rest of the guys grew silent until I face them. They’re sitting there, staring at me. Did I say something wrong? A swarm of motorcycles enters the lot, so I step away from Gears, thanking him.
Thanking him for what, I’m not sure, but it seems to be the only thing I can think to do.
The bikers park, all eyes following my nervous strides.
Each step like wading through wet concrete, I finally make it to the bottom of the stairs.
My focus is on the steps. Climbing upwards, I hear a growling discussion below that I can’t figure out.
At the top, I find a flyer sticking out of my mailbox.
I swipe it and lock myself in the apartment.
Why is Gears acting cold and distant?
I rewind to yesterday, remembering Gears and the other guys didn’t wish me a good morning.
So far, they’ve always been friendly. Then when I returned from work, Gears seemed shocked I was home so early, even standoffish.
Nothing comes to mind regarding what I could have done to anger him. Any of them.
Collapsing onto the couch from exhaustion, I read over the flyer from a hair salon/spa called Hairlequin, which offers a range of haircare, facials, massages, manicures, and pedicures.
Cute name. My head drops back, and the frustration and fear lift.
A good pampering sounds nice right about now.
It’s been several months since I’ve done anything to my hair, and the split ends are proof.
If I stay here, I’ll go mad from the loud noises and cold shoulders.
Without changing, I drive over to the salon, ready for a day of relaxation.
The entire front of the store is windows covered by a pink awning and twinkling lights.
When I walk in, a whiff of lavender and vanilla washes over me.
Yeah, this is definitely what I could use.
Ten women work the room in different areas: pedicure chairs, manicure section, facials, and hairstylist booths.
My eyes switch over to the hostess, who is speaking, yet the high volume drowns it out.
I reach the hostess podium, and her glossed pink lips expose a full set of straight, white teeth. “Aren’t you a pretty thing? Can I help you?”
Up close, the tall hostess is a beautiful bombshell. Long lashes flutter over her hazel eyes. A mass of brown curls which any woman would die for flows over her shoulders. Her pushed-up cleavage accentuates her tiny waist.
“Yes, I’m hoping you have room, because I’d love a manicure, pedicure, and a hair color and cut.”
She claps her hands really fast. “Oh good. I love it when women want the works. Shall we throw in a facial?”
I give a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, why not?”
The woman grabs a notepad and asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
This town loves sweetheart as an endearment, or maybe they’re just naturally friendly.
“Stevie Adams.”
If I hadn’t been watching, I would have missed the pause of her hand, and quick breath intake. She recovers fast, writing my name while grinning. I scan the room to find a couple of women have stopped to check me out for a second and then return to what they were doing.
Do they know my name?
It’s possible. The population of Moose Grove is approximately 25,000 according to the entrance sign. Then again, the place is a bikers’ paradise, so the sign could mean 25,000 bikers.
“Stevie?”
I blink at her, unaware that she had been talking to me. “Yes?”
“Right this way.”
I’m led to a pedicure chair, kicking off my shoes and hiking up my sweats to my knees.
“We’ll get you started with the pedicure; the manicure, onto a facial and then the hair.
My name is Lynette, owner of Hairlequin, so if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.
” She pats my hand. “Now, I’m going to get you a warm towel and a drink.
What would you prefer, water, coffee, tea, soda, or champagne? ”
“Count me in for the champagne.”
Lynette snaps her fingers. “You got it.”
She returns with a warm towel, draping it around my shoulders, and hands me the champagne. My eyes close as I feel the tension subside.
Great choice, Stevie!
The woman scrubs, rubs; massages my feet, before applying my choice of polish, Luscious Lilac.
From there, they pamper my hands and forearm, and I suck down another champagne, moving onto the facial.
And that’s where things become hazy. I’m fighting against sleep, but my eyelids refuse to listen to me, and I’m thrown into darkness.
Suddenly, I hear whispered giggles. My eyes remain closed as the giggles become louder, and someone shakes my shoulder. A woman repeatedly calls my name. My eyes flutter open, and I’m looking up at a pink and white ceiling.
“It’s time to get up, sleepyhead.” Using only my eyes, I shift them to the right and see Lynette eye-to-eye with me. “Wake up, Stevie.”
My laden body feels weighted down. Gripping the armrest, I pull myself into a seated position, blink into the mirror, and scream. My mid-back, chestnut colored hair was cut to jaw length with bright blond highlights.
Lynette says to the room, “I don’t think she likes it.”
I find strength through the anger, and yell, “Of course I don’t fucking like it!”
Don’t let them see you cry.
Last I remember, I left my shoes by the pedicure chair, so I jog over there, jamming my feet inside. Lynette and several other women follow. She folds her arms, and the rest do the same.
Pointing my finger, I rush up to her and say, “I didn’t tell you to cut my hair this short and color it so I resemble a skunk.”
I’m swiveling my body in circles, looking for my purse.
She places a hand on her breasts as if shocked. “Oh, but you did ask for it.”
My face is an inch away from hers, and she pushes me into the wall. I stumble back, hit my head, but before I can move she presses my shoulders into the wall.
Through clenched teeth, she says, “Listen, bitch. You asked for it. Next time you’re expected somewhere, you better show up.”
“What the hell are you talking about, psycho?”
Two other women approach, stepping on my feet and holding my arms against the wall. Lynette slaps me and runs one of her fake nails over my face.
“Watch your mouth.”
I’m struggling to break free, except these chicks are strong. “Let me go!”
Her palm rests on my forehead, holding it in place, and she kisses me on the lips. “Now, now, I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.”
“Get off me! You’re a bunch of crazy bitches.”
She smacks me in the face again. “Don’t test my patience, Stevie.”
I’m panting. “What do you want?”
“Tsk. Tsk. It’s not me who wants something.
” Lynette turns her back to me, walks over to where my purse is on the floor, and retrieves it.
As she comes toward me, she says, “There’s a note in your purse.
I suggest you do as it says or…” she grabs my jaw, her face a breath away, and adds, “…next time you’ll be bald and sporting a black eye.
Maybe even a broken limb.” She nods to the women holding me, and they let me go. “We know where you live.”
Lynette leans close to my ear and screams. I quickly cover my ears.
“Does that sound familiar?” She laughs. “Did we keep you up last night?”
I push my way out of the place, stumbling while laughter spills out behind me.