Vicious Justice

by Tobi Doyle

  No one guessed he might be dead.

  Elena texted me when she and Suzanne drove up and I grabbed my purse, which held my favorite scissors and supplies. I added a can of hair spray, just in case.

  We arrived at the YWCA and were shown into the locker where five women stood, all had the same shadows in their eyes, all refused to make eye contact. Some had small children, too young for school. How would they survive? There was no way a job would pay enough to cover housing and child care, and I doubted the baby-daddy’s would be willing to help.

  Elena clapped her hands. “Welcome, ladies. Suzanne, Adri, and I are here to help you with your wardrobe, makeup and hair. You are going to look fabulous and exude professional confidence. Today is a great day.”

  The women smiled, relaxing slightly.

  Suzanne unlocked a closet and pulled out a small dress rack. “These clothes are for you to keep, a gift from the Y. Inside the bag you’ll find toiletries and make up. We’ll get you all dolled up today and teach you how to do it yourself.”

  Elena took charge, having one heavily-made up woman wash her face and sending another to me to start with hair. She looked to be fifty, with a long braided pony tail. I recognized the fingerprint bruises on her arm.

  “How do you feel about a haircut?” I asked her reflection.

  She frowned. “I don’t know. I can’t promise I can blow dry it or anything.”

  I quickly unraveled her braid. “What kind of job are you applying for?”

  She sighed. “I’ll take anything.”

  “Where’s your job interview?”

  “Receptionist at a dentist’s office.” She looked worried.

  “Well, you have a beautiful voice. I’m sure they’ll love you.”

  She looked at her reflection. “I’m scared.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder and stared at her reflection. “You’ve already done the most brave thing in the world. You left. You fought for you. Everything else will be easy by comparison.”

  She closed her eyes. “You can cut it.”

  “I’m going to give you something easy to care for. You’ll still be able to pull it back, but it will look more professional.”

  A small smile played at her lips. “I haven’t cut my hair in so long.”

  “Well, I won’t lie to you. Short hair can be as much work as any style.” I combed out her hair, which was healthy. I indicated what I’d like to cut. “How about here?”

  She nodded. It didn’t take long, and I’d removed her past and transformed her into a smart-looking professional woman with sleek hair. I pulled some hair combs from my purse and showed her how to do a quick French twist.

  She hugged me.

  I spent the afternoon empowering women with confidence, praising them for their powerful commitment to a better life, and I wished someone had done this for our mother.

  Suzanne dropped Elena and me off at home, all three of us high on the hopes of those five women.

  “I’ll do this again, anytime.” I hugged Elena. “What you’re doing is amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

  She swallowed and blinked. “I couldn’t do it without your support. If you hadn’t…”

  Fought. Left. Found a place for us to live.

  I nodded. “And you’re paying it back a thousand times over.”

  She hugged me hard. “One day I hope you get to follow your dreams.” She wiped her face. “I’m working tonight. Want to get pizza tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She left, but fifteen minutes later the doorbell rang.

  “Did you forget something?”

  I opened the door. My heart squelched to a stop at the sight of a man, dressed in a grey polyester-wool blend slacks and white shirt. The tie looked like something out of the Dwight Schrute Office Collection–clearly police, at my front door. Why? I wedged my foot behind the door, hoping he wouldn’t push it open further.

  “Ms. DelToro?” The man flashed a badge at me. “I’m Detective Morris. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “About what?” My hand went to my pocket and I pulled my cell phone out, a useless defense but it still made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

  “Open the door, please.” His tone was pure pissed-off male.

  “No.” I knew I didn’t have to let him in. “Ask your question, Detective Morris.”

  “Has Gregory Herndon contacted you?”

  “Where’s Detective Gallo?” And where did I put Gallo’s card?

  “I’m working this aspect of the case now.” He stressed the ‘now’ and it chilled my blood. “Has Herndon contacted you?” He narrowed his eyes like they could laser into my head or something.

  “No.” Instinct told me this man wanted to search my house. My past told me to protect myself.

  “You gonna make this hard? You want me to show up at your work with a warrant?” He tilted his body back and scanned the neighborhood. “I thought I was doing you a favor showing up here and you’re acting like you got something to hide.”

  “I have not had contact with Herndon. I don’t care if that’s not the answer you want, but it’s the truth.” I pushed the door closed and locked the deadbolt. And waited. I expected him to yell or at the very least knock on the door.

  He left, and that scared me even more.

  A warrant? For what?

  He’d been bluffing.

  But why?

  A warrant… maybe a search warrant, not a warrant for my arrest. My heart beat pulsed in my ears, the swishing noise louder than the hum from the fridge.

  What was he looking for? And why did he think Herndon left it with me?

  Detective Gallo’s words echoed in my head. He targeted you. Had Gallo put something in his report that made the police think I’d lied and was really involved with Herndon?

  Even gone, Herndon was still screwing with my life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I woke late Tuesday morning, my twisted covers twisted pinned my legs. But the memory of my dream of Alyosha holding me and my day started with a smile. Morris hadn’t returned and maybe he’d thought he could bully me into letting him in the house, and when I’d stood up to him he’d disappeared.

  Hopefully, for good. It could happen. I deserved a break.

  I skipped the bus, pushing the guilt about yet another lie to Elena under the carpet of things-best-forgotten. Driving my optimistic car to work, I found a spot on a corner and parked. Today would rock.

  Kendra greeted me in a rock-a-billy black dress, black flats, and red lipstick.

  “You look cute today,” she said eyeing my black and white tie-dye maxi dress paired with my red silk scarf.

  “Thanks. You, too, as always.”

  She waved, as if batting the compliment away. “Right.”

  “You do,” I insisted. “You’re like a revolving door of style.”

  She shrugged. “I like to play dress-up.”

  She joined me at the coffeepot, and I refilled her cup. She stirred in her sweetener. “What did you do this weekend?”

  “Eric fixed the car, and yesterday I went with Elena to the YWCA. Did you know that the YWCA offers makeovers for women who qualify for job interviews? They get outfits and some makeup, I’m not sure about the child care situation, though.”

  “That’s awesome. Was it for one of Elena’s classes?”

  “The first time, yes, but she and her friend, Suzanne, have continued volunteering. The women are so appreciative. And brave. You know? They got out of a crappy situation and just need a steady job. It felt good to help them look the part. If I ever had my own salon, I’d let them come in before their interview so they didn’t have to worry about doing their makeup and hair themselves.” If I ever had my own salon.

  Kendra sipped her coffee. “We should provide transportation, too. Nothing like getting your look perfect and stepping out into fog and rain and riding the bus for forty-five minutes.”

  Michelle slapped her hands against the door frame. “Dear god
, I need coffee. Some freaking gray hair lost her Pekinese and ran out into traffic. I nearly hit an old lady and her stupid rat dog.”

  I poured her a cup of the sludge.

  “What are we talking about?” Michelle asked.

  “In our salon we’re going to offer free makeovers for women-in-need going for their job interviews. But, we’ll need to provide transportation, too,” Kendra said.

  “We could get a taxi or lift service to donate that. How many people a week do you think there would be?” Michelle asked.

  I shook my head, my heart warming that my best friends agreed and ran with the idea. “I’m not sure.”

  Michelle sipped her coffee and scowled. “This is so bad, I’m going on a coffee run. While I’m gone, you figure out how we finance our salon.” She poured her coffee out and tossed the cup in the garbage.

  Kendra eyed me. “Have you seen him again?”

  “Him?”

  “Alexei.”

  “No.” I wrinkled my nose. “It not like that.”

  “He hasn’t called?” Disappointment tinged her voice.

  “It’s okay. We’re not from the same circles.”

  Her eyeballs rotated around from I-can’t-believe-you-said-that to you’re-oblivious. “That man would buy the freaking circle for you. He looked at you like…” Her warm smile could have melted a glacier. “Seriously, Adri, he was into you. What happened?”

  I stared at my cup. “He’s kind of intense.” And might be connected. And wants to marry me. And he Houdini’d Herndon.

  “Intense? What does that even mean?” She leaned toward me. “He wanted to tie you up, or dress you like a dog and walk you?”

  “Ew, no, jeez, Cinemax much?”

  She grinned and nudged me. “Adri, what happened? This is the first guy you’ve dated that I liked.”

  “You liked how he looked.”

  “That, and the bank account.” Kendra was a pragmatist because before Jeremy her bank account had been cleaned out by a very attractive poet.

  “You’d date Warren Buffett.”

  Lips pursed, Kendra seemed to be weighing the benefits of money to the reality of having to see Buffett naked and touching her. “Only if I get to wax the ear hair.”

  “Poor Jeremy, you’d leave him for a billionaire with boils, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’ve got to show you this YouTube video I saw last night.” She stuck her tongue out and gagged.

  I sacrificed breakfast and any appetite for lunch and watched five blackhead extraction videos on YouTube with Kendra. The good news, she forgot to bring up Alyosha again. The bad news, I needed eye-bleach.

  The day, in fact, rocked with a busy day of clients, like my initial tide of optimism washed over them, too. The tips proved it and I was glad to not be at home.

  Michelle and I left at the same time, twenty after six. She parked on the same street a few blocks away from the salon and we walked together.

  We stopped in front of a new store, the pink sign above read “Bubbles Now Open” in big balloon letters.

  “Are you kidding me?” Michelle leaned closer, staring at store display. “Three balloons for fifty dollars. Fifty? That better be 24K gold ribbon.”

  “Maybe that includes delivery?” I scanned the display, searched for fine print, and found it. “Look, includes delivery to our service area.”

  “They’re selling drugs.” Michelle stepped back, like my naïveté could be contagious. She continued down the street and I matched her steps. “Nobody can afford this neighborhood and just sell balloons. Unless they sell drugs or are laundering money.”

  “Wow, Detective Doubtful, watch a little too much InvestigationDiscovery channel?” Maybe I needed to disconnect my cable service…

  “Adri, who do you know would spend seventeen bucks on one freaking party balloon. They didn’t even have Sesame Street or Disney in there.”

  “Fine. I agree it’s probably not the best business model.”

  Michelle pointed to the for lease sign across the street. “If we had the money, we should open a salon and pub. Come in at lunch, drink and dye. None of this prissy white and black shit. It would be wild colors, crazy haircuts, hell, we could have tattoos and piercings in the back.”

  “That sounds pretty cool.”

  “If I had the money, you’d be working with me.” She eyed me, measuring me up. “You, Kendra, and me, only. Haley talks too much. Speaking of which, have you heard any more about Herndon?”

  “Just on the news.”

  “So weird, you know. I didn’t take him for a runner. Creepy as hell, and overtly asshole.”

  “Yeah. He ever make a pass at you?” He targeted you.

  She pretended to gag. “No.”

  We turned the corner and light reflected a spiderweb pattern on the windshield. My cracked windshield. What the hell?

  Michelle pointed to my car. “Shit, honey. You got insurance?”

  My eyes bounced from my broken windshield to the car to the sidewalks. No one stood with a sign announcing they broke my window. It wasn’t like a rock fell off a passing truck. Someone broke my windshield. My steps slowed as we got closer.

  I scanned the street again, looking for cameras outside the businesses, or on the traffic lights.

  Michelle pointed to the Bay Area Car Rental I’d parked in front of. “I’ll ask if they saw anything,” Michelle pushed through the doors.

  Fear tickled my brain, and a memory of my father bragging about busting a tail-light so he could pull the guy over and question him, search his car, and plant evidence.

  Screw optimism, be cynical. Could Herndon be toying with me? Was it Detective Morris? Bratva? I gripped my phone and walked closer, each step pressing forward, against the dread, like I was sinking in the deep end of the pool, the air was thicker, harder to move through, harder to breathe. I needed a life-line.

  Could I trust Alyosha? My gut said, yes.

  My hand shook, my thumb swiped across the screen, and I punched at contacts, scrolling past the D’s twice before I pressed DANGER and connected the call.

  “Adrianna?”

  “Alyosha, I think someone intentionally broke my windshield.” Was it Herndon?

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In front of Bay Area Car Rental. Michelle is asking if anyone saw anything.”

  “Don’t call the police yet. Wait for me to get there and don’t touch the car.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  I nodded and ended the call. My cold fingers slid the phone into my purse.

  Michelle came outside with a skinny guy in his forties.

  The pocket of his crisp blue oxford shirt crumpled under the weight of the name tag declaring him, “Kevin”.

  “Hey, sorry about your car. I got here around four and your car was like that. Mitch works the morning shift, said he heard something around three, but he was slammed, and he didn’t come out to check.”

  “Do you have security cameras?” I asked.

  “Only in the garage.”

  Crap. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Michelle looked up from her phone. “Adri, I need to get my kids from day care. Unless you need me to stay?”

  “Nah.” I summoned a light-hearted smile and a care-free shrug. “Go get your kids. I’ve got a friend coming and he’ll help me take care of it.”

  “Are you sure?” Her eyes said she’d stay.

  “Positive,” I assured her.

  She gave me a quick one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, the daycare will charge me twenty extra bucks if I’m late.”

  “Go.” I nudged her down the street.

  “I’ll be in here if you need anything…” Kevin’s voice trailed off and the door closed behind him.

  “Yeah, a car would be great. Think you could handle that, Kev?” I asked the air.

  I inspected my car for new dents and scratches, and found none. The empty water bottle laid on the back seat f
rom the last time Elena and I took the car to the beach. Everything looked normal, which made it worse, my nerves wound tight like a jack-in-the-box waiting for Herndon to pop out. I texted Elena: I’m going to be late. Someone cracked my windshield.

  Elena replied: No! How bad?

  Not too bad. I called Alyosha for help.

  She texted an emoji of a smiling face with hearts for eyes and, Keep me updated.

  Alyosha drove past and honked his horn. He drove into the garage that charged ten dollars an hour or forty dollars for the day. In other words, a garage I’d never used. He stood beside me minutes later.

  “Hi. I’m glad you’re here.” I felt like a stretched rubber band, ready to snap, or burst into tears.

  He opened his arms and hugged me, enveloping me in the scent of cedar and lavender. His warmth soothed my frayed edges and comforted me like my favorite book on a rainy day. I could get addicted.

  “I’m glad you called. It’ll be okay.” He kissed the top of my head and released me. “Can I have your keys?”

  “Sure.” I handed them over.

  He dropped to the ground and looked under my car. He inspected the trunk lock and stuffed my key in, playing with it, wiggling, pulling it out and trying again. “Is the lock always this temperamental?”

  “No.”

  The trunk finally popped open, and Alyosha tugged the carpet corner uncovering the spare tire. “Fuck.”

  “What?” I peered around him.

  “I’m guessing this isn’t yours?” He opened a plastic grocery bag stuffed into the wheel well. Alyosha tilted the bag, revealing a dozen small black balloons filled with a tablespoon of something.

  “No. What is that?” The lame question, the tinny sound of my voice, the way my heart hammered in my chest… yep… I was having a panic attack.

  “Drugs.” He tossed the bag to the side of my trunk. He dug in his pocket, fished out his phone, and texted someone. “Adrianna, I’m going to need help. You understand?”

  “I think someone planted drugs in my car and broke my window so I’ll be stopped by the police, because that’s what my dad would have done to harass a suspect.” My stomach heaved, empty because of blackhead videos and stress. I burped up bile.