Alive in Shape and Color

by Lawrence Block

  Back at his barber chair, Charlie plugged in the clippers and went to work.

  Millie paused in cutting Old Man Weaver’s hair, said, “Dad, are you hot?”

  “What?” he said.

  “You’re sweating.”

  “Oh,” Charlie said, reached up and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his barber’s coat. “I’m all right. It’s warm in the back.”

  Millie nodded, then smiled, and that made a lot of things okay.

  Charlie turned his attention back to Billy’s hair, the clippers hummed pleasantly while he cut, and now again he paused them and used the scissors from his coat pocket to clip at the cowlicks. The scissors worked better for that, keeping the licks even with the rest of the cut. When he felt he had the problem hair controlled, he returned the scissors to his pocket, picked up the clippers again, and went at it.

  He and Billy talked about sports some more, Billy’s family. Old Man Weaver and Millie talked about the weather, the tomato festival earlier that year, and about how Weaver’s granddaughter had gone off to Tyler to teach high school history. It was the usual barbershop experience, and Charlie enjoyed it.

  Charlie was almost finished with Billy’s hair when the bell over the door clanged, and two young men entered.

  One was nice-looking in a street-tough kind of way, and the other wasn’t so nice-looking. He had a face that looked as if it had been set on fire with a blowtorch and the flames had been beat out with a garden rake.

  Charlie could feel their attitude right away. It went before them like trucks pulling trailers. They sat in waiting chairs, reached magazines off the table, started thumbing through them. Now and again they looked up at Millie, and that bothered Charlie.

  Charlie understood Millie was pretty. He understood that, as a dad, he was overprotective, and he knew nearly every male below the age of forty who came into the shop took note of her, and a lot of them above the age of forty. But these boys made him start to hurry Billy’s cut. He almost decided to break a long-standing rule and tell them he was closing up and they had to go.

  Old Man Weaver was finished. He climbed down from his chair, paid up, and went out. After he was gone, Millie turned the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED.

  She walked to the big window and looked out. “You fellows walked here?” she said, turning to look at them.

  “Yeah,” said Inflamed-face. “We like to walk.”

  “Walking’s good for you,” said Nice-looking. “I read that in a magazine, maybe in a barbershop. I forget.”

  “I don’t recognize either of you,” she said.

  “Visiting relatives,” said Nice-looking.

  “Who would that be?” Billy said.

  “Don’t be nosy,” said Nice-looking.

  “Sorry,” Billy said. “Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “Don’t mean we didn’t take something from it though, does it?” said Inflamed-face.

  “Let’s stay civil,” Charlie said. “It was an innocent question.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Inflamed-face, “civil. That’s how we want to be. Civil.”

  Millie went back to her chair, said, “Who’s next?”

  “That will be me,” said Nice-looking.

  “I got to let him cut my hair?” Inflamed-face said, “and you get the good-looking girl?”

  “Get what you deserve in life,” said Nice-looking.

  Nice-looking put the magazine on the table and climbed into Millie’s chair.

  “How would you like it?” she said.

  “Like it is, only shorter.”

  Millie went to work. Charlie continued to cut hair, but he checked on Inflamed-face from time to time, glanced over at Pretty Boy in Millie’s chair.

  “Barbers, they do right smart business in a small town, don’t they?” Inflamed-face said.

  “We do all right,” Charlie said.

  “I’m thinking you might do better than that. Bet you bring in plenty. Men got to get their hair cut to stay respectable, don’t they? You like them respectable, don’t you, Dad?”

  Charlie paused the clippers, looked at the one with the wrecked face. “Let me explain this where you understand it. Don’t call me Dad, and leave my shop. Both of you. I don’t like the way you talk.”

  “Well, that’s all right, because we don’t like the way you talk,” said Inflamed-face, and he didn’t move. Nice-looking stayed in Millie’s barber chair.

  “Want me to go with my hair partly cut?” said Nice-looking. “I can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, you can,” Charlie said.

  Millie had ceased to run the clippers and had stepped back from the chair. Nice-looking didn’t get up. He said, “Tommy, lock the door.”

  Inflamed-face, Tommy, stood up and locked the door. He went over to the big window and pulled down the blind. He started for the smaller windows.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Charlie said.

  “We’re helping you close up,” Nice-looking said. “Finish the haircut, doll.”

  “You’re leaving,” Charlie said. “Buy yourself some clippers and do it yourself.”

  “I could do that,” Nice-looking said, “but I won’t.”

  Nice-looking stood up from the barber chair and opened his jacket. There was a .45 automatic in his waistband, a military pistol.

  “What’s this all about?” Charlie said.

  “Easy, Dad,” Millie said.

  “Yeah,” Inflamed-face said. “Easy, Dad.”

  “You got some money here, and we need it,” Nice-looking said. “I think that’s the best way to stuff in a nutshell, though sometimes I like to talk and couldn’t put it in a bushel basket. Today, though, I’m feeling less talky. Here’s so you rubes will understand us. We’d like your money. We’ll take the money, and we’ll hole up here for a while.”

  Tommy laughed.

  Nice-looking eased the pistol out of his waistband and held it alongside his leg, tapping his thigh gently with the barrel. “You’re all right with that, aren’t you . . . Dad?”

  “Take the money and go,” Charlie said. “Take it all, but leave.”

  “Naw,” said Nice-looking, “we kind of got a situation on our hands. Made a run at the bank here. Didn’t work out so good. Cop came in while the gal was handing me the money; someone yelled. I had to shoot the cop, and Tommy here had to shoot the one who yelled.”

  “Didn’t have to shoot anyone after you killed the cop,” Tommy said. “Just wanted to.”

  “I stand corrected,” Nice-looking said. “Okay. Here’s how we start. Give us the money, Dad. Now.”

  “And you,” Tommy said, pointing at Billy. “You got some money, don’t you?”

  “Enough for a haircut,” Billy said.

  Tommy grinned. “Like the old lady who peed in the ocean said, every little bit helps.”

  Billy stood up and fished in his front pocket and came up with a few dollar bills. Tommy came over and took them. “Hell, you got enough for a haircut and a shave. If you shaved. Go over there and sit in a chair and be still. You get nervous, we’ll shoot you and tell God you died.”

  Billy went over and sat in one of the customer chairs.

  “Now you, doll,” Nice-looking said. “Finish cutting my hair. And you, Dad, you sit in the barber chair and be nice, or we won’t be nice. Dig? Same goes for you, what is it, Billy?”

  Charlie moved around to the front of the chair and sat in it. He could see Billy in the chair across the way. Billy was fuming. Charlie feared he might do something silly.

  “I’m thinking I’ll give you a haircut,” Tommy said to Charlie, and wandered behind the chair where Charlie sat. “Little off the top first, then maybe I’ll part your hair with a bullet. I got a gun too, Dad.”

  Tommy turned his attention to Millie, standing with the clippers in hand. Nice-looking had climbed back in the chair. “And you, girlie,” Tommy said. “We might do some hair parting of a different kind with you.”

  “Leave her
alone,” Charlie said, and he moved to come out of the chair.

  Tommy slapped Charlie over the ear. Charlie’s head rang like a bell. “You shut up, Dad, unless you want to get the party started.”

  “Let her and the boy go,” Charlie said. “Keep me. They won’t say a word.”

  Tommy slapped him over the ear again. Charlie winced.

  “Like we believe that,” Nice-looking said, leaning back in the chair, shifting into a comfortable spot, resting the gun on his knee. “No one leaves. Not until we leave. Besides, you people make nice company, don’t they, Tommy?”

  “Damn nice company,” Tommy said. “I think girlie could be nicer company then these two though.”

  Billy started to rise out of his chair, Charlie lifted a hand off his knee and patted the air. Billy stopped trying to rise up.

  “Thatta boy,” Tommy said. “You get excited, want to play the hero, you’ll get dead.”

  Billy’s face turned bright red, but he kept his seat.

  Nice-looking turned in the barber chair and looked at Millie.

  “You don’t look like any barber I ever had,” he said. “Look here, girlie. I’m going to need you to say a word or two. Not too much, but you can say something.”

  “Something,” Millie said.

  “Oh, a smart-ass,” Tommy said. “We can fix that.”

  “Naw, it’s all right,” Nice-looking said. “I like them a little feisty. It’s more fun to bring them down. The higher something is, the more fun to watch it fall. You got a purse, doll?”

  Millie nodded.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Yes. I have a purse.”

  “That’s good. You got any money in it?”

  “A few dollars.”

  “Tell them what you think about that again, Tommy.”

  “Like the old lady that peed in the ocean,” Tommy said. “Every little bit counts.”

  “That’s your cue, doll,” Nice-looking said. “Give me your purse.”

  Millie turned and reached under a shelf and brought it out. Tommy came over and took it, as he did, he ran his hand over her hand. Millie recoiled.

  “Ah now, sweet girlie, I’m not so bad,” Tommy said.

  “Yes he is,” Nice-looking said. “He’s bad.”

  Tommy took Millie’s chin in his hand and said, “I think you ought to give me a kiss.”

  Tommy snickered, let her go, went back to stand behind Charlie. He began looking through the purse. After a few minutes he found a small wallet. He dropped the purse and opened the wallet. He took out some bills and put those in his pocket, tossed the wallet on the floor with the purse.

  “Where’s the barbershop money?” Tommy said, leaning over Charlie’s shoulder.

  “Behind you, in the shelf, a cigar box,” Charlie said.

  “No cash register?” Tommy said.

  “No,” Charlie said.

  “You see a cash register, Tommy?” Nice-looking said.

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the point in asking?”

  Tommy shrugged, found the cigar box, opened it, thumbed through it. “What, a hundred dollars, some change? You might as well take Green Stamps.”

  “That’s all we have,” Charlie said.

  “What’s in the back?” Tommy said.

  “Barber supplies, bathroom, back door, and the parking lot.”

  “Money?”

  “No,” Charlie said.

  “Had to leave our car behind,” Nice-looking said. “Or someone’s car. We stole it. Now we got to have another one, so that one in the back I saw, that yours?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “We’ll be taking it,” Nice-looking said. “Having the keys is better than hotwiring some car. Neither of us are too good at it. Give me the keys.”

  “They’re on that hook by the front door,” Charlie said.

  “Tommy,” Nice-looking said, “get those keys.”

  Tommy got them, gave them to Nice-looking, who was holding out his hand. Nice-looking shoved the keys into his coat pocket.

  “Finish my hair, doll,” Nice-looking said.

  Millie lifted the clippers and began to cut. Her hands trembled slightly.

  When Millie finished cutting Nice-looking’s hair, he climbed out of the chair, looked in the mirror. He went over to the shelf in front of the mirror, found a comb and a bottle of red hair oil. He dripped a bit of oil into his palm, slicked his hair back with it, combed it.

  “We could just lay low here awhile,” Tommy said.

  Nice-looking nodded.

  “We could, but they don’t go home, and we’re here, someone might come looking for them.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that,” Tommy said.

  “Ask me if I’m surprised.”

  Tommy’s forehead wrinkled. “You don’t have to talk that way.”

  “I don’t have to is right,” Nice-looking said.

  “Now, we’re going to need the three of you to go in the back.”

  Charlie and Billy stood up from their seats, and Mille started to follow.

  As Millie passed and came up close to Charlie, Tommy said, “Honey, I’m going to need to pinch that butt. I been wanting to do that since we got here.”

  Tommy reached out to pinch her, and when he did Charlie stepped back and hit him in the face with an elbow. It was a sharp blow and Tommy staggered, his nose spouting blood.

  Nice-looking moved quickly, slammed the gun barrel into the side of Charlie’s head. It was a good blow, but Charlie only moved a little. Nice-looking seemed surprised by that. He started to hit Charlie again, but now Tommy was there, and he had drawn a small revolver from inside his coat. He said, “Let me do it.”

  “All right,” Nice-looking said.

  Tommy brought the revolver around to hit Charlie, and when he did, Billy grabbed Tommy’s wrist, yelled, “Stop it.”

  Tommy jerked his hand free, pointed the revolver.

  Nice-looking said, “Don’t make noise unless you got to.”

  “I got to,” Tommy said.

  “No you don’t,” Nice-looking said.

  “Okay,” Tommy said, and stuck the pistol in his waistband, reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a knife, and clicked it open.

  Before Billy could move, Tommy stabbed him in the gut. Billy fell back against the barber chair. Charlie grabbed him, pulled Billy away from Tommy, stepped in between them.

  Billy sagged to the floor. Blood leaked out of him like spilled motor oil.

  “Better move, ’cause I’m not finished, and I can cut you too, old man,” Tommy said.

  “I been cut,” Charlie said.

  “That’s enough,” Nice-looking said. “Got time for that later, we want it. Get them in the back. Might want them for hostages, and if we do, it’s best they’re alive. Except Billy there. I don’t want him. He don’t look so good, and he’s wet. We’d just be dumping him beside the road somewhere, have to clean up after him.”

  “Cowards,” Millie said. “You sorry cowards.” Her body shook.

  “Easy, baby,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah,” Nice-looking said. “Easy, baby.”

  “In the back, now, and get that son of a bitch off the floor, or I’ll finish him here,” Tommy said.

  Charlie bent down, slipped his arm under Billy’s arm, lifted him up. “Sorry, son,” Charlie said in his ear.

  “I ain’t,” Billy said, but he had turned pale and his face was beaded with sweat.

  Charlie grabbed the barber towel off the back of his chair, folded it and pushed it against Billy’s wound. “Hold it there, son, press tight.”

  Billy pressed on the towel. When he did, he groaned. The towel began to turn red.

  Millie came around and got on the other side of Billy, and they helped him walk to the back.

  “It’s not so bad,” Billy said, as they went.

  “Good,” Charlie said, but from experience, he knew Billy was wrong. A stab like that felt like a punch in the gut at first,
but then it felt like the fires of hell blazing through your belly. Pain would come, and Billy was leaking a lot of blood; his life was running out of him like water down a drain.

  “It’ll be okay, Billy,” Millie said.

  When they got to the rear of the shop, Nice-looking went to the back door and cracked it open. He looked out for a short time, then eased the door shut.

  “There’s a park back there,” Nice-looking said. “There’s a lot of people out there. Go out with them, someone might look and know better.”

  “What now?” Tommy said.

  “Billy there, he isn’t going, that’s for sure. Put them in that closet, let me think on it.”

  A great shadow moved inside of Charlie. Of all the damn things, a confined space. It was one thing to will himself to grab clippers off a top shelf, but to be closed in, that was beyond what he could manage.

  Charlie glanced at Millie. Her eyes were wide, her lips tight and thin. He knew that look. He had seen it on the face of soldiers about to enter into battle; he had seen it every day on the faces of his fellow prisoners.

  Tommy got a chair from the front of the shop while Nice-looking pointed his gun and a smile at them. Tommy brought a customer chair in, placed it by the closet, opened the closet door. “All of you, get inside.”

  “Dad,” Millie said.

  Charlie hadn’t moved. He still had one arm around Billy, Millie on the other side.

  “Inside, I said.”

  With more will than Charlie thought he possessed, he began to trudge toward the dark opening.

  I’ll be all right with the light on, he told himself. It won’t be good, but it won’t be as bad. As long as I have a light, that will make it better.

  At the doorway, looking into the darkness, Charlie almost broke and ran, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t. Not with Millie and Billy there. He had to go inside. As they entered the closet, he reached up quickly, pulled the cord, and turned on the overhead light. They eased Billy to the ground with his back against a shelf.

  “No,” Tommy said, and he entered into the closet, hopped up and broke the light with his pistol. “Let’s keep it dark. And you, girlie, we get ready, we’ll take you with us. We can have a party somewhere.”