“Like your brother?”
“Yeah, he’d probably sell it to the Russians, or aliens from outer space, or whoever the heck the enemy is. I can’t keep up with it. Or he could keep it and use it to hijack shit.”
I looked at myself in the mirror and tried not to grimace. This was more than I’d expected. My whole head was covered in foil.
“Here’s the big question,” I said to Brenda. “Why did Richard Crick put the photo in my bag?”
“It was an accident. He was airsick, or maybe he was coming down with the flu or something. Anyway, he got off the plane for the layover and was too sick to get back on. He was looking through his bag for his boarding pass, to get it changed out, and he realized he didn’t have my envelope. And he said he remembered you had the exact same bag. A black Tumi messenger bag. And he realized he stuffed the yellow envelope into your bag by mistake in his rush to deplane. He said your bag was laying on the floor between the seats, just like his. So he called and told me. He said when he thought about it, he knew exactly what happened. He thought maybe I could meet you when you got off the plane, but I didn’t get his message in time. And then he was dead. What are the chances, right?”
Probably pretty good, considering the circumstances.
“How’d your brother find out?”
“He was with me when I played the message back. How was I to know he’d be such an asshole?”
“You told him about the photo with the code?”
“I’d had a couple Appletinis,” Brenda said. “I get chatty.”
“I love them Appletinis,” Lula said. “I could drink a gallon of them.”
“Over to the sink,” Brenda said to me. “You’re done processing. This is going to be awesome.”
• • •
I’m always amazed at the way life plays out. How so often a single decision sets people on an irreversible journey. Richard Crick agreed to do a simple favor for a friend, and it led to his death. And the whole ugly chain of events was set in motion when Bernie Schwartz borrowed money from Sammy the Pig. And what was the ultimate result? Highlights from Brenda.
When your hair is wet, you really can’t see exactly what the hairdresser from hell has given you. So when I left the shampoo sink and sat in the styling chair, there was hope. By the time my hair was blow-dried, ratted up, and sprayed, I was ready for serious alcohol consumption. The highlights were brilliant red and yellow, my hair looked like it had exploded out of my head, and I was at least six inches taller.
Brenda had tears in her eyes. “This is the most fabulous thing I’ve ever done,” she said. “I’m going to call it Route 1 Sunrise.”
“I never seen anything like it,” Lula said. “This here takes her to a whole other level. She’s not just another ordinary bitch no more. She’s, like, Super Bitch. She’s, like, got fire hair.”
“And you see how I gave her hair some lift,” Brenda said. “It gives her style some drama.”
“I could see that,” Lula said.
“What do you think?” Brenda asked me.
“I’m speechless,” I said.
Brenda put her hand over her heart. “My pleasure. I’m glad I could help you.”
Lula and I left the salon and climbed into the truck. I got behind the wheel, and my hair stuck to the roof.
“I can’t drive like this,” I said. “My hair’s stuck.”
“You need a bigger vehicle to go with your new look,” Lula said.
I slouched in my seat and drove to the edge of the lot, where Brenda couldn’t see me. I took a brush out of my bag and worked at my hair.
“I can’t get the brush to go through it,” I said to Lula.
“That’s the way hair’s supposed to be when it got some body. She kicked your hair up a notch. Wham!”
“You might want to dial back on the wham thing,” I told her. “I’m not in the mood.”
“How could you be Miss Crankypants when you got hair like that?”
“This is not my kind of hair.”
“Yeah, but it could be. It could be a whole new you.”
I didn’t want a new me. I still hadn’t figured out the old me.
TWENTY-FOUR
I WAS STILL IDLING in the shopping-center lot, trying to squash my hair, when Morelli called on my cell phone.
“I finally caught up with Berger,” he said. “They’ve been reviewing security tapes from LAX, and they have Razzle Dazzle on one of them. There were no cameras in the vicinity of the crime scene, but they have Raz leaving your gate area. They checked the plane manifest, and two passengers didn’t reboard at LAX. Crick and a Somali national, Archie Ahmed.”