• • •
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.”
“Archie Ahmed? Is that Razzle Dazzle?”
“Yeah, apparently Raz has something like sixty-four identities. The Somali government uses him as an operative. Everything from running guns to recruitment to wet work. They probably drop a stack of passports off to him once a month. Berger got tapes from Honolulu International and identified Raz going through security. It looks like he was on your plane.”
“I don’t remember him.”
“Put a hat on him, and he might look human,” Morelli said.
“Did Berger say anything about his source? I mean, how did he know about the photograph?”
“Information from an overseas operative that a courier had passed a photo to you. Berger is going on the assumption that it’s a photo of a hacker the FBI has been looking for.”