down too."
"Delete that."
"What? You don't want me to kill whoever with him
too? I mean we can't leave no witnesses."
"No, I mean delete killing Moore. . .at least for the moment."
"WhY?"
"Supreme got that letter from Precious I had her write.
He took it upon himself to call in the detective. Let's just
say the detective is suspicious about this so-called letter
and is having it checked out at the crime lab. Of course
Precious did write it and I want the detective to get the
information and bring it back to Supreme. If we kill him
before that it would do us more harm than good."
"But you know he's a problem. How long do you really want to keep him around?"
"Until I set a few more things in motion. You never
know. The detective might become useful."
"If you say so, but I don't see how."
"You sure are singing a whole other tune. At first you
didn't want any parts of taking the cat out, now you mad
that I want you to cease fire."
"You made a strong argument as to why he had to go
and I felt you on that. But if you want to keep him around
a little longer, I'm game."
"Wonderful. But of course I'll let you know when to
make your move."
"I got you. But I guess that means I won't be getting my
gratitude treat anytime soon?"
"You never know, so keep your finger on the trigger.
Now, I have an appointment to get to. I'll be in touch." I
grabbed my purse and I was off to my next stop.
I had fifteen minutes to get to the salon, but luckily it
was on North Canon Drive, which wasn't too far from
where I was. The traffic was light so I breezed to the spot,
and what a spot it was. This was the type of high-end
establishment that you were on time for, because unless
you were one of their many celebrity clients, coming late
meant your name was crossed off the appointment book.
The valet was waiting with a smile on his face when
I stepped out of my jag. The much younger knockoff
looking Brad Pitt attendee even offered to give my car a
detailed washing while I was getting my hair did, and of
course I agreed.
I strolled into the sexy bungalow-style salon feeling like
a star myself. I thought the place would have a typical, overrated Hollywood that thinks they are somebody aura,
but it was the opposite. The staff of bleach blondes, red
heads and brunettes were too friendly and almost overly
accommodating, offering me everything from champagne
to a personal stylist to pick out a new wardrobe to go
with my new hairstyle. The life of the rich and privileged
had my name written all over it.
"Miss, you can come this way," the stylist who I assumed
was doing my hair said. When I sat down I fell in love
with the garden terrace that was complete with fountains
and rose bushes. I had a clear view because of the floorto-ceiling windows.
"This is the life for me," I mumbled out loud.
"I'm sorry, Miss, what did you say?"
"Oh nothing, just thinking out loud."
"So what are you having done today?"
"I want some coloring, highlights and hair extensions.,,
"Great! Did you have a color and style in mind?"
"Yes, I even brought a picture to make your job a little
easier."
"Perfect! Let me have a look," she said as I dug in my
purse. I then handed her the photo and she eyed the
picture and then stared at me.
"Wow, you resemble the woman in this picture an
awful lot."
"Everybody says that. But it should be expected. We
used to be sisters."
"Used to be?"
'Yes, her name was Precious, but she died not too long ago."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. I've always admired her style, but now that she's gone I think she would appreciate me carrying it on."
"That's a nice way of looking at it. They say imitation
is the greatest form of flattery. So let me work my magic.
First, I'll start with a scalp treatment. It's a massage of
special oils and steamer."
"Sounds divine."
"It is, so sit back and relax."
It was effortless to do precisely that. I closed my eyes
and let my mind travel to where I
"Delete that."
"What? You don't want me to kill whoever with him
too? I mean we can't leave no witnesses."
"No, I mean delete killing Moore. . .at least for the moment."
"WhY?"
"Supreme got that letter from Precious I had her write.
He took it upon himself to call in the detective. Let's just
say the detective is suspicious about this so-called letter
and is having it checked out at the crime lab. Of course
Precious did write it and I want the detective to get the
information and bring it back to Supreme. If we kill him
before that it would do us more harm than good."
"But you know he's a problem. How long do you really want to keep him around?"
"Until I set a few more things in motion. You never
know. The detective might become useful."
"If you say so, but I don't see how."
"You sure are singing a whole other tune. At first you
didn't want any parts of taking the cat out, now you mad
that I want you to cease fire."
"You made a strong argument as to why he had to go
and I felt you on that. But if you want to keep him around
a little longer, I'm game."
"Wonderful. But of course I'll let you know when to
make your move."
"I got you. But I guess that means I won't be getting my
gratitude treat anytime soon?"
"You never know, so keep your finger on the trigger.
Now, I have an appointment to get to. I'll be in touch." I
grabbed my purse and I was off to my next stop.
I had fifteen minutes to get to the salon, but luckily it
was on North Canon Drive, which wasn't too far from
where I was. The traffic was light so I breezed to the spot,
and what a spot it was. This was the type of high-end
establishment that you were on time for, because unless
you were one of their many celebrity clients, coming late
meant your name was crossed off the appointment book.
The valet was waiting with a smile on his face when
I stepped out of my jag. The much younger knockoff
looking Brad Pitt attendee even offered to give my car a
detailed washing while I was getting my hair did, and of
course I agreed.
I strolled into the sexy bungalow-style salon feeling like
a star myself. I thought the place would have a typical, overrated Hollywood that thinks they are somebody aura,
but it was the opposite. The staff of bleach blondes, red
heads and brunettes were too friendly and almost overly
accommodating, offering me everything from champagne
to a personal stylist to pick out a new wardrobe to go
with my new hairstyle. The life of the rich and privileged
had my name written all over it.
"Miss, you can come this way," the stylist who I assumed
was doing my hair said. When I sat down I fell in love
with the garden terrace that was complete with fountains
and rose bushes. I had a clear view because of the floorto-ceiling windows.
"This is the life for me," I mumbled out loud.
"I'm sorry, Miss, what did you say?"
"Oh nothing, just thinking out loud."
"So what are you having done today?"
"I want some coloring, highlights and hair extensions.,,
"Great! Did you have a color and style in mind?"
"Yes, I even brought a picture to make your job a little
easier."
"Perfect! Let me have a look," she said as I dug in my
purse. I then handed her the photo and she eyed the
picture and then stared at me.
"Wow, you resemble the woman in this picture an
awful lot."
"Everybody says that. But it should be expected. We
used to be sisters."
"Used to be?"
'Yes, her name was Precious, but she died not too long ago."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. I've always admired her style, but now that she's gone I think she would appreciate me carrying it on."
"That's a nice way of looking at it. They say imitation
is the greatest form of flattery. So let me work my magic.
First, I'll start with a scalp treatment. It's a massage of
special oils and steamer."
"Sounds divine."
"It is, so sit back and relax."
It was effortless to do precisely that. I closed my eyes
and let my mind travel to where I
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