“What do you mean it was a whim. A whim is changing your order from a
latte to a macchiato, this is a war crime.”
“Mother don’t exaggerate, it is a hair cut not a crime.”
“It is a crime, and I am a witness to it. You can’t be seen in public
that way. People will think police officers are being attacked by the mad
barber of fleet street.”
Nicole made a grab for her mother’s cell phone but was way too late.
“Ramon sweetie, pencil, are you ready?”
Victor’s address was written on a pad in Ramon’s salon Bellus along with with a brief
description of what tragedy has befallen Cynthia’s daughter.
“Yes, come right away darling. Don’t interrupt dear, now please bring
that little man that fixes things with you. A leg has fallen off of a table. A
wooden leg, why do you ask? Quit laughing Ramon this is not funny. Fifteen
minutes, excellent dear, knew I could count you. Kisses.”
“What is going on down there?”
“Nothing important Victor. I’m afraid your table has had an injury. I
have someone coming to take care of it. Shall we bring the paperwork upstairs
in the mean time?”
“Yes, just forget that table it’s had a bad leg for years. Don’t lean on
it and it will be fine.”...
No comments:
Post a Comment