Page 22 of Reclaiming Adelaide

A man sat at the doorway in the middle of the alley, next to a one-step porch. He wore a holey gray long-sleeved shirt that reminded me of something out of the Matrix and jeans covered in soot or oil. His beanie hat covered fake dreadlocks mixed with vibrant colors of orange and red, and his two-week-old beard could’ve used a comb-through.

If it had been my first time here, he’d convince me wholeheartedly that he was a tweaker, but it was the smell that gave him away. Citrus and cedarwood, an expensive brand of cologne that no tweaker could ever afford.

“Frodo,” I said, nodding to the bodyguard.

“Who are you today?” His gruff voice rattled around like stones in a blender.

“That’s classified, hobbit.” I smiled.

His name wasn’t really Frodo, but Rodolfo. I’d made the mistake the first time I met him, and it became our little inside joke.

“She’s upstairs.”

“Thank you.”

I pulled open the rusted metal door that towered over my head by a good two feet. Its antiquated hinges cried out for oil.

“You should really get that fixed.”

“It’s a cheap alarm.”

Valid point.I walked inside, letting the door close behind me with a deafening thud, then took the steps on the right to the second floor.

“Rachel,” I said, pulling her beaded door to the side with a huff. “Get yourself an elevator, please?”

She laughed as I bent over and rested my hands on my knees.

“Stop eating pizza and Oreos.”

“That’s sacrilegious. How could you say such treacherous things?”

I leaned against her desk and dropped my backpack from my bruised shoulder.

“Got your stuff, but it’s extra for rush order.”

I nodded and handed her the cash after digging it out of my bag at my feet. I’d taken a hefty cash advance from Miranda’s credit card before tossing it and started on Felicity’s.

“Girl. You know better than to be walking around with that much green on you.”

“I’m desperate.” I shrugged.

“Got yourself into some trouble?”

I nodded again.

“That explains the splotchy black hair you got going on.”

After leaving the tattoo parlor, I stopped at CVS, picked up some hair dye, and made a mess of their bathroom sink. It wasn’t like I had a choice. Red heads stuck out, but the problem with red… it didn’t like to grab the color, especially while using over-the-counter products. “I went with the darkest color I could find.”

“Give me a sec.” She tossed her head in the direction of her hall. “I’ll go get it.”

Rachel, a woman in her fifties with half pink, half blue curls, dipped her head as she walked through the beaded curtain separating this room from the next. Last time it was a curtain, and the time before that, a door.

She liked to change things up, give it more of a homey feel with each transition. This time, lava lamps line the wall on a shelf, casting moving shadows up and down like hungry blobs seeking escape. Her shag rug turned red from its previous white… at least I think it was. It’d been six months since I’d been here last.

“Here you go,” she said as she swiped the beads away, walking back in.

She handed me a bundle of IDs wrapped in a thick tan rubber band. “Thank you.” I tapped them against my hand, then shook them out as they hit my fresh tattoo. “Ow.”

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