Page 4 of Murder Island

I looked at Kira. I knew we were both thinking the exact same thing. The assassins thought we were already in the loft. And we almost were. If we’d gotten there just ten seconds sooner…

All we had now were the clothes on our backs. Wewere covered in dust. Our shoes and pants were still crusted with tunnel slime. We reeked of smoke and sewage. But we were still breathing.

Kira pulled out her cell phone and tapped out a quick text.

“We need to change,” she said.

“Clothes?”

“Everything.”

I followed her down the alley behind the building and across an empty parking lot. We worked our way past dumpsters and loading docks, staying off the main streets as she led me on another rat’s-eye-level tour of the city.

After about twenty minutes, we stopped across from a small commercial block near Douglas Park. I saw two hole-in-the-wall bars, a pizza shop, and a small beauty salon. The other businesses were buzzing, but the salon was dark. ACLOSEDsign hung on the inside of the glass door.

Kira led the way across the street. The salon was named Diva. Kira rang the bell twice. A few seconds later, a light came on inside. A lanky Black woman made her way from the back toward the door. Early thirties. About Kira’s age. Thick, beaded dreadlocks dangled around her shoulders. She flicked the lock and pulled the door open. When she saw Kira, she rocked back.

“Whoa, honey!” she said. “How many lives you got left?”

CHAPTER 4

WE STEPPED INSIDE. The woman wrapped Kira in a tight hug, then backed off and held her at arm’s length. She curled her nose and turned her head to the side. “What the hell, girl! Did you do a swan dive into a cesspool?” Then she looked over Kira’s shoulder at me and lowered her voice. “Okay, now,” she said. “Who’s the hunk?”

Kira turned and did the intros. “Denise, this is Doc. Doc, this is Denise, an old classmate of mine. We got our personal trainer certifications together way back.”

“I cheated off this girl the whole time,” said Denise. She did a spin and waved her hand around the salon. “Then I decided I was more into the appearance aspect than the muscular aspect, if you understand me.”

“This is your place?” I asked. It was a compact setup, with three styling stations, a reception desk, and a small Aveda retail section. The place smelled like lavender and lemons, with a slight undertone of ammonia.

“Three hundred square feet of prime Chicago real estate,” proclaimed Denise. “At a rent I can almost afford.” The beads at the tips of her locs clicked together as she talked.

“Thanks for opening up,” said Kira.

“You said it was an emergency,” said Denise. She looked us both up and down. “You did not lie.” She pointed to the back of the shop, which was separated from the salon space by a thin wooden partition. “There’s a shower back there. Please use it. Both of you.” Denise held her hands up, palms out. “I can’t work my art on a dirty canvas.”

I still didn’t know why we were here, but before I could ask, Kira disappeared behind the partition. After a few seconds, I heard a flimsy door opening and then water coming on. I sat down in one of the salon’s vinyl waiting chairs, exhausted.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Denise. “If I remember, that girl takes the fastest showers in the Western Hemisphere.”

She was right. I was barely settled in the seat when I heard the water turn off in the back room. About ten seconds later, Kira reappeared, wrapped in a towel. Her wet ringlets were dripping down onto her pale shoulders. I could smell her shampoo and body wash from where I sat. I stared at her. Couldn’t help it. Before that afternoon, Kira and I had been apart for nearly twelve months.

I’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was.

Kira tipped her head this way and that to jostle thewater out of her ears. “Careful with the hot tap,” she said. “It comes on strong.”

I stood up and slipped past her into the back. Behind the partition, there was a simple fiberglass stall alongside a massage chair and a pile of cardboard cartons. A stack of fresh towels sat on a wooden stand. As I stripped off my filthy clothes, I could hear Denise and Kira talking out front. Denise wasn’t eventryingto be discreet.

“What’s the situation with the male model?” she was asking. “Bodyguard? Bouncer? Boyfriend?”

“It’s complicated,” Kira said. “Let’s just leave it there.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say—or what I hoped she would say.Complicated.To be honest, I probably would have used the same word.

“Okay, Miss Kira,” Denise went on. “None of my damn business. Let’s get started on you, okay? How radical?”

“Full on,” Kira replied. “Just like we practiced.”

I turned on both taps, tested the temperature on my palm, and stepped into the stall. I feathered the hot tap to avoid being scalded. The water soaked my hair and poured over my body. I grabbed a bar of soap from the holder and lathered up. When I looked down, I could see trickles of brown sludge curling into the drain.

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