Page 50 of The Millionaire Mortician
“Mmmhmm. Same ol’. Reem said he was still plotting and shit.”
I nodded. “He’s gon’ be outta here soon, too.”
With how I was feeling, a whole war could’ve broken out. I was ready for smoke with any and everybody.
Maverick and I wrapped up our meeting and said our goodbyes for the time being. When he left, I made my way back downstairs to help with some of the bodies. We had a full house and a lot of services coming up.
As soon as I walked into the prep room, a body was on the metal table waiting for me. Walking around, I took my time and observed her while reviewing her paperwork. She was young, only twenty-four. Her face told a story, or at least what was left of it. She was shot in the right side of her forehead, with the wound jagged. It fucked up her pretty face.
“What happened shorty?” I whispered as I shook my head.
I stood over her for a moment, letting the silence settle. Death didn’t shock me after a while, but the way people went out left a weight on me sometimes.
“Alexia, put on work playlist,” I instructed the machine.
Once the music spilled from the speakers with the hard bass, I prepped myself to start. I pulled on gloves, my mask, and an apron, then laid out my tools and got to work.
First, it was the embalming process. I got to her veins to drain the blood and bodily fluids. I then pushed the embalming fluid into her. Her skin took color again. It didn’t look like she had life, but she looked as if she was resting instead of meeting a violent end. Once I was finished with the fluids, I started to stitch her up, making sure every incision was closed.
When that was finished, I shifted to the more challenging part — the restoration. Washing her body again, I made sureto get everywhere that was obviously noticeable and any fluid off her, so there was no smell. I then cleaned the bullet wound, packed and filled it, and then smoothed it out. It took a lot of patience, more patience than most men had. Still, I wasn’t about to send her out looking anything less than whole.
Before I tackled her hair and makeup, I grabbed the clothes her family had brought for her to wear. Taking my time, I got her dressed from head to toe. Next was the beauty part of it and the hard part, where I had to make sure her wound wasn’t showing.
Since her hair was matted from where she fell, I washed it, gently combed it out, and then styled it simply yet neatly. It was then time to apply her makeup. I pulled the kit from the shelf. I began mixing the foundation to accurately match her skin tone. I worked carefully over the bullet hole, layering and blending until the jagged mark disappeared beneath shades and texture. I then moved the swoop I made to cover most of the wound. It wasn’t perfect — nothing ever was — but she looked like herself again when I stepped back, like a woman sleeping, not a victim.
I set the brush down and leaned on the counter for a moment, admiring my work. Most people didn’t know this about me, but years back, I made sure to get certified in hair and makeup. Mortuary science provided the basics, but I further developed my skills through classes, practice, and whatever it took to learn how to do every single thing for myself. I never wanted to be assed out waiting on somebody else to show up to handle something for me. Relying on people could cost time and trust. And in the funeral business, you didn’t get to tell a grieving mother or father, “Sorry, we couldn’t fix her face today.”
I peeled the gloves off, tossed them in the bin, and stood over her one last time. “Rest easy,” I murmured under my breath before sliding the sheet over her.
After washing my hands and face, I dried them, then turned off the music until it was time to return to tackle another person.I returned to my office for somemetime, but I just knew a whole lot of shit was going to plague my mind.
It wasn’t even two minutes into my break when a knock sounded at my door. I sighed out loud. “Come in!” I yelled.
One of my security guards walked in. “There’s a man by the name of Frost here to see you. I saw he wasn’t an approved visitor, but he insisted,” he informed me.
God had dropped a gift right at my doorstep. Although it was just a thought, I no longer had to go to him. He came right to me.
“Search him properly, and only he is allowed in,” I instructed.
Not wasting another minute, he nodded and disappeared.
I pulled my drawer open, grabbed my Glock, and placed the silencer on it before returning it to the top drawer, leaving it open for easy access. If Frost showed up at my place of business, I knew it had to be some shit. It was about Mav and me taking one of his highest-earning clients, or he was coming to tell me what the fuck he was doing at my girl’s salon.
A few minutes later, there was another knock. That time, I knew exactly who it was.
“Yo,” I answered.
My guard opened the door wide, then stepped aside for the heavyset muthafucker to walk in.
“So, this is where you burn your bodies, huh?” Frost looked around the office.
I chuckled. “You wanna be next?” I shot at him.
He laughed it off. “I thought we were going to have an understanding. What happened to that?”
Sitting up, I placed my elbows on my desk. “When the fuck did we ever agree to anything? You thought your threats were supposed to change our minds or some shit?”
“Don’t say I didn’t try, my boy,” he stated, then turned to leave.
