barbers friend
Philadelphia – 1
(haircuts, love, sex, and crime)
I’ve divided the story into 4 parts because, unfortunately, it ended up being longer than planned
Warning: This story contains scenes of sex and violence!
If you don’t want to read that, you should close the story now!
All images are AI-generated and are not intended to depict real people.
I wrote the story myself without using AI.
A young woman is just leaving a hair salon. She seems very pleased.
Her hand runs through her freshly styled curls and tosses them into the wind.
Her blonde curls fall past her shoulders, accompanied by small, curly bangs.
The woman’s name is Cathy Wagner; she’s 32 years old and divorced.
She sets off leisurely on her way home.
Ahead of her walks a woman with a blonde ponytail tied high on her head, swinging back and forth with every step.
“Darn!” Cathy says to herself, “Now I forgot to ask Doris if she cut off
another ponytail.”
Doris is her hairdresser, whom she’s been seeing for several years.
At the salon, she always insists on being served only by Doris.
Last time, Doris told her about a young girl who had lost a bet.
“Did you get to cut her hair really short?”
“Unfortunately not, but she had a thick brown braid. I could barely get the scissors through it. I cut and cut, really struggling, and she started bawling
in the chair.”
“How short did you cut it?” Cathy asks curiously, while Doris winds her hair onto the curlers.
“Up to her ears,” she said. “She really got on my nerves with her whining. Since her hair was so thick, I used the comb and the clippers right away to cut it straight all the way around, above her earlobes.”
“How do you do that?” Cathy asks, intrigued.
“It’s quick and easy. You just stick the comb straight into her shoulder-length hair and run the clippers along the comb from front to back. Her hair was just flying onto the cape. After that, I gave her a short bang.”
Cathy squeezed her legs together; she was already wet.
Cathy passes the woman with the blonde ponytail and stops abruptly in front of a store window. The woman bumps into her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” she apologizes.
“No harm done,” Cathy smiles at her. Now she sees the woman from the front. A round face with a full, long bang across her forehead.
Cathy walks on.
Cathy is now lying on her sofa, too.
She’s dreaming about the woman with the blonde braid.
She’s holding the braid in one hand and a pair of large scissors in the other.
When she wakes up, her hand is inside her panties. She’s wet down there.
As always, she’s startled by her dream and by herself.
She could never do something like that in the real world.
Cathy is sitting on a bench in the park, knitting. She’s not making much progress because she keeps glancing at other women with very long hair or eye-catching hairstyles.
“Is this seat still open?”
Cathy looks up and sees the smiling face of a young woman with short black hair. She has a side part, and her hair covers half of her ears.
“Sure.” Cathy pulls her bag a little closer to make room.
“Thanks.” She sits down a little way away from Cathy and takes her knitting supplies out of her bag. Cathy looks over at her curiously.
“What are you making?”
“A little hat for a baby.” Cathy looks down at her belly.
“No! Not for me—for friends.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
The woman laughs. “I’m Moni.”
“Cathy—actually, Catherine,” she introduces herself.
“You have beautiful curls,” Moni remarks, looking at Cathy.
“Oh, thanks. I just went to the hairdresser this morning—a trim and fresh curls.” “You can tell—no split ends.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cathy notices that Moni is also checking out certain women. A young girl walks past them, her hip-length brown hair with completely split ends. “She really needs a good 20 cm cut off,”
Cathy blurts out. “I’d cut it right down to her shoulders.”
Cathy looks at Moni. “You too?” Moni grins and just nods.
“Do you know why I have these curls?”
“Of course—to charm the men.” Cathy laughs.
“Not quite. Then I sit under the drying hood forever and get to watch while my hair’s being cut. Sometimes I’m all wet afterward.”
That was blunt!
“And your short hair? Are you a lesbian?”
“Me? Maybe sometimes, but only if she’s an extraordinary woman.
But otherwise, I’m always straight.” Moni beams at Cathy.
“Your short hair really suits you, though. It’s got something special about it,
and I really like that about you.” “Thanks, that’s so sweet of you to say.”
“I really meant it.” The two look into each other’s eyes.
“But I have to go now.” Moni grabs her bag.
“Same time next Saturday?” Cathy asks.
Moni grins. “Yes, I’d love to.”
“Maybe we could grab a coffee together somewhere?”
“Then maybe I’ll surprise you with a fresh haircut.”
“Which salon do you actually go to get your hair cut?”
Moni grins again. “It’s my secret.” She blows Cathy a kiss.
Cathy watches her go.
The following Saturday, Cathy is already sitting in the park early in the morning. She can hardly wait to see Moni.
She shifts restlessly back and forth on the bench.
Finally! There she comes. Her hair looks just like it did last Saturday.
Disappointed, Cathy looks down at the ground.
Moni sits down and looks over at her. She sets her fully packed shoulder bag on the ground. “Are you sulking?” “No.” “You are.”
Cathy shakes her head. “Because of my hair? I didn’t cut it?”
Cathy doesn’t look at her, but nods.
“I wanted to cut it this morning, honestly.”
“What? You did it yourself?” Moni nods. “Why not? It’s actually pretty easy.”
Cathy looks at them in surprise.
“Then I had a better idea.” “And that would be?”
“You’ll cut my hair.” Moni beams at her.
“Me? But I don’t know how to do that.” “I can only do that in my fantasies,” Cathy adds quietly. “It’s really easy. I have everything we need, and I’ll tell you exactly what to do.”
Moni stands up and grabs her bag. “Right now?”
Moni just beams at her. “Where to?” “If you’re okay with it, to my place.
It’s not far.” Cathy opens the apartment door and lets Moni in.
“Feel free to look around.” Curious, Moni peeks into every room.
“It’s nice and spacious here. So bright and modern. I like it.”
“Yeah, it is, but the rent is about to eat up half my salary.
I really should look for something else.”
“And here’s the kitchen. Perfect.” Moni sets her bag on the table and unpacks:
a comb, a brush, scissors, a small cordless clipper, and a large one with a cord. “Darn, I forgot my cape. But it’ll work just fine without it, if you don’t mind.”
She pulls her shirt over her head and stands topless in front of Cathy.
She has small, firm breasts. “So do you.”
Cathy slips off her blouse and unhooks her bra. She has quite a bit more to offer in the bust department. By chance, Moni’s hand brushes against Cathy’s nipple.
A shiver runs through her, and she touches one of Moni’s firm breasts.
Moni doesn’t pull away. Their faces draw closer very slowly until Cathy’s lips briefly touch Moni’s mouth.
“We still had plans.”
“We need a mirror and two glasses of whiskey.”
Cathy first brings a hand mirror from the bathroom, then two glasses and a bottle. She carefully pours about a finger’s width into each glass.
Moni looks at her reproachfully, takes the bottle, and pours a generous amount into both glasses. “We’re going to need those.” Moni downs her glass in one gulp. Cathy just takes a sip. It’s way too early for alcohol.
“Let’s go!”
“Take the 3-mm attachment and use it to cut from the nape of the neck up to about halfway up the ear.” Cathy looks around. “Which one is it?”
“The yellow one.” Cathy turns on the clippers.
The hum of the motor. It vibrates in her hand.
Moni has leaned over the table and tilted her head forward.
“Should I really do this? Isn’t that way too short?”
Moni places a finger at the back of her neck. “Just start there.”
Cathy places the clipper against Moni’s neck.
Very slowly, she pushes the clipper upward through Moni’s hair.
The first tuft of short black hair falls and rolls across Cathy’s hand.
The second pass goes much more easily.
“Now, with a comb and scissors. You take a strand at the front between your fingers—two fingers’ width—and just cut off anything that sticks out along your fingers. I’m sure you’ve seen this done at the salon plenty of times.”
Cathy nods. Using the comb, she pulls the first strand up at her forehead and holds it in place. “Like this?” Moni looks into her hand mirror.
“That’s three fingers high—trim it shorter,” Cathy corrects her. Moni’s black hair sticks out a good 7 cm. With four snips, she’s trimmed the hair along her fingers. She continues. “It’s coming out uneven.”
“No problem—we’ll fix that later. Now take the 6-mm attachment and use it to trim the sides and back.”
Cathy is now working with the clippers like a pro.
“Use the number 12 for the top. From front to back, and crisscrossing, until everything is evenly short.” Moni tilts her head back, and Cathy places the clippers against Moni’s forehead.
“Use the comb and scissors to even out the transitions a bit.”
Cathy carefully trims the transitions.
Just the millimeters that stick out from the comb.
Moni touches her neck. “Exactly up to here,” she draws a line with her finger
2 cm above her hairline, “trim the hair with the small clipper so there’s a straight edge.” The small clipper cuts the black stubble right at the skin.
“Even shorter around the ears.”
Cathy sets the clipper down on the table, and Moni runs both hands over her head. “I think I cut it way too short for you,” Cathy says anxiously.
Moni is already standing in front of the big mirror in the bathroom.
“Perfect! I’ve never managed to do it this well before.”
Moni has a buzz cut now—12 mm on top and the sides shaved very short.
Cathy grabs her whiskey glass and downs it in one gulp.
“I told you so,” Moni grins cheekily at her.
“Feel this.” Moni takes Cathy’s hand and places it on her neck.
She guides the hand up to the back of her head. “Well, how does that feel?”
“Wow!”
Cathy’s other hand strokes the top of her short hair.
Moni’s hand slides beneath Cathy’s soft curls and pulls her face closer.
Again, no resistance. Their faces are very close together.
Once more, their lips meet. This time, the kiss is deeper and longer.
Moni’s other hand runs through Cathy’s curly mane.
Smiling happily at each other, they lie side by side in Cathy’s bed.
Each has one hand in the other’s hair, the other hand under the comforter. “You’re so gentle and tender,” Moni whispers. “You are, too—thank you.”
“You know, I didn’t always have short hair.” “Tell me!”
Moni shakes her head. “Maybe another time,” she says very softly.
It’s now 10:00 p.m.
Cathy looks at Moni. “Do you know what I’d really like right now?”
A questioning look. “A real cock inside me, fucking me hard.”
Moni laughs. “Count me in right away.”
“Dress lightly—just a skirt and a blouse, no panties.
It’ll be much easier that way,” Moni says after her shower.
“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
Moni’s cheeky grin is answer enough.
“Do you have a skirt for me?” “Take a look in the top left part of the closet.
I used to be thinner, too,” Cathy says to her with a smile.
A short time later, they’re sitting in Moni’s old Ford.
After the third try, it finally starts.
“I wonder if we’ll find something suitable?” Cathy asks.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. You with your Goldilocks hair and me, freshly shaved.” Cathy smiles. “But only the two of us together.”
Moni parks in front of a club on the outskirts of town. She parks the car right in front of a bush. “Why are you parking so far from the entrance?”
“It’s perfect here. There’s a little meadow behind that bush.”
Inside, they look around. After a while, Moni asks,
“Have you found anyone suitable yet?” “That blond guy over there at the bar.”
“He looks a little dim.” “But he’s definitely got what it takes. What about you?”
“That short guy back there, with the two girls at the table.”
“One of them must be his girlfriend.” “But she’s totally ignoring him and just messing around with the other one. Plus, she’s already pretty tipsy.”
The short guy is just getting up and heading for the bar. “Now!”
Cathy heads over to the blond guy. “Hey, here all by yourself?”
“I’ve been waiting for my girlfriend for an hour,” he explains grumpily.
Cathy runs her fingers through her curls.
“Nice hair,” he says. “I just got a haircut a few days ago, too.
Now it’s really soft again. Feel it.”
The short guy orders drinks just as Moni steps up beside him.
He stares at Moni’s short hair. “You don’t like short hair?”
“Oh, sure—it looks really hot on some women.” “Not on me?”
Moni makes a disappointed face. “No, that’s not what I meant. It actually looks especially good on you.” “Just got it cut today—fresh off the clippers, so to speak. Go ahead and run your hand through it.” His hand brushes over her buzz cut. “Now take the drinks to your girlfriend and come back.”
A short time later, he’s back. “I told her I had to use the restroom and that it might take a while if it’s occupied.”
Moni glances over at Cathy. She nods, and four people start heading toward the exit. The blond guy looks around uneasily as the other two follow them. “She’s just my girlfriend. We were just going to have some fun together.
You don’t mind, do you?” Behind the bush, Moni lets her skirt slide down and takes off her shirt. Cathy follows suit.
The two guys exchange a brief, uncertain glance, then their pants fall down.
Moni and Cathy are lying side by side in the grass, seductively spreading their legs apart. The blond guy lies on top of Cathy and slides his big penis inside her, slowly and deeper and deeper. Cathy starts to moan.
Moni has to give the shorter guy a little help, then his cock is inside her, too.
The two of them are going at it hard. Moni turns her head toward Cathy.
They both smile.
The shorter guy gets more intense. Moni moans with each thrust.
Then he comes.
Warm cum spurts inside Moni. The blond pulls his penis out and, in the next moment, thrusts it back into Cathy. She lets out a brief scream and gets a full load of cum inside her.
Once they’ve separated, Cathy suggests going to another club.
“I’d like to get taken from behind again.”
Moni nods happily. “Let’s go.”
Two hours later, they’re lying naked, bent over the hood of the Ford.
Philadelphia – 2
(haircuts, love, sex, and crime)
I’ve divided the story into 4 parts because, unfortunately, it ended up being longer than planned
Warning: This story contains scenes of sex and violence!
If you don’t want to read that, you should close the story now!
All images are AI-generated and are not intended to depict real people.
I wrote the story myself without using AI.
————————————————————————————————-
Moni drives Cathy home. “Do you want to stay here for the rest of the night?”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d love to.”
It’s Sunday at noon when they get out of Cathy’s bed.
Moni packs her bag. “I have to go. Saturday at the park?”
“Only if you tell me your story,” Cathy smiles at her.
Cathy wants to tidy up her kitchen. But the floor is still covered with Moni’s hair. She sweeps it up and opens the trash can.
“No!” She grabs a bag and carefully fills it.
She holds a handful up to her face. Such thick, strong hair—and that scent.
In the bedroom, she opens a drawer and places the bag next to a shoebox. Memories! Tears stream down her face.
On Saturday, they’re sitting on the bench in the park again.
“What do you actually do for a living?” Moni asks.
“I work at the airport, in the cargo area.”
“Do you haul suitcases?” Cathy laughs. “No, I check the cargo manifests and put together new ones when the cargo is just being transshipped in Philadelphia.”
Moni thinks for a moment. “So you see where the packages come from and where they’re going.” “Yeah, exactly. Why?” “I’d be curious to know if the local wig factory gets shipments from Shanghai.”
“Yeah, they get packages there pretty often—lots from Eastern Europe, too. But what’s so interesting about that?” “Oh, just wondering.”
“And what do you do all day?”
“I spin.” Cathy bursts out laughing. “I already know that by now.”
“You’re right, but I spin yarn and weave it into fabric.”
“From sheep’s wool or cotton?”
“Neither.” Cathy looks at her questioningly. “From hair—specifically, only women’s hair. And it needs to be at least 5–6 cm long. To make it strong enough, I always have to add some long hair, too.”
“From women’s hair? You must need a lot of hair for that, right? Where do you get it?” “Mainly from hair salons, but only the ones that have separate women’s sections. I drive by there every now and then, get my little bag filled up, and they get their tip jar filled up by me.” Moni pulls a scarf out of her bag.
“Feel this.” Cathy lets the cloth glide over her face.
“It’s as soft as silk. And the colors—yellow, brown, black, and even red threads.” “Which hairdresser do you go to, anyway?” “Her name is Doris.”
Moni grins. “Then your hair might be in there, too.”
“Now I understand your interest in the deliveries to the wig factory.”
“Let’s go to your place and have some coffee, and then I’ll tell you all about it.”
In the kitchen, each with a mug of coffee in front of them.
I got interested in Asian hair and did some research.
There are a lot of hair dealers in China. Then I stumbled across an article about North Korea. There, all female prisoners have their heads shaved and their hair is sold. I just called the embassy and asked if I could buy hair from them.
“Of course not!” was the immediate reply.
But I told them I’d be interested in larger quantities—was there perhaps a way to make it work? There was silence on the line for a while.
They asked me to leave them my email address.
After not hearing anything for quite some time, I asked around at my hair salons. One of them actually showed me two long black braids. “Mother and daughter,” he told me, “they wanted to sell their hair.”
I gave him $200 for the two braids.
Just as I suspected, the hair is almost unusable for spinning.
It’s much too straight; I can only mix in small amounts at a time.
A week later, I received an email from Shanghai.
They offered me North Korean hair, priced by weight.
I’d like a sample shipment and was interested in the price.
For a sample shipment—a single braid—I was asked to transfer $250, including shipping. I did so right away and haven’t heard anything since.
After two more weeks, I called them and got a Mr. Chan on the line. He was very talkative, by the way. He claimed to offer the best quality, exclusively from young women. And he explained that, for hygienic reasons, it’s a rule there to cut the hair of women in prison.
He said he’d once gone to see it for himself and was even allowed to participate. The entire head of hair—the braid and the rest—was shaved off in one go.
It still hangs in his office today as a memento.
He really enjoyed it and is visiting the facility again next week.
“I then politely declined and canceled the order.”
Cathy takes a deep breath.
“I’m picturing right now how several women are being shaved one after the other. They have to watch as their turn comes up next.”
Cathy swallows, and a tear rolls down her cheek.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Moni asks, trying to comfort her.
“That’s in North Korea—we have absolutely no control over it.”
“I know—it’s a different memory.”
Cathy wipes away her tears.
“I escaped from one hell, only to open the door to an even worse one.”
“You’re divorced?” Moni asks. Cathy nods.
It started out innocently enough, as always. Before long, George and I got married. He was really good in bed, but then he started drinking.
I always had to tie my hair up on top of my head and braid it into a ponytail before we had sex.
Cathy’s tightly tied-up and braided ponytail reaches her elbows.
If not, I’d get beaten. He usually took me from behind, yanking my head back so hard by my ponytail that I almost suffocated.
Whenever I refused, he’d threaten me.
“I’ll get my razor and shave your head bald! But definitely not the gentle way.” One day he came home early; my hair was still wet from the shower.
I told him it had to dry first.
George got his razor and forced me to my knees.
He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and pressed his razor against my forehead. I was terrified, but he just laughed. Suddenly, he let go of me and stood in front of the wall where I’d hung our wedding photos.
“They were really nice.”
He points to the photo of my Aunt Betsy and my cousin Billy.
“So nice red hair.”
“Suck my dick! Now,” he demanded.
I lay awake in bed all night, thinking about what I should do next. Then I had an idea. I’ll have a barber shave my head bald. Then he’ll have to come up with something new.
When he left in the morning, I was still sitting at the kitchen table.
A buzz cut—how does a barber do that?
I pictured a kind young hairdresser carefully cutting off my ponytail with scissors. He cuts my hair short with the scissors and then uses the clippers for the rest. I even wondered whether he should start at my forehead or at the nape of my neck.
At some point, I made it out onto the street. I walked around the block.
The thought of going bald was always on my mind.
Somehow I ended up in one of those old-fashioned barbershops.
An older barber was sitting in his chair, reading the newspaper.
“Just a trim?” he asked me. “No, I’d like to get a…”
Believe me, I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “bald.”
He tilted his head slightly and smiled gently.
“Then why don’t you sit down first, and we’ll figure out what you really want.” “My name is Cathy,” I say as he ties a cape around me.
As he thoroughly brushes my hair, he suddenly says:
“Miss Cathy wants to have her head shaved bald because she’s separated from her husband or is in the process of separating from him. But how do you really want it?” I stare at him in the mirror. I just can’t get the words out.
“You’d like your hair cut to chin length, with a side part?”
He gathers my long hair and picks up the scissors.
A questioning look in the mirror—I just nod and can’t help but smile.
He carefully laid my hair out on the tray in front of me. As he continued working with his comb and scissors, he told me stories from the past.
“As a young barber, I certainly didn’t pass up opportunities like that.
First I’d cut off the ponytail, then immediately put the clippers to my forehead. A full strip from front to back, right along the part, and another one right next to it. There was no turning back. Later on, I took it slower; so far, only two people have actually wanted to do it.”
He kept combing and cutting, getting it shorter and shorter.
“That doesn’t look good—it doesn’t suit you at all. I’ll give you a center part with bangs.” Eventually, he was satisfied, and so was I.
“Now I had a chin-length pageboy cut with short bangs.”
At the register, I asked him how much I owed.
“Nothing, just a smile.”
I planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Don’t you want to take your braid with you?” he called after me.
“Keep it as a souvenir.”
Out on the street, I shook my head wildly from side to side.
It was so liberating.
“And what did your George say about that?” Moni asks.
He flew into a rage and hit me. “Now it’s your turn!”
He went into the bathroom to get his razor.
I had to undress and lie down on the table.
“I’ll start down there!”
His fingers penetrate me, and the razor scrapes across my mons pubis.
The doorbell rings, but he doesn’t react at all.
I scream. The door is kicked open, and police officers storm into the apartment.
“This is a private matter! You have no business being here!”
But his fingers were still inside me, and my pubic hair was scattered on the floor. All I could do was quietly call for help.
They took him away immediately and wanted to take me to the hospital.
But I refused.
“Why did the police come?” Moni asks.
I had dialed the number while he was in the bathroom and left the phone on.
It took them a while to find my address.
A police officer, Susan Righley, took care of me.
She was there for me the whole time during the trial, too.
George was sentenced to three years.
“But you were going to tell me how you ended up with short hair.”
Moni closes her eyes. “That isn`t a nice story, too.”
“I’ll get us some whiskey.”
Moni begins.
My parents and I moved here to Philadelphia from Boston a few years ago.
I enrolled in college, and everything went smoothly.
I used to have long hair, too, like all young girls.
Moni has long black hair that she wears loose and with a side part.
My parents had to go back to Boston after two weeks.
Moni takes a deep breath. They never came back.
“What happened?” Cathy asks quietly when Moni stops talking.
A truck veered into the oncoming lane. The truck driver was completely drunk.
Now Moni is in tears. Cathy is crying, too.
I didn’t have many friends at college yet; only one girl looked out for me.
Her name was Helen, and she was in my class that semester.
I remember she had a really thick brown braid that went all the way down to her hips. One day at lunchtime in the cafeteria, she started playing with her braid.
“It has to come off now.” “No, you’re not going to do that.”
“Oh yes, I am! I’ve even been to a few hair salons and asked around.”
Most of them wanted to cut it off right away. So I asked about getting a haircut afterward—a bob, chin-length in the front and cut a few centimeters above the nape in the back. I’m sure that would look great on me. I think the hairstyle is really cool. None of the girls here have it.”
“I see you didn’t go through with it.” “They wanted up to $350—there’s no way I could ever pay that. Except for one—she offered to let me participate in one of her hair shows. She said it would be free then.”
“Don’t even think about it! You have no idea what you’ll look like afterward.”
“Sure, she could do an extra round of the bob.”
“Then go ahead. I wouldn’t do it.” “There’s a catch.” “What is it?”
“They need at least two models.” Helen looks down at the floor, embarrassed.
“No way!” “I’ve already signed you up.” “Then take me off the list.”
“I can’t do that—there’d be a penalty.” “How much?”
“Several hundred dollars.” “Are you crazy to sign something like that!”
It was bound to happen.
Saturday afternoon, in a small gym. We had to check in backstage.
They put a cape on us—it reached down to our knees and was held in place at the neck by an elastic band. Mine, of all colors, was light pink.
Our hair was brushed thoroughly.
The whole time, we could hear a man with a microphone loudly commenting on everything happening on stage.
We heard applause coming from the hall, then two women ran past us. One of them was crying her eyes out and stopped in front of the boss. Her black hair stood up a good 6 cm on top of her head, while the sides and back were completely shaved.
“That’s not a short haircut! I can’t go out in public like this.
My husband will kill me if he sees me like this.”
The boss immediately pulled them further back.
Now we’re supposed to go on stage for the performance.
There are probably 50 people sitting there, staring at us.
We’re supposed to turn around twice to show off our hair.
Then back behind the curtain. They’re braiding our hair.
Two barber chairs side by side. They turn us around again and show off our braids. Each of us is assigned a stylist; they’re already holding large scissors. Our braids are pulled upward. I hear the sound of the scissors cutting through my hair. The audience applauds as they hold up the scissors and our cut-off braids like trophies. I wanted to die.
Suddenly, my chair is lifted up. My head sways back and forth as it does.
My arms and hands are trapped under the huge cape.
The hum of the hair clippers, the clatter of the scissors, the stares of the audience—I’m not aware of any of it anymore.
We’re done, and the audience bids us farewell with applause.
I see Helen; she has extremely short bangs, and her bob isn’t chin-length—it’s cut to the tip of her nose in the front, cut very steeply at the sides, and shaved completely bald at the back of her head.
I see the shock on Helen’s face when she sees me.
Then, finally, a mirror. My knees give way.
Moni now has a short bowl cut, trimmed a few centimeters above her ears. Everything underneath is shaved bald.
I run out of the hall and through the streets. What should I do now?
Maybe a barber can still salvage something.
All the shops are already closed. Over there, a dim light shines from a salon. Two men are rummaging through the drawers.
One of them grins at me. “What kind of haircut is that?” He laughs.
“Looks like we’ll have to touch that up a bit,” says the second one.
“I just walked through the wrong door—I’m out of here.”
One of them is already standing behind me, pressing a stun gun against my arm.
An electric shock courses through me. I scream, but he covers my mouth.
“If you struggle or scream again, the next one’s done for.”
He presses the stun gun against my chest.
“Now get in the chair, lady. You’ll be served right away. But first, get undressed!” I had to strip naked in front of them.
Grinning, he holds a clipper up to my face; the blade is gleaming.
“Here comes the barber!” he grins maliciously at me.
Shaved completely bald, I stare into the mirror.
I have to kneel down; his hands stroke my shaved head. He unzips his pants. The other guy presses the stun gun against my nipple again.
He shoves his penis into my mouth.
It takes a while before the slimy fluid gushes into my mouth.
Of course, the other guy wants his turn right away. Just before he comes,
he thrusts his cock deep down my throat.
I start to gag, and at the same time, he shoots his cum deep down my throat.
Cathy is now sitting next to her and has put her arm around Moni in a comforting gesture.
Another electric shock—this time on my other arm.
I must have fainted.
A late-night walker with his dog found me lying naked on the sidewalk.
My entire head was shaved completely bald.
The police and an ambulance were already there.
I was in the hospital for two days, then spent a week in my room.
Helen took care of me.
I looked in the mirror—the first little black dots on my head; my skin felt really rough.
Moni smiles. What did I do? I bought a razor and shaved my head bald again. Then I went to college.
The girls’ glances, the whispering. Only the boys—at first they looked away shyly, but then they paid close attention to me.
Moni looks at Cathy with her big eyes.
Philadelphia – 3
(haircuts, love, sex, and crime)
I’ve divided the story into 4 parts because, unfortunately, it ended up being longer than planned
Warning: This story contains scenes of sex and violence!
If you don’t want to read that, you should close the story now!
All images are AI-generated and are not intended to depict real people.
I wrote the story myself without using AI.
“I want to have sex with you now.”
Cathy smiles and nods. They lie in bed, snuggled close together.
Cathy turns away and takes something out of her nightstand drawer.
She shows Moni a large dildo made of hard rubber. Moni nods.
Cathy’s fingers find Moni’s labia; one finger slides inside and strokes her clitoris. Slowly, Cathy pushes the dildo in after it. Moni moans softly.
“It’s too big.” Cathy pushes it in deeper, moving it back and forth and twisting it. Moni moans more and more intensely. Cathy keeps going, then Moni explodes in an orgasm. “Wow! That was intense,” she simply moans.
“Now you?” Cathy nods, turns around, and lifts her buttocks slightly.
Moni’s fingers also seek out Cathy’s clitoris first, then she runs the tip of the dildo over Cathy’s labia. A shiver runs through Cathy, and Moni thrusts it all the way in. Cathy cries out—but it’s not a cry of pain.
“Wait.” Cathy rolls onto her stomach and gets down on all fours on the bed.
Her full breasts hang freely downward. Moni moves the dildo, first gently, then more firmly. Cathy moves with her. Her long curls fly wildly through the air, her breasts swaying back and forth.
Each time, they slap loudly against her stomach.
Then she comes too, violently and loudly.
Exhausted, the two fall asleep side by side.
“Next Saturday at the park, and then over to my place?”
“Sure, I’d love to—I’m so excited to see where you live.”
They’ve been sitting on the bench for several hours, knitting and watching the women walk by.
They critique the women’s hairstyles and imagine how they could be improved.
Moni stands up. “I have to run a quick errand.” “But weren’t we supposed to go to your place tonight?” Moni smiles. “Just head over in an hour. OK?”
“And where to?” Moni laughs. “Oh, right, I haven’t told you yet.
57 Gilbert Street!”
Cathy enters the address into her GPS and follows the directions.
The neighborhood around her is changing. Not for the better.
“You have reached your destination.”
Cathy looks around. It’s a run-down neighborhood; she parks in front of an old brick building, and the lot next to it is more like a garbage dump than a lawn. The GPS must have been wrong.
Cathy gets out anyway and continues to look around.
On the brick house is a weathered sign: “57 Gilbert Street.”
She’s standing right in front of an old, heavy wooden door.
Cathy loves these doors that give you bruises on your shoulders
when you open them.
She bends down to read the doorbell signs. No Moni!
She slaps her forehead with the flat of her hand.
“I don’t even know her last name!”
It says “Office” in the lower left corner, so I guess I don’t need to ring the bell there. It says “Sheppard” in the bottom right corner—I’ll give that a try.
Just then, the heavy door swings open on its own.
Standing on a landing at the top of the stairs, Moni beams at her.
“You’ve come to the right place at Sheppard, and you’re welcome here.”
A modern glass elevator is built in between the old wooden stairs.
The kitchen is small and sparsely furnished. The fully automatic coffee machine immediately catches the eye. In the living room, there’s a large shelf full of vinyl records. “You still listen to records?”
Cathy spots a stereo system and reads the nameplate: Dan D’Agostino.
“I’ve never heard of that brand. Which discount store sold it?”
Moni just shrugs with a smile.
“You’ve got a nice place here.” “Don’t lie to me. But this is enough for me. Come on, I’ll show you my workshop.”
Moni unlocks the door to the apartment across the hall and lets Cathy go first.
“The first door on the right is my cutting room.”
Cathy is really startled when she looks inside.
A bright, white-tiled room, with a barber’s chair in the middle and a large mirror on the wall, along with several rolling carts containing everything needed for cutting hair. “Are you a hairdresser?” “No, you can’t really say that. Some women just hand me their hair right off their heads.”
Cathy opens the next door. A long table, with a thick brown braid on it.
On the walls are shelves with bowls and many different bottles.
This is where the hair is cleaned and sorted. She hands the braid to Cathy.
“I just got that this week and haven’t had a chance to work on it yet.”
She opens the next door. The room is very large. Spinning wheels and small looms; on the shelf, finished balls of yarn.
They’re sitting in the kitchen again. “Alexa, turn on the air conditioner.”
A soft hum can be heard.
“I can’t believe it—you have an Alexa and an air conditioner!”
“By the way, where did you park your car?” Moni asks.
“Across the street. Why?”
“We should park it in the underground garage; otherwise, half of it will be missing by the time we get back.
I’ll come with you and show you the way.”
We turn the corner twice to the back of the house, and there really is an underground garage beneath the vacant lot.
“Park it here next to my Ford.”
On the other side stands a large car, completely hidden under a cover.
“What kind of car is that?” “It belonged to my father.
It could use a drive every now and then. I really only drive it on special occasions.”
Moni simply continues down a hallway toward the elevator.
Sitting upstairs with a cup of coffee, Cathy asks, “How can you afford the rent for two apartments and an underground parking spot? Do you make that much money with your spinning business?”
“It’s an older building, so it’s usually just enough.”
“Feel like going to bed?” Moni nods vigorously.
For some reason, nothing’s happening in bed tonight. They’re lying side by side, cuddled up together. Around 11:00 p.m., Cathy wakes up drenched in sweat and looks straight into Moni’s wide-open eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a nightmare—I get them sometimes,” Cathy brushes it off.
“Then why aren’t you sleeping?”
Moni leans toward Cathy, very close to her ear.
“I can’t sleep because I lied to my best friend.”
For some reason, nothing’s happening in bed tonight. They’re lying side by side, cuddled up together. Around 11:00 p.m.
“And who’s that?” “It’s you, my Cathy. Let’s get up.”
They’re sitting across from each other in the kitchen.
Moni rests her head in both hands.
“What did you lie to me about?”
“I can’t—if I tell you, you’ll leave me.”
A tear rolls down Moni’s cheek.
“It’s my truth! And very, very few people know it.”
Cathy reaches out her hand to her.
“Your truth? Let it become our truth. And I won’t leave you.”
“Cathy! This is something—this is something that will destroy my life as I know it if anyone out there finds out.”
Cathy looks her in the eyes.
No carefree cheerfulness—rather, seriousness and sadness.
“Monica Sheppard! I swear on the souls of my Aunt Betsy and my cousin Billy that I’ll never tell. Not now, and no matter what the future holds, never.”
Moni looks at her. “That’s so sweet of you to say. Who are those two? Betsy and Billy.” Cathy starts crying uncontrollably. “Your nightmare?”
Cathy just looks at Moni.
“Dead?”
Cathy can only nod. It takes a while for her to pull herself together.
Moni holds her in her arms. “We’ll get through this together, sweetie.”
Cathy sniffs. “I’m taller than you. And now about your lie.”
“I don’t pay rent here—I own the house.”
“Then you live off the rental income.”
Moni shakes her head.
An elderly couple, the Alberts, lives above me. They couldn’t pay their rent anymore, and the landlord kicked them out. I let them live here for free, and they help me with my spinning. The two of them taught me everything about hair—cutting, spinning, and weaving.
Two single mothers live with their children in the two apartments above them. Their husbands have left them—what else is there for me to take away from them? On the top floor, four young women live together in a shared apartment—nursing students, college students, and students from the teacher training college. They pay very little rent and sometimes even get a portion of it back.
Every 6–8 months, they come to me for a haircut.
It’s become quite the event by now.
When two or three of them have an appointment, they all meet up right next door. There are drinks and something to eat.
It’s only when a new girl moves in that a few tears are shed.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
“My parents left me a few shares.”
“Which you then sold at a profit.”
Moni shakes her head. “I still have those. You know Walmart, right?”
“Sure, who doesn’t?” “They make several billion dollars in profits every year. They pay out a portion of that to their shareholders.”
“And how much do you get from that?” “Enough to live on.”
“From the dividend? How much could that be?”
“Seven figures.” Cathy does the math, then her mouth drops open.
“That’s 1 million dollars!” “If things go badly, it’s usually more.”
Cathy stares at her in disbelief.
“You could live in the biggest mansion, drive a Porsche and a Ferrari!”
“Cathy! I knew you’d react like this.
What good would that do me? A Porsche or a Ferrari? What kind of friends would I have? Everyone would be vying for my attention.
But my Prince Charming—why would he accept me just the way I am now?”
Cathy shakes her head. “He’d love you just like I do, because he loves you just the way you are.” “What if I’d met you on a park bench?
That’s exactly why this has to stay between us.”
Cathy nods understandingly.
“If you’re ever tempted, just think of those two souls.”
“It was so terrible—and not even a nightmare,” Cathy begins to say on her own. “Worse than hell?” Moni asks quietly. Cathy nods.
“It was my fault! It was all my fault!”
“Cathy! No! Definitely not!” Tears start streaming down Cathy’s face again.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, maybe another time,” Moni says sympathetically. Cathy looks at her. “If not now, then when?
Get me a whiskey.” Cathy downs the half-full glass in one gulp.
I was still little when my parents had an accident while mountain climbing.
Aunt Betsy was like a caring mom to me, and her daughter Billy was like my little sister—I always wanted to look out for her.
Cathy rummages through her bag and places a photo on the table.
“That’s them at our wedding.”
Aunt Betsy wore a side part with red curls that reached her shoulders.
Billy had a center part and soft, hip-length red hair.
One morning, there was a shoebox sitting in front of my door.
I hadn’t ordered anything, but my name was written on it.
I opened it in the kitchen.
On top was a long red braid and red hair, and underneath was a mountain of red curls.
I started to panic—really panic.
I called the police and asked to speak with Officer Susan Righley.
“Detective Righley can’t be disturbed right now. I can transfer you to another colleague.” “Tell Susan that Cathy needs to talk to her.”
Then I had Susan on the phone. “Hi, Cathy, how are you?”
“Where’s George!” “I’ll check.” After a while.
“He was released on probation four weeks ago.”
I told her about the box. Someone played a nasty prank on you.
George’s restraining order is still in effect, and the officers on the beat have been notified. I shouldn’t worry.
“But I am worried!” “All right, Cathy, give me the address. I’ll send a patrol car from Allentown over.”
“I’m heading there right now! It’s only a two-hour drive.”
When I got there, everything was cordoned off with police tape.
There were lots of patrol cars and an ambulance in front of the house.
I ducked under the tape and ran toward the house, but an officer stopped me. “You can’t go in here.” “My Aunt Betsy! What happened to her?”
He just looked down at the ground, looking embarrassed.
“And my little Billy!”
He just shook his head. I collapsed.
Susan was standing right behind me by then and caught me.
Susan gets a call from her colleagues in Allentown.
Pale as a ghost, she drops the phone. “Jeff! Let’s go right now!”
Jeff is so startled that his sandwich falls out of his hand. He rushes after Susan, but can’t keep up with the athletic woman. By the time he jumps into the passenger seat, the sirens are already blaring. The car’s acceleration slams his door shut. The patrol car races through the gate and turns onto the street without braking. The tires screech, and Susan’s colleagues watch them drive off, shaking their heads.
I woke up again in an ambulance. A doctor and Susan were there.
“Susan, tell me what happened. Are they dead?” Susan nods.
“How did they die?” The doctor nods at Susan.
“Shot, both of them.”
“We’re taking you to the hospital now,” says the doctor.
“No, that’s not necessary.” I stood up. “I have to be with them.”
“That’s not possible, Cathy; my colleagues are examining the crime scene.
I’ll drive you home now. Should Jeff drive your car?”
Susan is sitting with me in the kitchen; she made coffee.
“Who was it? Who did this? What happened there!”
Susan hesitates. I just looked at her.
“There were probably several perpetrators.”
I show her the shoebox, and she just nods.
Two days later, Susan asks me to come to the police station to give a statement.
She takes me into an empty office so we won’t be disturbed and asks me a lot of questions, which I answer as best I can. Then I ask the questions.
“What did they do to you?” I stared at her.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do! Tell me! Everything! I need to know.”
Susan puts a box of Kleenex on the table. “I need those, too.”
“They were found in the kitchen. Both of their heads had been shaved.
The scratches and cuts were clearly inflicted before their deaths.
We found DNA from six different men.”
Cathy wipes away her first tears with a Kleenex.
“How do you know they were men?”
“Traces of semen in both women. Some of the DNA matched in both victims.”
“They must have been in the perpetrators’ custody for several hours.”
Now Susan needs a tissue, too.
“George! It had to have been him! Have you caught him?”
Susan shakes her head. “He’s gone into hiding. We were able to identify two others, but there’s no sign of them either at the moment.
But rest assured, the manhunt is in full swing.”
She gives me a hug as we say goodbye.
“All I can promise you is that, as far as I’m concerned, this case will never be closed. No matter what the district attorney’s office decides.”
“Please keep me updated at all times.” Susan just nods.
“How long has it been?” “About five years.”
“Cathy, it wasn’t your fault,” Moni says very quietly.
She pours Cathy another glass of whiskey, and Cathy downs it in one gulp. “Now let’s crawl back into bed.” Cathy nods and follows her.
Moni waits until Cathy has fallen asleep and slips out of bed.
From one of her offices, she pulls a phone out of a drawer.
It’s 4:00 a.m. “Call Freddy.” The phone dials.
“Who’s bothering me in the middle of my work?” “Moni.”
“Moni, what a surprise. You usually call in the middle of the night at 12:00 noon.” “Freddy, I need a police file.” “Which one?”
“The double murder of a mother and her daughter, five years ago in Allentown.”
“No problem. I’ll send it to you the day after tomorrow. Same payment as always?”
“No, Freddy. $10,000, and by 7:00 a.m. today on Carlos’s and my computer.” “$10,000 is too much, and I can’t make it by 7:00 a.m.”
Silence on the line.
Freddy’s voice changes as he asks:
“What’s going on, Eleanor?” “$20,000.” Moni hangs up.
“Call Carlos.” The phone dials a number again.
“What asshole is ripping me out of my dreams in the middle of the night!”
“The asshole’s name is Moni.” “Moni, it’s good to hear from you, but does it have to be at this hour?” Moni briefly explains the situation to him.
“Find six men who’ve gone into hiding and turn them in to the police, tied up tight?” “$100,000 alive or $75,000 dead!”
There’s silence on the line. “Eleanor, this is important to you.”
“Very important.” Moni hangs up.
On Sunday at noon, the two of them are sitting in Moni’s kitchen.
Moni has prepared a light meal.
“Did you actually keep track?” “Keep track of what?”
“Keep track of the apartments.”
“No, why?” “One is vacant—the one across from the Alberts’.”
“So what?” Moni grins at Cathy. “You could move in there.
You said your rent was too high for you.”
“Me? Move in with you?” Moni nods happily.
Cathy runs her fingers through her long curls.
“So you’d cut it off for me?” “I guess I’d have to, to be fair to the others.
But you’ve had shorter hair before, and you liked it.”
“True, that wouldn’t actually be the problem.”
“Then what is it?” Cathy rests her head in both hands and thinks.
“No, that wouldn’t be good for us. Then everything would just be part of everyday life and no longer something special.
Moni, I love you and want it to stay that way.”
Now it’s Moni’s turn to think. “I think you’re right.”
“But I’d love to be part of your gathering sometime.
And you’re treating me as if I were moving in.” “With cutting your hair?”
Cathy nods and smiles at her.
Now that Moni is alone, she reads the police report.
She’s stunned. How can people do something like that!
She picks up the other phone again. “Call Carlos.”
“Did you read it?” A brief silence on the line.
“Eleanor, you can count on me.”
Philadelphia – 4
(haircuts, love, sex, and crime)
I’ve divided the story into 4 parts because, unfortunately, it ended up being longer than planned
Warning: This story contains scenes of sex and violence!
If you don’t want to read that, you should close the story now!
All images are AI-generated and are not intended to depict real people.
I wrote the story myself without using AI.
Cathy hears the rumble of a large car.
It pulls up in front of her house. Curious, she looks out the window.
A red 1967 Ford Mustang
Moni leans out the driver’s window and motions for her to get out.
Cathy drops everything.
They head out of town. “Where are we going?” Cathy asks, confused.
“How about a trip to the countryside—a picnic?”
They reach the city limits and Moni steps on the gas.
The engine’s hum turns into a loud roar. Cathy is pressed back into her seat.
“What is that?” “7-liter displacement and 400 PS.” Moni grins again.
“A Mustang Eleanor. My parents gave it to me for my 18th birthday.” “Eleanor,” Cathy repeats the name slowly and melodiously.
“What a beautiful name.”
Moni parks at the side of the road and looks at Cathy.
“Eleanor is my middle name. Only my parents were allowed to call me that, and now two other people as well. But they know when it’s appropriate.
You’re the third.
Please say the name again the way you just did.”
“E-l-e-a-n-o-r”
Tears stream down Moni’s cheeks. “Let’s keep driving.”
After driving for quite a while. “Look, over there—that hill and that little grove. Perfect for a picnic.” Cathy points her finger at the landscape to their left. Slowly, the heavy car rolls down a dirt road in that direction.
They walk a few meters into the huge cornfield, knock over a few plants, and spread out their blanket. Moni brings the basket of food, and Cathy brings the cooler with drinks. After eating, they undress and lie down close together. Eventually, they fall asleep—until the engine of an approaching tractor wakes them up. “Don’t worry, no one can see us here.”
The cornstalks part, and a burly young farmer stands before them.
“Who’s wrecking my cornfield here!” he yells.
Moni jumps up and, naked as she is, holds out her hand to him.
“Hi, I’m Moni.” Completely taken aback, he takes her hand. Cathy quickly pulls up her skirt, holds it in one hand, and offers him her hand as well.
“I’m Cathy.” As she does so, she lets go of her skirt to brush her curly mane out of her face. And so she stands there, just as naked as Moni, in front of the huge farmer. Strange—he isn’t staring at their naked bodies at all, but only at Cathy’s face. Suddenly, he bursts out laughing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! Two naked women, Moni and Cathy, are wreaking havoc in my cornfield! You’ll have to make up for this.”
The two of them look at him inquiringly.
“Come over to my farm for dinner later.
But put on some proper clothes, or my mother will faint.”
“To whose place, exactly?” asks Cathy. “Dave—Dave Harper.”
At the farm, they are warmly welcomed by him and his mother.
The meal is plentiful, and the conversation is very open and friendly.
Naturally, Moni doesn’t miss the way Cathy’s and Dave’s eyes keep meeting.
On the drive back, Moni keeps grinning at Cathy but says nothing.
“What is it?” asks Cathy. “He doesn’t even have your phone number now.”
Moni laughs. “Oh, Moni—pencil and paper actually still exist.
And when he puts on his shoes tomorrow…”
Moni parks in front of Cathy’s apartment and turns to her.
“Are you free on Saturday?”
“I always am. And for you, definitely. Why do you ask?”
“You never know with you these days.”
“A ‘happening’ at my place? Does that mean ‘bye-bye curls’?”
Moni smiles mischievously. “Two others are having it done, too.”
Cathy looks at Moni. “I’m taking special time off from the park for this.”
Wednesday, at Moni’s workplace.
Moni and five other women are already there, each holding a glass of sparkling wine. When Cathy walks in, everyone looks at her uncertainly.
“This is my friend Cathy, and she’s going to be sitting in this chair today, too.” Someone presses a glass of sparkling wine into her hand.
“Here—have a drink to build up some courage.”
Cathy looks around. Three women have a bob cut ending just below the ears; two have a pixie cut.
“You wouldn’t believe how I shook when I sat here for the first time,”
a middle-aged woman says to her with a smile. “My hair was this long.”
She gestures to the level of her chest. Another woman adds,
“I was absolutely drenched.”
Everyone laughs and clinks glasses.
Then the moment arrives. Cathy sits in the chair.
Everyone wants to run their hands through her soft curls.
“That’s enough now!” says Moni, scissors in hand.
She gathers Cathy’s long curls together and smiles at her in the mirror.
“Cut it off!” is all Cathy says.
Moni hands the severed clump of curls to the girl beside her.
She continues cutting with comb and scissors. Blonde curls fall onto the cape.
They quickly pile up. Moni doesn’t stop. A little shorter here, trimming a bit there, and evening things out over there.
Eventually, she is finished.
Cathy has now a short pixie cut.
“You look cute there,” everyone remarks, almost in unison.
Cathy hugs Moni and plants a big kiss on her. “Thanks.”
They spend the night in clubs again.
Cathy is eager to see how the guys react to her new haircut.
It turns out to be a huge success for both of them.
The following Saturday morning, on a park bench.
“Moni, I have to go out this afternoon.”
“A country outing,” Moni states matter-of-factly.
“How do you know…” “My dear, I know you, after all.”
“He calls me every day.” Moni looks at her and just smiles.
“Dave and I are going fishing.”
“Fishing? Is that what they call it these days? Just take care of yourself.”
“Coffee at my place on Sunday afternoon?” “I’d love that.”
On Sunday in Cathy’s kitchen.
“Did you catch a fish?” Cathy nods, smiling.
“A big one—a really big one, actually.” Cathy beams.
Moni hugs her. “I’m happy for you if you’re happy.
“And what did he say about your hair?”
“He thought it was great. Just the right hairstyle for a farmer’s wife.
He couldn’t stop tousling my hair.”
Time passes, and the two of them have cut each other’s hair again. They look really sassy again.
This week, Cathy’s phone rings at work.
“Cathy Wagner, what can I do for you?”
“Cathy, it’s Susan, Susan Righley. You remember?”
“Like yesterday, Susan.”
“We’ve got them.” Silence on the phone. “All of them?” “Yes, all of them.” “George too?” “Can you come to the station?”
“I’ll come. Can I bring a friend? She knows.”
Cathy and Moni are shown upstairs.
It is an open-plan office. A young officer immediately walks over to meet them.
“I’m Officer Barnes—Jeff Barnes, Detective Righley’s assistant.”
He holds out his hand to Cathy. “Cathy Wagner,” she introduces herself.
He turns to Moni and offers his hand to her as well. “I’m Moni.”
A questioning look. “‘Moni’ is fine.” A mischievous smile.
He doesn’t let go of her hand.
Further back, Cathy sees Susan sitting there.
Susan is sitting at the computer, her blonde hair tied back at the nape of her neck in a short ponytail.
She, too, now approaches the two of them.
“Hi Cathy, how are you?” “I’m good—and you?” “I’m good too.”
“This is my friend Moni; I told you about her, remember?”
Susan holds out her hand to Moni.
But Moni’s hand is still being held by Officer Jeff Barnes. “Cute,” he blurts out. “Sorry.” He turns away, looking embarrassed.
“You don’t have to apologize for a compliment. I’m happy to accept it.”
Jeff Barnes’s face turns bright red.
“Let the three of us go to my office,” Susan says, saving the situation.
She closes the door; Jeff has to stay outside.
“Where did you find them?” is the first thing Cathy asks.
“Two at the Canadian border and three near the Mexican border.”
“And the sixth?” “Later.” Cathy looks at her.
“It wasn’t the *where* that was surprising, but the *how*,” Susan continues.
“All five were neatly wrapped in duct tape and left in front of a parked police cruiser. Each one had a note on its chest.”
“What kind of note?” “‘I was the Allentown Pig!’
The DNA samples were conclusive.” Cathy takes a deep breath.
“And George—was he among them, too?”
“We found him hanging from a freestanding tree by a thin nylon rope.
His genitals had been cut off and were lying beneath him.
They weren’t removed post-mortem.”
Susan looks directly at Cathy. “What do you know about this?”
“Nothing, Susan, nothing.”
Cathy is weeping, and Moni puts her arms around her.
“It’s all right, Moni,” she sobs, “these are tears of joy.
I can sleep soundly again now—and I’m sure Aunt Betsy and Billy can, too.”
“And you, Miss…? Do you know anything?”
Cathy glances over at Moni and catches a fleeting, satisfied smile cross Moni’s face. “Miss Moni,” Moni introduces herself.
“I need your full name for the record.”
“Monica Sheppard.” Susan types something into her laptop.
“There’s a Monica E. Sheppard listed here. What does the ‘E.’ stand for?”
Moni leans forward and looks Susan straight in the eye.
“Erase the ‘E.’ from your memory!” Moni says very quietly.
Susan recoils in her office chair.
Then, instantly cheerful and composed again:
“I’d be happy if you just called me Moni.”
Susan closes the file. “Sure, Moni.”
“Let’s go for a beer at a pub,” Susan suggests.
“Is Jeff coming?” Moni asks. “Ask him.”
They find an empty table for four.
Jeff shoves his boss aside so he can sit opposite Moni.
Everyone grins except Jeff.
“That short hair really suits you,” Susan says to Cathy after they’ve taken their first sips. “Thanks. But your ponytail used to be a lot longer, too,” Cathy notes. “I have *him* to thank for that.
They cut my hair all the way up to here.”
She points to a spot halfway up her ear, shooting a stern look at Jeff.
“We were investigating a money-laundering case. I suspected a hair salon.
Jeff suggested I just go in and ask for a consultation on a new hairstyle.
I walked out with a horribly cut bob. I looked forty years older.
Luckily, Jeff was nowhere to be seen.”
“I would have shot him on the spot.” “And? Did it do any good?”
“Absolutely nothing. Except that I lost my long hair and looked terrible.”
Both of them look over at Jeff.
He is completely oblivious to what’s going on around him.
Moni is whispering something in his ear right now.
On the way out, Jeff asks Moni, “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask that. Where to?” “To ‘The Love’?”
Jeff blushes again after saying the name. “Sounds good. But that’s way too expensive—and I’d never get in wearing these clothes.”
“You could change, couldn’t you?”
“I don’t have much else. But I know a diner—it’s really cute.”
Cathy rolls her eyes. As far as she recalls, Moni told her she owns several restaurants in the city, including the luxury restaurant “The Love.”
Susan says goodbye and walks down the street to the right; Jeff waits.
“Jeff, would you please wait up at the corner? Moni is definitely coming.”
When the two of them are alone, Cathy takes Moni’s head in her hands and looks into her eyes.
“Thank you, Eleanor.”
Cathy turns and walks away.
