***Copyright 2013, Jessica Wolfe Reifsnyder***
Challenge #1 for NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Writing Competition. Time given to complete and submit the story: 48 hours. Word limit: 1,000. Prompts given: [Genre] Mystery; [Location] Barbershop; [Item] Maple Syrup. Synopsis: A man in a quiet little town finds himself musing, often lost in his own thoughts, about the recent disappearance of a girl from the local Barber & Brothel stop. While Authorities seem to have few leads, this man's wandering mind guides us through his memories of that fateful day, toward enlightenment, and ultimately, the truth.
No one saw it coming. Thought this was a safe town. Didn't know The Girl myself, but it still has me shook up pretty bad. I mean, this is the kind of thing you hear about in the news - some tragic, distant event. Things like this don't happen here. Nora called had to be fifteen times. By the time her messages deteriorated to wordless, emphatically loud hang-ups, thought maybe I should call her back. But I haven't. Guess it's thoughtful and all for her to check on me, but I just really don't see the point. Hell, not much point in much anymore.
I pass The Shop on my early morning walk. It’s like its own little ghost town now. The lively Beards, Beers, ‘N Broads! sign starkly contrasts its current state, the chains squealing as it waffles in the breeze. An old geezer with a newspaper sits on the porch. I squint up at the weathered, spinning candy cane that has a hitch in it. Heh!...Looks like it has hiccups. Mac always said he ought to fix the thing, but he never much cared for spending money 'less he had to.
Two Suits approach me. It’s too early for this shit. Haven't even had my coffee yet. They want to know if I remember the day The Girl went missing. 'Course I do. I figure everyone in this little town does. Most think she's long-dead by now. Guess maybe they're still hoping otherwise. "Yeah," I tell 'em. "I remember. Don't know there's much I can help you with, though." Tall Guy says they're talking to everyone; anything could help.
"Well, I was gettin’ my usual at The Shop. Not that I took part in that latter bit, mind you." I tilt my head toward the sign. "Never did venture to the second floor." Couldn't do that to Lily. Usually heard enough through the ceiling to get me off once I'd downed a couple and got back home to that old framed picture of her on my nightstand. My favorite of her. She'd just got out of the shower and her hair lay in shiny, clumped ringlets over her shoulder. Her blouse was open just a tad too low, skirt riding up her thigh as she squatted by the stove with a cup of coffee. Caught her off guard and snapped it just as she looked up over the rim of the mug with those big eyes. Gone nearly five years now. I sigh. The Suits shift and clear their throats. "Oh, right. Sorry. Mind drifts a lot these days..."
"Yeah…was about a month ago now, right? It was a hot day, I remember that. Quiet, too. Hardly anyone out this part of town. No other customers while I was here. Jake was actin' real funny. Like he was waitin' for some monster to jump out and eat ’im. He'd usually be chattin' up the girls’ Signature Specials. Was always tryin' to sell me them extras. But that day, no…he was real squirrelly and tight-lipped." I scratch at a small scar on my neck without thinking.
Reached for the cigar in my pocket. Jake's hand jumped. "Dammit, Jake!" My hand flew to my neck, just below my jawline. Stung like a bastard. Blood dripped from my fingers when I pulled it away. Jake mumbled some sort of half-assed apology and handed me a towel. "What's with you, anyway? Always so fuckin' nervous." He didn't say nothin', just waited for me to lean back again. I did. Though now I was the one was nervous. "Don't go slittin' my throat if the phone rings" I growled. (Only half kidding.)
"Wasn't 'til later that night I heard on the news ’bout The Girl. She was his favorite, you know. Fact is, he was always a bit possessive of that one." The Suits share a glance. Tall Guy clears his throat again. Says Jake's missing, too. I blink. Try to process. "Mac don’t even know where he is? Shit." They ask if I've been back since. "Pass by every mornin’. But inside? Nah. Can’t bring myself to." They say to get in touch if I hear anything about Jake. My stomach churns, rumbles loudly. They thank me for my time. I head home.
"So, I been thinkin'..." Pause. Jake just kept working. Didn't look up. Not even a grunt of response. He wasn’t going to make this easy. "Syri available today?" His hand froze, just for a second. He grabbed my head and pulled it back, lifting my chin high. The sound of blade against whiskers scraped through the silence. "Hear she's the best." Still nothing. "She reminds me so much of my Lily..."
I think I’ll forego the coffee. Fuck, I'll skip breakfast, too. Goin’ straight to dessert. I go into the kitchen, hook my finger through the handle of a big glass bottle. It drags with a heavy rasp along the shelf; drops off the edge, hangs from my hand. I walk through the living room. I keep remembering…
"Nora hasn't let me see her since the divorce, you know." He still doesn't say anything. "She’s twenty-one today. To my Little Girl." Raise my beer. Nothing, but I hear his teeth grind. "Syri’s about that, right? Been hearin’ about her Sweet Sauce…how she uses maple syrup for rubbin' a man off? Or suckin' 'em. Heard that's how she got her name." All at once his breath is hot against my ear. "Not you. Never. You." He throws the razor down on the counter. "Finish your own goddamn shave" he tosses over his shoulder, pushing through the door into the back room. I drop my tip into the half-empty beer glass on the counter and pick up the razor. "Suit yourself," I holler. Wipe my face. I glance at the wall of keys behind the bar. "Self-serve it is."
I open the basement door, the bottle swinging from my hand. Hear a small whimper. Yeah. I remember.
