It's A Crime (31 page)

She picked up her scissors
and comb and began cutting his hair.

“I’m counting on it.”
His eyes locked with hers in the mirror again.

S
weat started to coat her body. He crossed his legs under the cape; strange for a guy. He remained calm, no doubt used to putting women into a dither. He kept looking at her even when she tore her eyes away to concentrate on his hair.

She did as he asked and took very little off
, keeping to his style, but her hands shook.

Alison was nervous.
He had a tiny cowlick just left of center behind one ear and trimming the hair evenly had made it appear. God knows she didn’t want him unsatisfied. Her bosses were watching her. She was not usually fond of blond men. But this one, this one could do things to her body just looking at her. The flush radiated from her chest up to her face and down to her…well...

“So
, Alison, what do you do when you are not working?”

“
There ain't much I can do. Everything's too expensive round 'ere. But I like dancing, you know. I like going to the clubs…to dance.”

“When are you off today?”

“Today? Today, I’m done when you...you are my last client tonight.”
Is he actually going to ask me out?

“Would you like to go out with me?”

“
Oh, yes, I would
.” Jesus, I can't believe it...he really asked me out. If my friends home could see him, they’d piss themselves.

“Good.
Then it’s a date.” His tone indicated he hadn’t expected anything but a yes.

Alison finished his hair
then gave him the mirror to look at the back of his head and spun the chair around so he could view the back.

His eyes immediately focused on the one spot that wasn’t perfect.
His nostrils flared and his perfect eyebrows dipped in anger as he reached two fingers back to the cowlick she’d worried about. Alison held her breath, heart pounding.

But he lowered  his hand, his brow
smoothed, and he put on his big bright smile.

“It looks great. Thank you.”

Relief washed over her and she relaxed immediately.
“I’m so glad you like it. I thought I had done something wrong.”

“Nope,
looks great.” His tone was clipped.

She removed the cape
, shaking it off, releasing the hair clinging to it, and then hung it on the hook next to her. She wrapped the blower’s cord around the handle and shoved it into her drawer then started to put her things away.

Jonathan
abruptly stood up and quickly interrupted her. “So, let’s get something to eat first. Then I’ve got to just run to my place for a sec and we’ll go dancing after that. I know a club you’ll love. Sound good?”

“Yes, lovely.” Alison couldn’t believe her luck. They
would
piss themselves back home, they would.
I have to take a lot of pictures to show them all
.

“Give me five minutes
, got to clean up first.”

“
I’ll go get my car and I’ll meet you out front.”

“
Lovely.” Her heart was racing. She was about to have the best night ever.

They ate at Del Frisco’s.
Jonathan insisted on ordering for them both, sure Alison would be impressed. He ordered a bottle of his favorite Barolo to go with the steak. Alison wasn’t a big fan of the wine but drank it anyway. She sensed he could be volatile and wanted to make him happy. Besides it went right to her head and made her feel looser, more comfortable.

Alison order
ed a vodka and coke with her desert of triple layer chocolate ganache cake. When the waiter put it down in front of her, it looked so fancy she immediately pulled out her iPhone and snapped a picture of it. She caught Jonathan in the picture and he stiffened.
Odd reaction for a model, if anything he should be a picture hog
. Their waiter offered to take their picture and Jonathan waived his hand, refusing.

“Not now
,” he said briskly to the waiter.

He turned to Alison
. “I do this shit everyday... I’m here with you, a pretty girl...I want this to be special…” His eyes betrayed him to the waiter.

After dinner, t
hey walked to the garage to get his car. When the attendant brought his car, he walked slowly around the car.

“What th
e fuck is this?” he shouted at the attendant, pointing to the fender.

“Don’t know.”

Alison heard him mumble something under his breath, but then he calmed

Several tense minutes later, t
hey pulled into the underground garage at his apartment building and rode the elevator up in silence. When he opened the door, she was amazed. It was smaller than she imagined a supermodel would have and sparsely decorated. He had two couches, a chair, a table or two and a TV in the living room. The walls were covered with pictures of him. Jonathan leaning on a car, smiling, Jonathan kissing the hand of a beautiful woman, smiling, Jonathan laying on a lounge poolside in a posh resort, and smiling.

Cor, he loves his face
.

Alison asked
him if she could use the bathroom. He pointed down the hall.

“Room across from the bedroom.”

Wooo…the bedroom
. Hell, if he were lucky. Alison laughed inside imagining herself screwing a model, and a big time model, on billboards and such. They all would be green with envy.

She heard him play
ing back his answering machine, the messages playing one after the other. Alison heard little of the messages but was sure it was a list of places and times he needed to be.

She opened the bathroom door and
walked in. When she looked around, she was speechless. It was the polar opposite of the living area. There wasn’t an inch of space on any surface. The back of the toilet, the sink, the corner stand, the shelves, hell even the floor. All full of product; hair, face, makeup, lotions, cologne, everything. There wasn’t an inch of space to put anything else.

What a fucking
product freak he is.

She pee
ked into his medicine cabinet, shocked to see it stuffed full of meds. At least thirty bottles stood on the shelves, all neatly arranged.

Alison didn’t know what most of the bottles were but she did see a few she recognized, as she
spun them around. Thorazine, Risperdal, and Clozaril. Those bottles were filled with antipsychotics. Alison knew these too well. Her mum had taken them all at one time or another for her condition. She was Bipolar and continually suffered with manic highs and severe depression, which triggered dramatic mood swings. A chill caused the hairs on her neck to rise.

What the fuck did I get myself into here?

She quickly used the bathroom. Alison did like that he was famous, and beautiful, but she kept getting an uneasy feeling. He was moody and irritable.

Fucker must be off his meds, the loon.

She washed her hands and walked out into the hall.

Alison
lifted her eyes up and saw Jonathan in the room next to the bathroom, talking. It sounded like he was angry. She thought quickly, coming up with a plan. She would tell him she had a lovely time at dinner, but was tired and not feeling well.
I’ll tell him I ate too much...
She looked into the room again, noticing it was the only room in the apartment that looked normal. The king bed was made and covered in a beautiful silk spread. Oddly, it looked like it had never been slept in. The matching silk curtains were elegant as well. The furniture looked very expensive.

Alison
tapped lightly on the door to get his attention. Jonathan immediately turned to look at her. She thought it odd he wasn’t on the phone.
Had he been talking to himself?

“Jon, I wanted to thank you for din
...”

“Jonathan,
”

“Excuse me?”

“JON A THAN. Should I fucking spell it for you, you stupid fucking cunt?” His voice was full of venom.

“I, um, I
...I’m sorry...
Jonathan
.” The cold chill spread from her belly outward. “I wanted to thank you for the lovely meal, but...I’m…I’m not feeling well. I need to lie down…I’m going to go back to my flat. Must’ve ate too much…um, no need to see me out, I can grab a taxi. Thank you again for dinner, it was lovely.” She started backing out of the room.

“You ate too much?
...
Really
...Of course you did, you greedy fucking cow.” She didn’t have time to react. He reached her in two quick steps, grabbed her by her throat and lifted her off the floor. Smashing her violently into the wall, his hand holding her in place, he clasped her tightly around her neck. The drywall dented from the force of her head slamming into it. She was dazed, her head pounding.

He took a remote from his pocket and pushed a button.
Music started pouring out of his speakers, becoming increasingly louder. Hard rock, Rolling Stones,
Sympathy for the Devil
.

She felt ill, her supper rising
, bile burning the back of her throat, blocked from escape by his long fingers. Her stomach twisted and curled. She raised her hands up to her throat trying in vain to pull his fingers loose. He smiled viciously at her feeble attempt.

“Fucking cunt.”
He smiled again.

You
crazy bugger...
her head lolled back against the wall, her arms dropped to her sides, the lack of oxygen making her dizzy. Her brain pounded with her attempt to stay conscious, focused.

He released her
abruptly and casually walked into the living room. Alison slid precipitously to the floor. She hadn’t realized her feet weren’t touching the floor until the moment her numb legs collided with the hard surface.

Lifting her hand to her throat
, she rubbed her neck, trying to sooth her bruised trachea while trying to think, her head still foggy from the blow. Alison tried to stand but was still too dizzy. She started crawling toward where she thought she remembered the entrance was.

S
he had to get out of this place or something terrible would happen. She crawled to the end of the hall and looked up to see Jonathan standing there, smiling eerily, an ominous look on his face. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until she tried focusing. She quickly swiped the tears away and spotted her cutthroat in his hand.

How did the
Looney fucker get my cutthroat?

He
was playing with it, slowly turning it in his hands, caressing it with his fingers, looking intently at the blade. He removed the guide and tossed it to the floor. The exposed razor coaxed a smile from him. He lifted it to the light, marveling at its purity. He swiped the blade, cutting deeply into his finger as he did.

He
stuck his bloody digit into his mouth sucking hard, drawing his blood from the slice. The sides of his mouth twisted into a sneer.

He is fucking mad
he is, insane bastard.

He walked slowly to where she sat shaking her head
.

“Please
, Jonathan. I just want to go home. I won’t say anything to anyone. Please...please.” She begged, her voice throaty and coarse, sounded odd to her. If she didn’t get out of here she was going to die.

Fucking bastard.

Somewhere inside her an anger built. Reaching up she grabbed, searched for anything she could use. With dexterous fingers she felt along the top of the table next to her, combing for something she could wrap her fingers around, anything that would cause him pain. She groped until her fingers rested on a thick heavy object, maybe an ashtray. She grasped it and without hesitating, flung it at him. It collided with his forehead and rocked him back on his heels. Her cutthroat skittered across the floor, bumping then resting against the wood molding along the walls.

He yelled in pain. “Fucking cunt.
You fucking cow cunt.”

He sat down
holding his head with both hands, rocking.

She found the strength she desperately needed and using the wall as her guide, slowly rose to her feet.
She was weak but if she didn’t try, she would die. She stood for what seemed like an eternity. Using her hands on the wall, she slowly forced her legs to move, walking around the perimeter of the room, looking back and forth from where he sat cursing to the front door.

T
he bile rose in her throat as panic set in. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she slowly crept along the wall, hoping and praying to a God who had clearly abandoned her.

Alison
looked in his direction, seeing him watching her as a smile formed on his lips, reaching his eyes. Demonic eyes.

Fucking devil.

He licked his lips. He swiped at the blood trail, smearing it across his forehead, and slowly stood, searching the room for her cutthroat. He was unsteady, holding onto the back of the sofa. He took a small step and stopped to reach down to pick up a small table.  He threw it across the room where it smashed into the wall next to her, breaking apart with such force, splitting into pieces, scattering across the floor.