“You are a harder nut to crack.” He rubs his chin. “I would have expected to be cussed out by now.” Then he laughs, shaking his head the entire time. “This is good.”
My eyebrow arches at his reaction. I can’t help it. I may be able to temper my words, but the muscles on my face have a life of their own. He must see the unwilling question in my expression because he wipes at the stray tear at the corner of his eye and clears his throat.
“I’m going to enjoy breaking you.” He finally says the words I’ve been expecting. A blackness takes over his features, like a demon has taken possession of him. “You took away my daughter. The light of my life. The person I consider the most precious in this world. My wife hasn’t left her room since, only telling me through the door to make you pay.” He points at me. “For taking my daughter’s life, I will take away everything you hold dear.”
My own laughing fit begins. He pauses, considering me.
“Like I told the boss,” I say after I’ve settled down. “I did what I had to do. At the end of this week, I’m dead anyway. There’s nothing more you can take away from me.”
He snorts into a smirk. “We’ll see about that.” He glances over his shoulder. “Let’s begin with all that hair.”
My eyes widen a fraction. I can’t help it. A prick of terror enters my soul.
As if answering to a signal, an old man closely resembling a skeleton strides into the room. He had nothing on but a white strip of cloth that winds around his narrow hips and is secured at the small of his back by a knot. The excess falls like an apron in front, covering his genital area, while the rest is a twist that runs down the line of his asscheeks. He doesn’t have a strand of hair on his body.
What disturbs me isn’t his lack of clothing; it’s the rusty blade in his hand. By my estimation, the ugly thing must be at least ten inches long. It’s a common misconception that rust dulls a blade. The edge is still sharp enough in the hands of a knife expert. Judging from the sure way he is holding what I assume will be used to cut my hair, he’s an expert. His brown leathery skin clings to the sharp bones of his face when he smiles, first at me and then at the underboss.
He bows and says, “Thank you for the opportunity to participate, sir.”
“My pleasure, Jiro,” he replies, answering the man’s bow with one of his own. When he straightens, he refocuses his attention to me. “When I return, I will beat you to within an inch of your life with my bare hands.”
So the knuckle cracking wasn’t just for show after all. I would have said “I look forward to it,” but he’d only enjoy that. Instead I shifted my gaze to Jiro, my hairstylist. The underboss pats him on the shoulder. Mischief enters the man’s almond-shaped eyes.
“Have at her.” Then he warns when Jiro takes a step forward. “But don’t kill her.”
Jiro tsks but nods anyway. “Yes, sir.”
The underboss leaves me with the knife-wielding almost corpse. The door shuts, and the only light in the room is the naked bulb again. When the underboss’s footsteps recede and we’re completely alone, Jiro comes closer until he’s a couple of feet away from me. The way his skin clings to the bones of his ribs reminds me so much of Slipstream that I can barely keep eye contact. But I know that if I look away, he’ll just force me to face him again. I’d like to save myself the blow if I can since apparently the underboss aims to make me his punching bag after my trip to the sadist’s salon. By the way Jiro is licking his front teeth and leering at me, I’m right.
He bends so his skull for a face is inches from mine. A wide smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. It’s the only human thing about him. I shudder. There’s something so creepy about this whole thing. He reaches for a length of my hair and rubs it against his cheek.
“You have such beautiful hair,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “I’m so going to enjoy ripping it from your head.” He runs the strand between his lips.
“Just get on with it already,” I say, unable to keep my opinions to myself anymore.
Jiro brings the business end of the knife over to his scalp and scrapes the blade from front to back, following the curve of his head. “Eager little racer, aren’t you?” He stands up straight and regards me wistfully. “I bet against you once. Thought you would lose.” He shakes his head, then shrugs. “A whole week’s worth of credits down the drain.”
“Would you like me to apologize for that?”
My question is met with the knife tip in my thigh. I yelp in surprise. Not all the way in, mind you. Just about an inch. Still, it hurts like a bitch. Chuckling, he removes the blade and tastes my blood. He hums in delight.
“It doesn’t surprise me why Mistress Star is….” He tilts his head as if realizing his mistake, then corrects himself. “Was enamored with you.” He grimaces as if the change in tense when referring to Star leaves a nasty aftertaste in his mouth.
“If by enamored you mean obsessed, then you’re right.”
The knife’s edge comes to the side of my neck. I wait, hoping he doesn’t see through my bullshit. Killing me now will save me all the pain later. His blazing eyes tell me he wants to. Then he pushes away and rubs the flat side of the blade against his grizzled cheek the way he did with my hair earlier.
Clucking his tongue at
