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I rolled over in my bed and tried to get comfortable, but it was pointless. There was no spot that would be comfortable enough. I thought of Cody asleep in his room. How was I supposed to be a good mother when I was some beck and call girl for a drug dealer?
It was worse than just that, though. I wasn’t just some prostitute, which was bad enough, but now I was going to be an accomplice for a man who was going to use my salon to store his drugs. God, I didn’t even know what kinds of drugs they were.
“What if it’s cocaine?” I asked the ceiling in a hoarse whisper.
I told myself it didn’t really matter. Drugs were drugs and even if it was just pounds of weed hanging out in the back of my store, it would be a problem. Weed wasn’t legal recreationally and I definitely didn’t have a license to be storing it. But at least I wouldn’t have to worry about people overdosing.
Overdosing. Jesus, why did I have to think of that?
I could be an accomplice to murder!
My heart started beating loud and hard in my chest, anxiety causing my body to warm and my palms to sweat. My skin felt like a live wire all of a sudden and it really hit me just how bad all of this was. I was going to be storing an illicit drug in my store that might or might not cause people—kids, even—to overdose. They could die. I could be partially responsible for the death of kids with brothers and sisters and mothers.
Pulling the covers up over my head, I clenched my eyes shut and tried not to hyperventilate. I told myself none of this was my fault. I’d done the right thing. If anything, I was a victim here.
Right?
Uncertain and feeling worse and worse about the whole thing, I counted sheep.
Sleep. All I needed was some goddamned sleep.
Chapter 9
The next week was a nightmare. I was haggling with the insurance company who didn’t want to cover any of the damage, citing it was my fault for not keeping the electrical wiring up to code. I had my hands full fighting them on it, providing as much official paperwork and photographs as I could get my hands on to prove my shop was up to legal standards.
Without the insurance money, I had exactly nothing to donate towards removing the debris from the convenience store. Not exactly great for business.
I pulled the curtain across the divider and cleaned up the register as best I could, but that was about all I could do for the moment. It would be okay for the summer—though I’d already had dozens of customers comment, gossip, and even walk out as a result—but come winter, things would have to change. Nobody wants to come into a freezing shop to get their hair done.
Thanks to the deal with Ethan, I also had an extra expense. I had to send Cody to a daycare after school because I didn’t want him around The Cut if it was going to have drugs on site.
What made matters worse was Louis. I’d received several shipments already that week—Ethan started bringing his stock in early Monday morning—and each time they’d come from Louis. Now it was Friday and he came in through the front door, not even batting an eye at the curtain pulled closed over the perfect line of charcoal in my floor. “I have a delivery,” he announced calmly. He was an unshakable man, which made me want to throttle him, but instead I sighed.
“Jessie? Could you take over for a minute?”
The lady whose hair I was handling, gave me a startled expression in the mirror she was facing. Jessie was working in The Cut now because I couldn’t bear to fire her, but she didn’t usually handle the stylist side of things. She was more of a phones, cashier, and sales girl. And when she came over, she had the same startled expression as the woman in the chair.
Leaning closer to me, Jessie asked, “Are you sure?”
I faked a bright smile at her, handing over a comb. “Of course. You’re just doing a little trimming. Split ends, nothing too sharp or short. You’ll be fine.”
No one looked comfortable with the situation, but I didn’t have a choice. I might normally let Jessie handle the shipments, but that was when they were legal. Now that I was dealing in whatever drugs Ethan sent my way, I couldn’t afford to let her do that. I wasn’t willing to put her in that kind of position. If she got caught with the drugs, not even knowing what was happening, I would feel awful. And wholly responsible.
So instead I was handing over a pair of scissors and a comb to someone who didn’t know all that much about styling hair. I was letting her cut this poor woman’s locks and everyone was just going to have to hope for the best.
