D.C. Dead

58

Shelley Bach rinsed under the shower, then got into a robe and toweled her hair. She checked the mirror and approved of what she saw. The new auburn color worked very well for her, or would soon.

She dried her hair and dressed, then went to the basement of the apartment building in Arlington and got into the Honda Civic she had bought earlier, under her new name, using ID she had manufactured using FBI equipment. She drove a couple of blocks down the street, parked at a strip mall, and went into a shop.

“I’m Carly Shaker,” she said to the receptionist. “I have an appointment.”

“Right this way, Ms. Shaker,” the young woman said. She showed her down the hall to a curtained booth ?ght="2and handed her a paper robe. “Undress and put this on, and she will be with you in a moment.”

Carly did as she was told, and had a seat. Another woman, who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, came into the booth and checked a clipboard. “Let’s see,” she said, “you’re getting the full-body airbrush, is that right?”

“That’s correct,” Carly said. She got up and pointed at a color chart on the wall. “And I think this shade would be good for me. What do you think?”

“Very good,” the woman said. “Not too dark, just a lovely shade that will go perfectly with your hair. Now, if you’ll take off your robe and stand on the little pedestal, we’ll get to work.”

An hour later, Carly stood naked before a full-length mirror and stared at her new complexion. Her formerly blond whiteness had been darkened to a nearly Mediterranean shade that blended perfectly with her new hair color. It would last for two weeks, then she would have it touched up.

She got dressed, paid her bill, and drove back to her apartment building, a new woman. Back in her apartment she felt a pang of regret. She took the new, anonymous cell phone she had bought at a Radio Shack, looked up a number, and tapped it in. The phone went directly to voice mail, and she left a message.

That would have to do, for now. Later, who knew?