Hold-up At The Beauty Salon
When he entered Betty's Beauty Salon, the gossipy conversation ceased. It didn't end because of his masculine presence. It stopped because of the gun in his hand. The revolver loomed large in the eyes of the five women.
"Which one is Betty?" he snarled.
A slender young woman wearing a flowered apron stepped away from an older woman in one of the hairdresser chairs. She had a comb in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other.
"All right, Betty," the man said, "drop the comb and the choppers, then get over here and open your cash register."
Betty placed the items on a counter holding scattered salon paraphenalia. She had to walk close by him to get at the machine. She smelled as pretty as she looked to him. For a moment he contemplated taking her with him.
The heady perfume she wore triggered a response he could not resist.
Betty punched a key on the register and the cash drawer flew open. She stepped back a bit, watching him warily.
"Back another step, sweetheart," he said. He did not want her slamming the cash drawer on his hand while extracting money from it.
Keeping an eye and the gun on the women, he shoved wads of bills into a pocket of his jacket. Betty and her customers remained silent, their eyes on the thief and on the gun.
Betty stood just a few feet from him. The heady perfume she wore triggered a response he could not resist. He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. She smelled good, felt good, resisted good. She kicked his shin and pulled at his hair. He planted a juicy kiss on her glossy red lips.
Then he laughed and set her free. Keeping an eye on the women, he backed to and opened the door to the place. "No one moves for five minutes," he warned. Then he was gone.
Betty carefully wiped her mouth on a tissue. She placed the tissue beside the telephone and laid three strands of hair on it. Then she picked up the phone. "I hope the police can extract DNA from a tissue," she said to her customers. "If not, I have a few samples from his head they can examine."