“Well look what the cat drug in?” Alma said with a crackle.

The sound sliced Ivanka’s head. Stumbling slightly she headed for her station. Being behind her salon chair surrounded by her things helped her feel settled. A tiny sliver tucked into Little Russia Coney Island, the Venus Parlor Hair salon was a second home to her. Ivanka sat down taking a steadying breath. Anton and Katerina came out from the break room. Their laughter bounced around the tiny salon. Ivanka groaned.

“What’s wrong, dorogoy?” Anton asked holding Ivanka’s face in his hands.

“Maybe she needs the hair of the puppy,” Katerina said, arms folded.

“Idioms are not your friend, dum dum,” Anton said with a laugh. “What had happened little one?”

“Sick, not drunk, drugged. I don’t know what happened to me. I did a client’s hair at home on Saturday afternoon and woke up in an ambulance Sunday night. I never do that but this lady begged me and I caved. That’s why I missed so many days I was in hospital. I tell the police but no one believe me.”

Ivanka began to sob. In a tight circle, the stylists gathered around her.

“Politsiya,” Anton sneered.

Katrina grabbed a box of tissues while Alma turned the “Come Back Later” sign around and locked the salon door.

“Did she hurt you? Rob you?”

Anton dried Ivanka’s face searching for injuries. In a shaky voice, the young woman told the story of Svetlana, her friendly too friendly regular. She told of the customer’s continual personal questions. The endless offers to go for coffee or drinks. This Svetlana even waited outside the salon at closing to “chat.” Nodding they listened.

“The styling was perfectly normal. Updo with sweeping bangs and mink eyelashes very Audrey Hepburn. Not a lot of talk, she bought me a slice of cake, and then everything was fuzzy. My neighbor called 911 when she saw my customer leaving my apartment Sunday night. My place was ransacked and my passport and ID taken. Police say they will investigate but they look at me like I was the junkie,” Ivanka said and broke into tears.

“Cry later, revenge now,” Katerina said.

“Damn straight.” Alma snapped her her in agreement.

Anton looked around knowingly.

“The bitch didn’t want to be your friend. She wanted to be you.”

Mouth open, Ivanka froze as the realization dawned.

“The police—“

“No, we take care of our own,” Anton said. “Katerina call Mr. Alexander, there’s work to be done.”