Probably bowing politely while Deja's client is sitting there with half a head of goddess locs and the other half of her hair standing straight up in a mess.
Shit. I should have warned her.
Deja continued,"They talking about I need to pack my things so I can come do your hair! PACK MY THINGS, NYOMI?! Are they crazy?!”
I heard a man’s voice speaking in the background.
It must have been one of Kenji’s men explaining to her that this was urgent.
“I’m not doing no shit like that! I got clients scheduled! I got Keisha coming in at three for feed-ins! I got Mrs. Brewster's touch-up tomorrow! And these men. . .what the hell is that?!”
Noise sounded.
Women gasped.
I squinted as if that could help me figure out what was going on.
“Oh shit, Nyomi. These men got briefcases full of money! Now what type of illegal shit have you brought to my house?!”
The message shut off.
I had to stop walking because my shoulders shook with laughter.
The guards glanced at each other but said nothing.
In the next message, Deja's voice went up another octave."They said they need me to come to Japan! TO JAPAN, NYOMI! Girl, I don't even got a passport that's current! And they said don't worry, they'll handle it! HANDLE IT HOW?! Who ARE these people?! Why they got so much CASH?! Girl, you better call me back and explain this before I call the PO-LEECE! Not the fucking police, but the PO! LEECE! I’m not going to jail for nobody else’s shit. You got me all types of fucked up. Call me back!"
The message ended.
Laughing some more, I wiped my eyes, trying to compose myself.
Behind me, I heard the younger guard clear his throat. "Nyomi? Is everything alright?"
"Yeah." I waved my hand, still grinning. "Just. . .my hair stylist met your colleagues."
The scarred guard's mouth twitched. "Ah. I understand."
I burst out laughing and headed off.
We passed a group of cleaners pushing carts of fresh linens. All three of them stopped, turned, and bowed deeply. "Tiger-sama. Good morning. It's an honor."
“Thank you. Good morning to you too.” I nodded back, still smiling from Deja's message, and kept walking.
The third voicemail started, and this time Deja's voice was completely different.
Calm.
Almostdreamy.
"Hey, girl. . .so. . .I'm on a private plane right now."
I grinned wider.
"Nyomi, I don't know what type of journalist work you got going on over there, but baby, you need to PUT ME ON. These men came back with a PASSPORT—areal passport, expedited, everything official—and they said the plane was leaving in two hours."
I could hear the smile in her voice.
"My cousin, Nika is with me. You know we go together. We're wearing fur coats they GAVE us. Girl, GAVE. Didn't ask for them back. Just handed us FUR COATS and said, 'for the journey.' Who DOES that?!"
