Who could recommend a barber? Walking out, he saw Rudy’s backup razor on the counter. Maybe he could learn to use it. He pocketed it.
At the door, Rudy’s appointment book sat by the register. Thumbing through, he found his first initial and last name, 8:00 a.m. The 9:00, V. Yamamoto, wasn’t familiar, which was good.
This Yamamoto wouldn’t be able to I.D. the customer who was here every Saturday at 8:00 a.m. He took the book, then exited briskly left toward Nu‘uanu Avenue.
The timing was lucky. He was just far enough down the street to be unnoticeable, when Sergeant Victor Yamamoto turned the corner from River Street.
Yamamoto hated haircuts, a carryover from childhood cha-wong trauma, sitting on a stool, rice bowl on his head, dull scissors rabbiting a ragged round-the-head cut that was all they could afford.
Rudy’d said he had information. Yamamoto needed a haircut anyway.
* * * * *
Happy #WriterSunday, I hope you’re doing well and are safe. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing of any kind, any length, and then post that piece on your page and link back to me, or simply leave it as comment below. I would love to read it.