"Thank you, Brian," Creek said.
"De nada," Brian said. "Just make sure you bring me back something nice from your vacation."
"Let's hope that what I bring back is me," Creek said.
Creek found Robin Baker seated on the edge of Fixer's bathtub with the scissors in one hand and a hunk of hair in the other, morose. She looked at him as he came through the door.
"The last time I cut my hair was six years ago, you know," she said. "I mean, not counting trimming off split ends. Now I have to hack it all off. And I can't even see what I'm doing."
Creek took the scissors from Robin and sat down next to her on the tub. "Let me do it," he said.
"Can you cut hair?" Robin asked.
"Not really," Creek said. "But at least I can see what I'm cutting." The two of them were silent for a while as Creek cut her hair as quickly and straightly as he could.
"There," he said.
Robin stood up and looked in the mirror. "Well, it's different," she said.
Creek laughed. "I appreciate the diplomacy," he said. "But I know it's a really bad haircut. I don't expect you to keep it. I'm pretty sure the cruise ship will have a beauty shop."
"Cruise ship?" Robin asked. "As in boat or starship?"
"Starship," Creek said.
"How long are we going to be gone?" Robin asked.
"I didn't think to ask," Creek said. "Why?"
"I have pets," Robin said. "And I have animals in the shop. I don't want them to starve. I should call someone."
"There's an APB out for us," Creek said, as gently as possible. "I'm sure your parents and friends will know you'll be away. I'm sure your animals will be fine."
"If the police allow people in to feed them," Robin said.
"There is that," Creek agreed. "I'm sorry, Robin. There's nothing to do about it right now." He reached over and picked up the hair dye. "You want some help with this?"
"No," Robin said, and turned on the water in the sink. "I can do this. Not that I would use this, normally"—she pointed to the dye—"this stuff is crap."
"I don't think the guys Fixer usually has use this stuff care too much," Creek said.
"Probably not," Robin said, sighed, and took the hair dye from Creek. She bent over and dunked her head in the sink to wet her hair. "How do you know this guy, anyway?"
"I don't," Creek said. "I only met him a couple of days ago."
"How do you know you can trust him?" Robin said. She squeezed out some dye and started working it through her hair. "You're only entrusting him with our lives."
"I kept a secret for him, and I just paid him a lot of money," Creek said. "I think it should be enough. You missed a spot in the back."
Robin reached a hand back. "Be honest with me, now, Harry," she said, glancing at Creek in the mirror. "Do you do this a lot? Involve innocent women in bizarre plots of espionage and assassination? Or is this a first for you, too?"
"It's pretty much a first," Creek said. "Is that the right answer?"
"Well, you know," Robin said. "A girl does like to be treated special." She dunked her head, rinsed out the dye, and held out a hand. "Towel," she said. Creek grabbed one off the rack and handed it to her. Robin toweled off her head and then looked over to Creek. "How does it look?" she said.
"Black," Creek said.
Robin glanced at herself in the mirror. "Ugh. I tried black once in high school. Didn't work then. Doesn't work now."
"It's not so bad," Creek said. "It distracts from the haircut."
"Harry, what's in my DNA?" Robin asked. "You said there's something in my DNA that makes me different, and that everyone else with my DNA is dead. What is it?"
Creek stood up. "I don't know that this is the best time to get into it," he said. "We have to get to our shuttle if we're going to get on the cruise ship." He moved toward the door.
Robin walked over and interposed herself between Creek and the doorknob. "I think this is an excellent time to get into it," she said. "People are trying to kill me because of my DNA. I think I deserve the right to know why. I think you need to tell me right now, Harry."
Creek looked at her. "You remember what I was looking for when I came into your shop," he said.
"You were looking for a sheep," Robin said.
"Right," Creek said.
"Right, what?" Robin said.
"I was looking for a particular breed of genetically modified sheep. At least I thought I was. But it turns out I was looking for you."
Robin stared up at Creek for a few seconds before she slugged him in the jaw. "Goddamn it!" she said, retreating into the bathroom.
Creek massaged his jaw. "I really wish you would stop hitting me," he said.
"I am not a goddamn sheep, Harry!" Robin yelled.
"I didn't say you were a sheep, Robin," Creek said. "I said I thought I was looking for a sheep. But you have some of the same DNA as the kind of sheep I'm looking for."
"Do I look like I have sheep DNA?" Robin asked. "Do I look especially woolly to you?"
"No," Creek said. "All the sheep DNA you have is switched off. It's junk DNA. It doesn't do anything. But it doesn't mean it's not there, Robin. It's there. Just a little under twenty percent of your DNA is taken from breed."
"You're lying," Robin said.
Creek sighed, and crouched down, resting his back on the bathroom door. "I saw pictures of your mother, Robin. Your biological mother. She was a genetically engineered hybrid between human and animal. She was one of several hybrids some sick bastard created to blackmail people. This man let your mother get pregnant, and he modified your embryo in utero—designed you to be a viable birth. She wasn't fully human, Robin. I'm sorry."
"That not what my parents told me," Robin said. "They said she was homeless and died giving birth to me."
"I don't think they knew the details," Creek said. "But she did die giving birth to you."
Robin grabbed the edge of the sink and collapsed onto the toilet, sobbing. Creek went over to her and held her.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. Fixer poked his head in. "Everything all right?" He said.
"Everything's fine," Creek said. "It's just been a busy day."
"We're not done being busy," Fixer said. "We need to get those pictures taken, so I can make your passports. Are you ready?"
"A couple more minutes," Creek said.
"No," Robin said, and grabbed onto the sink again, this time to pull herself up. "We're ready. We're ready now."
"Okay," Fixer said, and looked at her hair. "After we take these pictures, I've got a hat you can use." He left.
"There goes his tip," Robin said, and smiled weakly at Creek.
"You okay, then?" Creek asked.
"Oh, sure," Robin said. "Today, people have tried to kill me, the police are looking for me, and I've just discovered every Easter of my childhood, I ate one of my relatives with mint jelly. I'm just fine."
"Well, is a very rare breed," Creek said.
"So?" Robin said.
"So they probably weren't close relatives," Creek said.
Robin stared at up at Creek for a few seconds. Then she laughed.
Where's Chuckie? Fixer thought as he fell backward down his basement stairs. Where the hell is my dog?
Fixer was worried about his dog because when he opened the door of the basement into the ground floor of his shop, there were two men and a very large thing waiting for him on the other side. This simply shouldn't have been; Chuckie was an Akita, and while the breed was silent enough near family or friends, they bark like mad when strangers invade their personal turf. Chuckie was so good at alerting Fixer to people in the store that for the last five years Fixer hadn't bothered with a door alarm; there was no need. Fixer had been in the basement, loudly destroying incriminating evidence and preparing for his departure, so he may not have heard Chuckie bark when people came into the store. But Chuckie wouldn't have stopped barking until Fixer heard him, came up the stairs, and told him to settle down. Ergo, something was wrong with Chuckie.