Lucía needed twenty-three bobby pins to keep her hair in a bun. She knew this from long practice and an almost obsessive need to keep her morning routine efficient. This morning, however, she sifted the thick bunches of her loose black hair through her fingers, grabbing onto it occasionally in a spasm of mild frustration. It just wouldn't do. Around her vanity mirror, Lucía had pinned up dozens of cutouts from the magazines that abounded on street corners and in shops in Philadelphia--norteamericanas, all daring to show their calves, shoulders, and even a bit of that soft crease at the top of their breasts. Her mother in Andalucía would have fainted to see this scandal on any woman--much less her own daughter. Even without direct knowledge of her daughter's new style, Mamá still fought against the style of the New Woman through her genes; Lucía's own voluptuosity did not fit well into their low-waisted dresses, but it did not keep her from trying. She was in debt with three tailors over various alterations. She had bought nearly a dozen cloche hats, cramming her bun beneath each, but only now realized what would complete her transformation into a fashionable norteamericana. She examined the waves of her hair, trying and failing to imagine it gone. She carefully held a clipping of another woman's dark bob next to her own face--would it work? Her darkly hazel eyes scanned the reflections anxiously. After a few moments, Lucía took a deep breath and reached for the phone, determined to make an appointment with a hairdresser.

To her surprise, the phone rang beneath her hand. Startled, it took her a moment to pull the phone up to her ear and stammer into it.

"H-hello?"

"Hello, Lucía. I have a job for you." The voice on the phone was immediately familiar.

"Oh, Mr. Crawford. What do you need, señor?" As she listened to her assignment, she curled a strand of hair around her finger. "A hairdresser? Really? Qué coincidencia...I need a haircut today. I'll meet you there."

She dropped the phone back onto its reciever and swept her hair back into its customary bun. Today was already looking interesting.

Crawford leaned against his new car, parked about a quarter mile down the road, glancing at his reflection in one of the store front windows. Immaculate grey suit, glistening Italian leather shoes, every hair aligned. Still took him by surprise at times, since ten years ago he was a punk knocking people's brains out back in Southie just to make a living. Didn't feel like that long ago. He was brought back to the present by the sight of Lucia walking down the sidewalk towards him, getting at least two husbands with craning necks in trouble on the way. That girl was going to be more than a handful of trouble before long. But she did have potential. Today was the day he tested whether his personal assistant could handle herself on the streets as well.

"Nice day for a walk, Lucia. Ready to finally have a taste of the real business? If not, I'm sure most women would prefer you cooped up back in the office- less competition for them."

Lucía smirked as she leaned casually against the car beside him. She let her purse dangle from one hand, its mass of sequns brushing heedlessly against the concrete.

"Oh, no, Mr. Crawford. I'm quite ready for this. No point in having it if you don't flaunt it anyway." She glanced down the street and nodded at the visible barber pole. "Is this the place? Looks a little high class for what you were talking about." She shrugged and hooked her purse once more on her shoulder. "Anyway, what exactamente do you need me to do?"

Crawford kept his voice low as he raised his hand to his chin.

This place used to be a nice little place to get your haircut and maybe a bottle of gin from the back. It was small time, so we always looked the other way. But for the last few months someone, we're not sure who, has taken over and turned this place into a huge earner. And they don't kick up anything to the Godfather or LoveGun. So we're going to teach them a little lesson today.

Reaches into his billfold and pulls out a hundred dollar bill.

I'd like you to go in there, get your haircut. Try to chat up the hairdresser. I doubt they know too much about which gang has taken this operation over, but maybe they know something. Either way, when you're done talk to the old lady sitting in the back of the salon and tell her you're interested in the other merchandise. When she gives you a bottle, come back out and we'll handle it from there. Any questions?

"Not a one." She took the bill with a small smile. "I'll be right back, Mr. Crawford. And I hope you'll like my new hairstyle. It should be very American."

Lucía tucked the bill into her purse as she made her way down to the salon. As she pushed open the door, she scanned the interior with the eye of a budding expert. An old woman sat, hunched over, at the back of the store, her bright eyes darting to the front door as the bell above it tinkled. Lucía nodded to her before one of the younger women swept up to her.

"Hello, dear, what would you like today?" The woman had forced a smile, glancing up at her customer's hidden hair, trying to guess what disaster laid beneath. In response, Lucía swept her hat off her head and deftly removed the twenty-three requisite bobby pins, letting her hair drop gradually to its luxurious length around her elbows. The hairdresser's eyebrows rose in a pleasant surprise. "Oh, my, well look at that. I'll guess you just want a trim dear? No need to get rid of all that beautiful--"

"No, I want it off." Lucía pointed abruptly to a picture hanging on the wall of a woman with a marcelled bob. "I want it to look like that, ma'am." The hairdresser glanced between the two and merely shrugged. She pointed to a chair and began to prepare her instruments.

It took a half hour for her hair to come off. With each snip, a black ribbon floated to the ground, splaying finally into a mess of hair. She made light chatter with the hairdresser about the usual--weather, movies, men--until she brought out the various curlers and tongs for the Marcel process. Lucía chuckled nervously and nodded toward one of the canisters filled with blue liquid. "Oh, can't I take a nip from one of those before you come at me with these things? They're very frightening."

The hairdresser chuckled and shook her head, but gave a glance back to the old woman. From the corner of her eye, Lucia saw the old woman nod and continue with her knitting. As she tipped the chair back, the younger woman murmured to her customer. "No, no, we have much better stuff to give you after we're done here." Lucía gave her a warm smile and a wink before subjecting herself to the curling process. She lost count of the time as the hairdresser slowly crafted her hair into the waves of movie stars and magazine models.Lucía continued to talk in a low voice.

"Do you get much gang crime around this parts? I was thinking to start a business of my own soon in the neighborhood."

The hairdresser shrugged. "Well, you know that the city is crawling with them. We see some of them prowling about now and then, try to start some trouble in a few of the other shops." She was making quick work of the Spanish woman's hair, tugging strand after strand into the various devices for the process. "But we've never had any problems. I guess we've just dodged a bullet, huh?" The hairdresser gave a hollow laugh and tugged a little too tightly on Lucía's hair. Lucía responded with a taut smile and another question. "Do you know the name of the local crime boss? I heard it was a woman." The hairdresser looked uneasy for a moment before shrugging. "I...I'm not sure. They use such strange names and I can never get them straight." She remained silent for the rest of the process, tugging absentmindedly on the hair she appeared to be concentrated on.

Finally, the hairdresser pointed to the mirror with a proud smile. "You're beautiful. You made a great choice with this hair--I'm not even sure that I've seen this hairstyle look better on anyone else!" Lucía nodded, slightly dumbstruck. She had always thought it was a cliché to look in the mirror and see another person, but she seemed to be experiencing it now. She cautiously touched the crimps of her hair before breaking into a smile.

"Oh, thank you ma'am! It's really beautiful. Now, where can I pay for this? And, uh...that other product you carry." The hairdresser winked and only pointed to the back. As Lucía made her way to the old woman, she kept a careful eye out, checking the mirrors for any funny business going on behind her.

The transaction, however, was simple. She handed over the money, and a "shampoo" bottle was given back to her with her change. With a small smile, she dipped in a quick curtsy before making her way out of the shop. A final glance back, however, and she saw the suspicious looks on both of the womens' faces. Lucía forced a smile and hurried toward Crawford's car, shoving the bottle breathlessly into his hand. "They don't know who it is they're messing with, but...I think they know I wasn't just a customer."

Crawford offered a reassuring smile.

They're probably calling whoever runs the place right about now. But we should be long gone before any bad guys show up.

Popping the trunk, he reaches into a secret compartment and pulls out a pistol, tossing it to Lucia.

Do you know how to use one of these?

Catching the gun, Lucia shook her head slowly.

Well, it's pretty simple. Point. Shoot. I'll show you how later, if you're interested. But we shouldn't have any trouble. Just try to point it menacingly and pretend you know what you're doing. And don't shoot me?

"I will do my best, Mr. Crawford, but no promises."

With a smirk, they turned and headed towards the salon, Crawford removing his gun from his shoulder holster. They entered the front door walking briskly. A woman was on the phone and Crawford quickly lunged toward it and ripped the cord from the wall. He gestured with his gun towards the door, and the women inside quickly scampered out. Trying the door to the back room and finding it locked, a couple kicks splintered the lock and revealed several large shelves packed with bottles of alcohol. Crawford and Lucia walked around incredulously.

How the hell did they get all this in here- who the hell is funding this operation?

Snapping out of his surprise, Crawford started dumping bottles of the liquor on the floor and motioned for Lucia to do the same. When enough of the area had been covered he removed a single match from his jacket pocket and, pulling Lucia towards the door, tossed it. The could feel the heat from the fire behind them as they made their way back to the front room of the salon. As they approached the door they could see a dark sedan pull to a stop, nearly on the sidewalk in front of them. Crawford, seeing the window from the passenger side begin to roll down, yelled "DOWN! and dove to the floor, pushing Lucia in front of him. He landed on top of his assistant, their faces inches apart, as the bullets from the car slammed through the storefront window, shattering it. Crawling over the glass and crouching behind the wall, Crawford raised his over the cover and blindly fired off a few shots. After a brief moment of silence, he risked a brief peek over the wall. Dropping back, he looked at Lucia, who'd moved next to him with her gun in her hand.

There's at least 4 of them out there, and we're in a terrible position. Usually I'd just hole up in here and make them come in after us, but that fire rules out that option. Not really sure how we're going to get out of this one, sweetheart.

Lucía gritted her teeth and glared toward the shattered store front. "I am not going to die in here, Mr. Crawford." She cast her gaze around, latching onto a grotto behind the desk. "And neither are you. They must have some way of getting the whiskey in without people noticing. A back door or something." She crawled over to the grotto and pounded on the wood panel, praying beneath her breath for her suspicions to be correct. She finally sank, defeated, against the wall and watched the smoke pouring out of the closet, collecting blackly on the ceiling and sifting a choking black mist through the air.

LoveGun sat as still as a statue on Crawford's couch. She usually wasn't allowed to sit on any of his furniture unless she had showered that day. Of course she hadn't showered today, but Crawford was late. The clock on the opposite wall ticked, ticked, ticked. LoveGun counted the seconds as they passed by. Fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five and so on. He was suppose to have met her back here about a half hour ago and discuss what was going down at the barber shop. Awful fools trying to step into the Godfather's territory. She would have gone with him, but Crawford told her that he had a plan and the perfect girl to execute it.

LoveGun grew a bit antsy. She moved her hands to attempt to comb out the nest of blond hair with her fingers. She strummed her toes inside her shoes and moved her eye patch to the other eye. This wasn't like Crawford, he never kept her waiting. It was usually the opposite. He was always very punctual, LoveGun never was.

She stood from her almost petrified position, stretching her arms above her head. Her pistol sat on the coffee table, LoveGun picked it up and holstered it. The waiting wasn't a problem, LoveGun could wait out anything, but the waiting was over. She'd go down town and see what was going on and if Crawford needed saving she'd save him. LoveGun exited the building.

Can't be sayin' I'm not be surprised.

LoveGun spoke to herself as she watched events unfold a few hundred feet in front of her. It must have just happened or the cops would have been there by now. She knew the neighborhood, no one would be calling the law. The smoke billowing from the building and out the back alley would call enough attention to itself. LoveGun scanned the street, up ahead a bunch of thugs aimed their silly guns at the store front. Crawford and his lass must have been still inside. Another quick look and she noticed Crawford's car, yup, they were still here. Guess she'd excuse his tardiness today.

She started her engine and put the car into gear. At first she didn't gain much speed as she rolled down the road, but just before she came to the car with the group of men sticking out from each window, LoveGun dropped the car into a higher gear and floored it.

Why don' ya be pickin' on ya own size!

LoveGun yelled as the engine revved. She wondered if Crawford had any get out of jail free cards or if the Godfather would be willing to pull some of his strings as the car went speeding towards the dark sedan. LoveGun really didn't want to spend another evening in jail. Plus, she was hungry and all the rum was gone from her bottle in her bag. Suddenly there was a strong whiplash as her car smashed into the thugs. Her neck, ow. The car, crumpled. The crash, loud. The noise from the impact echoed down the street, soon she was sure she'd hear sirens.

Huddled with Lucia, Crawford calculated his odds on being able to shoot his way out. Not so hot. But if whoever the hell was out there assumed they were unconscious already, maybe they could have at least a bit of surprise on their side. Leaning over Lucia, Crawford grabbed the bottom of her dress and pulled it towards him. Putting his hand over his face to explain his idea, he then ripped two large large swaths from the bottom of her dress. As they finished tying the cloth around their faces, Crawford winked at Lucia, hoping to provide her with some confidence. It was then that the sound of the speeding car reached his ears. There were only two explanations. Either a complete stranger had just decided to ram a bunch of gunmen... or it was LoveGun. Timing his move with the sound of the car, Crawford rushed through the door with Lucia trailing behind. The gunmen had turned towards LoveGun- one of them was run down before her car collided with the gunmen's. Crawford managed to drop two of them with a few well placed shots, but as he turned his gun to the third he felt all the air blasted out of him. His shot was off, striking the bad guy in his thigh though at least forcing him to drop his gun. Struggling to breath, Crawford fell to his knees and tried to deal the killing shot. But the gun was too heavy in his hand- his balance was off. Falling forward, Crawford could only watch as LoveGun nonchalantly lifted herself out of the smoking wreck of a car and the last remaining gunman crawl frantically for the gun he'd dropped.

As Crawford collapsed beside her, Lucía fought her first instinct to clutch hard onto his sleeve and cry like a baby. Instead, she took a deep breath and pulled up her gun, shakily aiming it for the gunman that still remained standing. For a split second, she couldn't believe her good luck--in a weak moment, he had looked over to his fallen companions and seemed torn between helping them or shooting her. In the next split second, she had shot her own gun.

And missed wildly. As the shop window behind her opponent shattered, she ducked quickly to the ground, her heart pounding against the concrete. She glanced over to Crawford with an apologetic smile before glancing up at the sound of high heels clacking on the concrete. Lovegun. It was Lovegun stepping in to save the day. She gave a sigh of relief and crawled quickly over to Crawford, examining his wounds.

"Dios mio...what have they done to you? Stay awake, Mr. Crawford. Por favor..." She counted the bullet holes she could see--five, in possibly lethal places. He was bleeding so much. She took a deep breath and mustered whatever first aid experience she had. Tourniquets. Tourniquets were good. She looked down at her already destroyed dress and sighed. She had better get some money for a new dress after this. With a long rip, she shortened it even further and quickly tied it around the leg that was bleeding the worst.

Her car smoked as she climbed out of it. The damage was far worse then she had imagined it to be. Maybe a scratch of the paint or a small, tiny dent, but this, this was unbelievable. LoveGun threw up her arms and then looked around at everyone else who was still alive. Crazy thug crawling on the ground after his gun, check. Crawford bleeding to death, well that seemed right. Lucia was attempting to save the bleeding Crawford, she was sweet as pie.

Just as LoveGun heard the faint noise of sirens she pulled her pistol out of the holster and raised the weapon up. The thug stood in front of her, about an arms length away. His weapon was aimed at her, but she shot first. Shot a bullet right into his face. Close range, the sight of the man was not pleasant. The cops would have fun identifying that corpse. The life quickly fled from the body which fell quickly to the ground landing with a thud.

LoveGun, un-phased at the actions that just took place, stepped over it and moved over to where Lucia was kneeling next to Crawford. She looked up at the barber shop which was being consumed by flames. The fire licked towards the buildings that sat next to the hair salon. The sirens drew closer now. She, Lucia and Crawford needed to get out of there. Crawford needed a doctor and not to die. There was only one form of transportation left and Crawford wasn't going to like it. LoveGun figured he wouldn't like being dead even more.

Lucia, help me bring him to his car.

LoveGun moved her shoulder under Crawford's arm.

We'll bring him to The Doc.

As LoveGun pushed the clutch in and slid the car into first gear, the curb slipped away. Just before turning onto a new street, leaving the burning barber shop behind with a wreck and a bunch of dead thugs, a fire truck could be seen out of the rear view mirror. She made an over exaggerated sigh of relief and gave Lucia a faint grin. LoveGun then peeped her sight back into the rear view mirror where she could see Crawford sprawled across the back seat, he was breathing. Good.

Once they arrived at the doctor that was on the Godfather's pay roll, the ladies exited out of the car and opened the back doors. They hefted Crawford out of the bloody mess of the back seat and into the house. The Doc gave LoveGun one hard good look, shook his head and got down to business. Time passed and finally he came out telling them that Crawford would live.

A few days later, Crawford limped off the doc's porch and back onto the streets. What a fuck up that had turned out to be. Time for a vacation to heal up. Definitely somewhere with a beach. Then try to find out who the hell those guys were. Better check in on Lucia as well- he hadn't heard a peep from her in the last few days. Hopefully the poor girl wasn't shaken up too bad. Even if she was, Lucia seemed like the type that could handle it. Regardless, it was time to move on. Albeit at a bit of a slower pace.