I thought it was an odd coincidence when, the first time Sonata came home from the salon talking in casual and bouncy terms of a cocaine deal that would be taking place somewhere downtown—that, almost a few days later, there was shoot-out by the old shipyard; [i]and[/i] also when a mechanic’s garage went up in a fire that needed several blocks for quarantine—just after Sonata had taken a new and surprising interest in sports betting. 
	
I decided I needed more information. So on one of my days off I poked my head into the beauty salon where she had now been working for a few weeks. To my irritation, I didn’t see her; I had to ask the receptionist for her by name. 
	
“Dazzle,” I introduced myself. “Roommate. Don’t have an appointment. Just observing.”
	
The little blue lady with her head squared off by large glasses frames squared herself a little more. She was trying to recall a script. “Well, [i]Ms. Dazzle[/i], we don’t have observers at Cutting Edge Beauty Spa. Ms. Dusk has been moved to the very-important-persons room.”
	
“A VIP room? At a spa?”
	
This was troubling to me. I saw that I had been stonewalled by the receptionist, anyway, and thanked her for her time. I considered what I would do. I didn’t want to embarrass Sonata, and compromise my info gathering endeavor; but I didn’t want her involved in crime and bad business.
	
When she got home that night I asked if I could borrow one-hundred dollars. She agreed and pulled out her pocket book—I looked inside. No large bills, no singles.
	
“Sorry, it’s all I have,” she told me, handing me two twenties. 
	
I pushed it back. “Keep it. Actually, I went by Cutting Edge today on my walk and was reminded that I need a haircut. I didn’t see you there, by the way. I guess you were in the bathroom.”
	
“No,” she said, “we have a guest that comes in, Mrs. Orange, and they put me in a special room with her. She’s married to an important small business owner in town.”
	
“What kind of small business owner?” I asked, a little piqued.
	
She folded her arms to help her recollection. “You know… [i]small businesses[/i]. He has a lot of cars, is all I know. Maybe he runs a car dealership, who knows.”
	
Properly vague.
	
“Does she tip you?” I asked.
	
“Sometimes she gives me twenty dollars, Adagio, just for doing my regular stuff! It confuses me. I just take it and have lunch at the Mexican restaurant across the street. One time I gave Aria money for extensions, so I’m not [i]that[/i] selfish.”
	
“I’m thinking about buzzing down, going bald,” I interrupted her.
	
She was stunned. “[i]Why[/i]? You have such beautiful hair. Well, I guess it will save you work.”
	
I nodded. “Maybe you’re right. [i]You[/i], on the other hand… I don’t think you need any hair or hair extensions, at all, Sonata.”
	
“What do you mean?” She crouched down to look at herself in the reflection of the oven glass.
	
“What I mean is that you have a lovely, museum-worthy cranium underneath that [i]pelt[/i],” I said, poking her scalp with my index finger. “You could totally rock a buzzcut.”
	
I saw a hovering smile in the glass. With a little more persuasion, she toted out the shears, and in less than a rinse cycle she was smooth as a plum, poor girl.
	
None of this cruelty, you understand, was without cause. She was clearly getting her gossip working for a crime boss’s wife. The staff had put her there due to her friendly gullibility—and clearly not for her discretion. And that was exactly how I was going to get her out of harm’s way.
	
The women of the salon, I was sure, would be baffled at Sonata’s transformation. I had been inspired by a young Rinpoche, whom I had been having lunch with of recent, and undertook to disguise Sonata as a lady of attainments. I made sure to stop by after her debut, and explain to Miss Square that Sonata was a seeker on the sunlit path, a girl of pious simplicity in quest of the image of God. 
	
Shortly after, as I hoped, Sonata was ejected from the VIP room; but before I could bring up anything to implicate the crime boss’s wife, she too disappeared—only to show up a few weeks later, bald as an apricot, in the discipleship of my friend the Rinpoche.