Death by Manicure: The Case of the Poison Polish. Dr. Robert T. Spalding Jr.

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Death by Manicure: The Case of the Poison Polish - Dr. Robert T. Spalding Jr.


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light hurt his eyes, but he didn’t bother to figure out how long it had been since he’d bothered to leave his apartment. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to get his life back on track, but it was easier to find an excuse not to do it, so he figured the best way was to just do it. He needed to find a place to set up shop. He had been looking in the previous day’s newspaper for vacant property to let and there were a few that were nearby. The problem with newspaper ads was that they were often economical with the truth. The best way was to check them out in the cold, harsh light of day instead of under a lamp at 9 p.m. after a generous dose of bourbon and cola.

      ***

      As Tad checked over his new property, he suddenly realized why his dream property had been such a bargain– it came with a trio of bozos next door that made the Three Stooges look like geniuses. But his philosophy was to keep out of their way as much as possible and to hope that they would leave him in peace. In the mean time he had more pressing issues like heading to the bank for a loan.

      Tad had an 11 o’clock appointment at one of the local banks. He had filled out a form and dropped it off at the bank and an appointment had been made with one of the loan officers so his application could be considered.

      “Good morning, Mr. Barger, please have a seat, can I offer you a coffee?”

      “No thanks, I’m fine,” Tad said as he accepted the proffered fabric-covered armchair.

      Taking a deep breath he decided to go ahead and take the plunge, but before he could open his mouth the bank officer asked, “Okay, we’ll get right down to business. I just need to ask you a few routine questions. Mr. Barger, are you in full-time employment at present?”

      “No … I’m not, I was … I left my last job. I need the loan to start up my own business,” Tad responded feeling more nervous with each word.

      “Okay, not a problem. So you would like to borrow $5,000. Is that correct?” the officer asked, his pen poised over the application.

      “Yes, that’s right. How soon could I get it?” asked Tad, seeming a little anxious.

      “We’ll need to run a few basic checks on your financial history and assuming everything is in order you will have the money next week,” said the loan officer.

      “That’s great. Thank you very much,” relieved that this was all there was to it.

      “You’re welcome; have a good day,” the banker said as he stood to see Tad out.

      As Tad walked out of the bank he felt like his luck was changing for the better. It had stopped raining and he managed to jump out of the way just in time to avoid being soaked by a car running through a large puddle by the side of the road. His good mood came to an abrupt end when he got back to his salon and the Three Stooges were there ready to unleash one of their “witty” verbal assaults.

      “Hey look guys, its Mr Faggot returning to run his little girly store for sad bimbos with money to blow. Go to LA, man, that’s where they want freaks like you - or better still San Francisco,” said Brian, one of the trio.

      “Come on over, guys. I may even give you a discount,” said Tad, for the first time giving his neighbor as good as he got.

      “Why you ...,” said Brian all set to get into a fight until Gus and Hank restrained him.

      Tad quickly went into his salon. It was like a sanctuary in that the male egos of his neighbors would never allow them to set foot in the place even if the intention was to torch it. Their rationale was that if anyone saw them in a nail salon they could never live it down. Of course, things would work wonderfully if Tad never had to leave, but this was impossible.

      For someone who was supposed to be so assured in his own sexuality, Brian certainly made a lot of comments about that of others, Tad thought, as he got busy. Gus and Hank would never be brave enough to tackle the issue. Their idea of stimulating discussion was arguing about which NFL team had the hottest cheerleaders.

      Despite the bad feeling over the brush with his neighbors, Tad experienced a buzz of excitement at being his own boss for the first time in a proper business. He had done things like selling homemade cookies as a kid to householders in his local neighborhood, but there was hardly any financial risk involved there. What he didn’t sell he just ate and most kids in that situation actually hoped for few sales. He’d had experienced nasty bosses - not so much at ZOPIE, although there had one or two even there - but mostly in the series of odd jobs he had taken while he was at college.

      The windows of his new premises had been soaped over to signal that the property had been vacant, so one of Tad’s first jobs was to get them cleaned. As he bustled about with cleaner, water and a brush, he quickly learned that it was harder than he had imagined. Unwilling to give up at the first obstacle and bolstered by his successful meeting at the bank, Tad had to put a fair amount of elbow grease into the job, but somehow it felt good to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty. It was also exciting to see the glaze of soap disappear and the feeble sun behind allowed to pour into the shop.

      This was a world away from the austere labs of ZOPIE. He kind of missed the banter despite chemists not exactly being renowned for being the life and soul of the party or at anything that didn’t involve talking among their own kind for that matter. He was already thinking ahead, wondering that if this venture took off whether or not he should take on some staff. He was a qualified manicurist and had moved into chemistry because the money was better and he didn’t always enjoy dealing directly with the public.

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