Medusa Deluxe

What the fuck is going on?

And why the fuck are we holed up in here?

- They wanna talk to us. - Who?

- The police? - Yeah.

I am in the middle of a Georgian Fontange.

You can't just walk away from that shit.

He weren't even in the fucking competition.

- He was. - I mean 'in it to win it'.

It was me, you and Kendra, you know that.

I see you there doing that cheeky chignon.

How do they even know it's murder?

You see my fontange.

There is some serious history in this hairstyle. Do you know that?

A story.

What's your chignon saying?

You agree, Angie?

Evil will triumph.

What?

It's what my dad used to say and he was fucking right.

They follow me, dead people.

All I wanna do is cut hair and they keep dropping.

- You know my last assistant? - Genevieve?

No, before that. A bloke. Polo. He's driving to the salon,

he's got a foot well full of peroxide, bottles of the stuff...

...no-one knows what happens next...

...but in all likelihood, he sparks up, drops the fucker.

Blammo. Fucking fireball.

Shit, was he alright?

Alright?

No. He was dead.

Trainee hairdressers don't survive exploding cars.

All I'm saying is this can be a dangerous business.

- Do you think he was murdered? - No.

Everyone knows peroxide is flammable. He was just fucking stupid.

Divine, do you smoke in your store cupboard?

Poor guy.

- Was he like, proper burnt? - Unidentifiable.

- Chargrilled. - Oh, that's terrible. And the family...

- When are they gonna speak to us? - Who?

- The police! - Dunno, why?

Cos I fucking hate them, that's why! Racist pricks!

They're gonna be like, "oh, we heard you and Mosca had some fight once,

tell us about that."

- You did? - Yeah.

Because he broke little Claudia's heart.

You know Claudia? In the salon.

- Big nose, bob. Always changing colour. - He did?

Yeah, they was going together about, I dunno, six months, maybe more.

And then one day, beautiful summer's day,

they're at the beach, she's sunbathing.

She's got loads of sun cream on that schnozz. Stop it burning.

And I think she felt a little bit self-conscious.

- And what? - She smelt it.

Smelt what?

Cum. All over his fucking breath.

- What? - Yeah.

He's got some pretty boy in the toilet sucking him off.

He's sucking them off, there's a whole heap of fucking sucking.

And then he expects a kiss.

Grim.

- Do you wanna take five, Angie? - I'm okay.

- So? - Well, it's that nose init?

Like a drug-sniffing hound.

Smelt that shit, knew what had been going down.

Probably suspected for some time. Ended it right there.

How you come into this?

Claudia is my girl.

You cannot be messing with the staff of a rival salon.

So what'd you do?

I walked straight over to his bullshit salon,

pushed straight up in there,

he's doing some woman's quiff, some OAP, 65-year-old bitch

he's trying to make feel young, I'm like: "You old, bitch. Get over it."

- And I wonked him. - You what?

I wonked him right in the back of his head.

- With your fist? - No, with a bottle of conditioner.

That shit that he flogs in the glass bottles.

Like conditioner's any better in a glass bottle.

It broke. I didn't know it was gonna break.

There's glass everywhere. In his skull, on that old OAP bitch.

He's looking at me, all bleary-eyed.

Conditioner dripping down his forehead, mixing with the blood.

He sees the blood, and bam! Faints.

How did I not know this? You crazy. Like volatile, hysteria shit.

- You think I'm volatile? - Well, I didn't.

You don't think that fucker deserved some recompense?

Yeah, but grievous bodily harm?

I don't like your tone. What would you've done?

I dunno. It wouldn't have involved assault.

- Assault? - Yeah. You could've killed him.

Look, just cos you some whining arse, moaning bitch...

...don't mean we all need to spend our day swivelling.

- What the fuck? - You heard.

Your bloke leaves you and what do you do?

Shut up shop and do house calls?

No-one there to pay the rent, so you give up? I mean, fuck bitch.

Get some fucking paper. You should've battered him.

You're fucking whacko, you know? You need a muzzle and shit.

I am a powerful, confident female.

You wanna try it.

I might take that break now.

I bet you're sitting there, all shaking, thinking about talking to the police.

What's it to you?

Yeah, I'm uncomfortable. Colleague's just been murdered.

There could be a serial killer on the loose.

- At a hairdressing competition? - It could be you.

What, some bloke wanting to vent a bad hair day all over our jugulars?

- Why's it a he? - Cleave, I want my break.

Go on then.

What? You think I'm about to shove this hair dye down your throat?

I don't know.

You think this is what a murderer looks like?

I'm telling you, whatever it looks like, it don't look like this.

It looks like some goblin motherfucker

sitting in a cave and wanking over cartoon characters.

- So what you gonna say to the police? - Exactly that. It weren't me.

Absolute mad-ting, bro. I can't even...

- Have you spoken with Timba? - She's in there with Kendra.

- What'd she say? - She's right there, you can ask her.

One minute he's shaping my fro, the next he's dead.

And you felt nothing?

I was thinking, 'this is where I should scream, but nothing's coming out'.

Angie wants in. Tell her how you found him.

It's terrible, Ange. All bloody, bleeding in the carpet.

- I'm so sorry, Timba. - And?

Someone scalped him, Angie.

- Scalped? - Like an Indian.

Like by an Indian.

- How do you even scalp someone? - Cut and pull.

- Cut and pull? - Yeah, you cut and pull.

So you found him there, dead?

- Missing his hair. - His scalp.

His hair and his scalp. It was a bloody mess, Angie.

He's there bleeding and I'm like, "What the fuck?"

I'd been in that chair five hours,

him shuffling around me, sweating, stinking, then...

I'm out for five minutes and he gets scalped.

I can't get over it. Who scalps a hairdresser?

Are we doing this again?

What, you wanna move the conversation on here?

You think it's time to switch channels?

- Did I say that? - So you just walked in on this?

Picture it, Ange. Yesterday I come in, you're all there.

He gets first pick of the draft and goes to me.

Sensible choice.

Then, he sits me down this morning and he's like,

- "Inverted pear." - Inverted pear?

Yeah, inverted pear.

- You're not an inverted pear. - I know.

He's like, "Look at you, I love this face. Any style, any look, you can wear it."

I'm like, "Hold up. 'Inverted pear'?

I think you mean a 'heart shaped diamond'."

- I can feel my body tensing. - I'm telling you, he lost it in '09.

But I'm like, "Higher power calm, Timba, you came here to win."

I wanna hit social media with that trophy.

I mean, I can see where he was going with all of this, but like...

I'm telling you, me and Etsy, we had it.

- Can she finish? - I've heard her.

Angie hasn't. This is where you get scared.

So, he says, "Timba." I'm like, "Yeah?"

- "Have you heard of Akwyelebi?" - Akweyley-what?

- Exactly. - Keep going.

He tells me it's a traditional Ghanaian hairstyle

that translates to 'come together as one'.

I don't push him on it, I just say "I'm from Catford, South London."

But he ain't listening, he goes on.

I came in here for a haircut and I'm getting a history lesson.

But he's so passionate about it...

...I don't have the heart to say to him my family's Senegalese.

So I let him go on.

I'm texting Latoya whilst he's banging on about Bolga Braids...

...my man's from Istanbul.

Three hours later I'm still there.

Three hours ain't nothing, Latoya had seven last year.

So you wanna pee?

Pee?

I'm hungry, Angie. Like famished. Like nick a kid's 'happy meal' hungry.

So I say to him, "Mosca, get me some food." Nothing.

I say again, "Mosca." This time more firm, trying to catch his eye in the mirror.

For a second I'm thinking, "He don't look too good."

But then my belly rumbles

so I'm back on his case, "Mosca!" He snaps, "Stay there!"

Could've killed him right there.

The man just died, Etsy.

- You didn't like him neither. - I didn't know him.

So, I'm like, "I'm not letting no fat little Turkish man kick off with me."

Now I'm up, all over his personal space,

he's backing down, white with fear. Then...

I leave. Go to the canteen, buy myself some carrots and dip,

have a fag, come back. Bam!

Mosca's lying there dead.

Angél is gonna be heartbroken.

- Who's Angél? - His long-term lover. Keep up.

I've just been hearing he had some fling with a girl from Cleave's salon.

- Claudia? - Yeah.

- That was time ago. - She don't work there anymore.

- What's this, safety in numbers? - Where else we gonna wait?

- What're they even doing upstairs? - Photos, forensics. You never saw CSI?

- Any of you got a tampon? - My stuff's upstairs.

- Mine too. - Kendra's bag's here. Kendra?