When Daryll Willitt got back home from picking up a half ton of stone, a dusty green Toyota was parked at the curb in front of the house.

He pulled his truck up next to his Vespa and got out. A young woman stood on the front porch, holding a big square cardboard box with holes punched in it. Right; clean forgot. Moira Belle had called and told him to expect a client.

The girl set the box down. "Hi! I just got here. I'm Ronnie? Shane's Auntie sent me?"

He wiped a hand on his overalls and extended it. "Well, are you Ronnie?"

"Um, yes."

"You said it like a question, so I thought maybe there was doubt."

"No, I'm Ronnie."  She was young enough to be his daughter. Flushing a little, maybe from the heat, maybe just embarrassment. Several inches taller than his five feet eight. A little hunched, a little turned to the side, eyes a little downcast. She was practically hiding behind herself. But she had a good grip.

She pointed at the sign. "Bad Hair Day? That's the name of your salon?"

"If you want to call it a salon."

"Should it really say 'Bad'?"

"Well now, in my day 'bad' could mean 'good'."

"What if people think it just means you do bad hair?"

"Those people aren't very bright. Ronnie, you call me Aardvark."

"Aardvark."  Her eyes went to the tattoo on his right arm. An aardvark, smoking a cigarette.

"You're six feet or so?"

"Six feet exactly."

"That's great. Like a tall woman."  He pointed down at the cardboard box. "That the beast?"

"Yep, that's Caliban."

The box's top was taped shut. It shuddered as the cat inside rolled over, and orange fur stuck out of the airholes on the near side.

They took the box of cat inside and opened it. Caliban lurched out and stalked around the place, grunting to himself, finally settling on a hope chest in front of a southern window, where he stared out at the bricked-in flower bed, full of sunflowers.

An assortment of small birds were hopping around in the bed, picking at fallen seeds. Caliban watched them with singular focus. Aardvark and Ronnie sat and watched Caliban, waiting for him to settle down.

Aardvark clucked his tongue. "God almighty, what a crappy job of summerizing a cat. Why'd they only do the front half?"

Ronnie shook her head. "It was awful. I never heard a cat sound like that. And I'd just showed up with Wishes, you know, Shane's roommate —"

"I know Wishes. He's the one rescued this cat from a drainpipe in the first place."  He looked at Caliban again. "I be damn, don't he look like Mr. T?  I better just give him a good buzz all over."

Ronnie bent down, looking at the cat. "From this angle, he looks normal. When all you can see is his big butt."

Aardvark bent and looked. "Looks like a furry Virginia ham. Cat's a good ten inches across the beam."

"So, it was a couple of days before Shane got back to trying to trim the cat's fur, and it didn't go well. It really didn't."

"Normally I just do humans. I'm already enough of a stereotype as it is."

"What stereotype?"

He laughed. "An old queer who cuts hair. Bad enough 'thout being a pet groomer to boot."

"Oh. But ... you build stuff with stone too, right?"

"Right. Learned haircutting in the Navy, learned stonework in an artist colony in Vermont. I do good hair. Even do bald guys. A good scalp wax lights up the whole room."

"So did you paint your own truck sign?"  She was looking out the screen door at his truck, its side stenciled with AARDVARK STONEWORKS and a phone number.

"You like that?  Stenciled it myself. I'm no painter."

"Well, who painted your Vespa out there?"

On its side, the shiny black GTS 300 sported a skull wearing a tiara, and the legend DEATH PRINCESS.

"Strapping young fella in Key West. Didn't cost me a dime."

"You should have a better sign on your truck. That's a rolling advertisement."

"Well, it's got the name. First in the alphabet when people look in the Yellow Pages."

She laughed suddenly, snorting hard and covering her mouth. "The what?"

"You know, the phone book."

"Nobody uses the phone book anymore, Aardvark!"

"Whatever, Toots, the stupid Internet then."

"The whole Internet's not in alphabetical order. You should have something catchy on the truck. Artwork. And your website. Have you got a website for the business?"

"Which one, the hair business or the stone business?"

"The stone business."

"Nope."

"Oh. But you've got one for the hair business?"

"Nope."

"Okay, I can work on that. Painting and making you a website. Can't imagine how you do business without one these days. I'm an artist, I can make it look good. I mean, I haven't done it professionally before, but maybe I could?"  She flushed again.

"Is that a question?"

"No!  How about ... you take care of this cat, and then cut my hair, and we can negotiate the rest."

She looked scared, but determined, her mouth tight but her eyes holding his gaze. Aardvark snorted like a horse. "Damn, I'm a sucker for that look. Reminds me of this boy I knew once in Corpus Christi."  She really was young. At that age, he'd already done jail time, taken a bullet, and compromised a Louisiana parish president. But he was glad she hadn't had to grow up that fast.

* * *

The birds were a foot away, just outside the glass. Caliban wanted all the birds in his mouth, he wanted to disassemble them, he wanted to get them in his belly. His stomach rumbled, his broad rear end swayed restlessly, he was close to losing it and rushing the window.

* * *

"Get in the chair, Doll, I'll do you first and let the cat chill a while longer. That's a good dye job, but why cover up the blonde?"

"How'd you know?"

"I know a blonde when I see one. Like this skinhead in East London. If he'd let his hair grow, he'd of looked like Michael York."

"So, did you wax his scalp?"

"No; had to break his arm. It's okay; they got the National Health Service there."

Wham. They both turned at the sound. The cat had finally rushed at the window, ramming his head into the glass. The birds flew off, leaving Caliban drooling a little and making a noise like an idling chainsaw.

Aardvark clucked his tongue. "Guess I'll leave that Mr. T hair on, to cushion his poor li'l head."