The Groomer’s List

“Good morning!” Kirk says as Don opens his eyes, his robotic voice programmed to sound like the soothing words of Charlie Kirk, a familiar voice from the past that has long since passed.

 He gets up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, his head pounding as the light from the midmorning sun beams through the cracked window, and he surveys his room around him, trying to recount the night that transpired hours before. As he stepped over a half-eaten box of pizza that he didn’t remember ordering, a call rang out from the intercom. “Gillane is waiting for you on the line, sir,” Kirk says as Don pulls on a wrinkled white shirt. “Answer it,” Don says.

 “Hi Don”! The cheery way-too-energetic for a Sunday morning voice of Gillane pours through the speaker. “I brought you a bagel”.

“The f@c#* am I going to do with a bagel, I have celiacs” Don spits sourly.

“Oh, I forgot. I don't know, maybe throw it at a poor person”? Gillane says enthusiastically, as if she had done that very thing on the way over.

“I just did that with mine on the way over!!” Gillane beams. “Anyway, come down, we gotta get going.”

Begrudgingly, he got dressed, pulled on his coat and tie, and swallowed a Tylenol to get rid of the pounding in his head. “What did I do last night?” he thought to himself as he stepped into the elevator, still massaging his temples. 

He stepped out into the stark white towering city of New New York, black balls of cameras perched on every light post and building, watching every move. He spotted Gilane parked out front. He climbed in, and Gilane prompted the autopilot to take them to Wall Street, as Jeff was waiting on them. Don stared blankly out the window as the automated Tesla system that monopolized the auto industry back in 2030 chauffeured them. As they arrived at Jeff's building, the towering, steel-framed marvel of modern architecture seemed to defy all laws of physics, its reverse pyramid shape destined to tip with the slightest shift of weight or a fart from one of the thousands that work there.

As Don and Gillane passed the doorman, Don noticed a disgruntled expression on his face, as if there had been a confrontation in the building moments prior. Don brushed it off as the doorman hating his job, as one does when you are the doormat for some of the wealthiest individuals in New New York. As the elevator shot past the broken floors that housed the wannabe day traders and telemarketers, Don’s uneasy feeling grew. 

The chime of the elevator rang out as the digital screen atop the door read “floor 202”. They had reached the top, and the moment they stepped out of the elevator, Don’s uneasy feeling was realized. 

The receptionist’s desk, which usually held Jeff’s cheerful receptionist, now stood empty, with soil and papers strewn across the desk and floor, entirely ransacked. 

“Oh my god!” Gillane exclaimed as she surveyed the destroyed Foyer, as if a tornado had centralized itself only on the top floor. 

“What the F@c#* happened! Where is Jeff?” she yelled as she ran deeper into his office, searching for him, even though Don knew if she found him, he would not be conscious.

“JEFF!” Gillane screamed into the office, running further into the once beautifully designed office. The waterfall that cut through the middle of the office was now muddied and tinged with red, holding the memory of the beatdown that happened moments before. As Don made his way into Jeff’s main office, he surveyed the damage that had been done, observing the upturned file cabinets and flipped furniture. Someone had come looking for something and would not leave without it. 

As Don came around to the now shattered, once beautiful glass desk that was positioned in the middle of Jeff’s office, he noticed a piece of paper with Jeff’s rushed scrawl of handwriting. He shivered as he read it, a sense of dread creeping into him as he called out for Gillane.
“We need to go!” Don shouted as he picked up the paper, sprinting to the elevator, desperately pushing the open button as Gillane came up to him.

“What? What is it?” she asked, confused.

Don sprinted to the elevator and shouted that the cavalry was coming, and that they needed to get out of the country. 

“The f@c#*?” Gillane said incredulously, as she followed behind him.

As they came out into the foyer and ran to the car, the flashing of police sirens growing nearer in the distance, Don jumped in the passenger seat and programmed the GPS to his private helipad. “We're getting out of here, they’re onto Jeff, they know everything, we gotta get to the Island.”

Speeding through the autopiloted traffic, Don noticed the sirens growing quieter; most likely they stopped at the office, but they wouldn't stay there long, he thought. 

Pulling up to the helicopter, blades already spinning, Don jumped out and urged Gilane to come. They sprinted to the helicopter, and Don argued with the pilot about where to go. Ultimately, Don overpowered the pilot because he works for Don, and they were in the air. 

“Ok, what the s%#@, Don. What is going on?” Gillane said, genuinely perplexed. 

“ So you know the island we’re going to, the one owned by Jeff-Don, started but was cut off by the crackle of the pilot over the headset saying that there might be some turbulence, extending the flight to over an hour. 

“ Looks like you get the full story then,” Don said as he settled back into his chair. 

Don went on to explain how Jeff had a crazy, weird, large network of grooming, and that his extensive list of powerful friends that he brought to the island for “scientific seminars and conventions” were really just a piece and partaking in Jeff’s ultimate grooming operation.

Gillane stared incredulously at Don, not seeming to understand the words coming out of his mouth. She started to speak then stopped herself, not sure if she wanted to know. Finally, she found the strength to ask the question she was almost sure she was going to regret.

“Grooming, like child molestation”? She asked, her voice quivering as she imagined what Jeff could have been doing to those young, innocent children and teenagers she had unknowingly

 brought to the island. 

See, Gilane had not been victimless in this, as she was one of the main co-conspirators who was responsible for garnering a large amount of the personnel to bring to the island, but allegedly had no idea what they were being used for. For years, she would find teenagers desperate for money, college acceptance, or other necessities and invite them to lavish parties at Jeff’s house on Palm Beach, or to the island, but she had never known, or claimed not to know, what was taking place.

Don looked at her like she had been murdered by the government in her cell, trying to formulate his answer. Finally, he spoke:

“WHAT? Hell nah, twin like grooming, you know, barber. You always knew he had aspirations of cutting hair since he was a little boy. And not only hair, waxings too, I think he wanted to get into massage therapy as well, but that’s also why he has all those massage tables at his house, and not any other reason. “You really thought Jeffrey Epstein could be a rapist and pedophile? What are you insane? HA!”

Don broke out into infectious laughter as the helicopter came into view of the island. Over the headset, they could hear the pilot come over the intercom, letting them know that they would land in 5 minutes and to make sure they were buckled up.

Gillane had so many more questions for Don, like who they were being chased by, but they would have to wait until they got to someplace quieter, as the chop of the helicopter blades washed out any audible conversation they might have. 

The helicopter set down, and they rushed out of the way of the battering wind from the blades, taking cover in the lavish villa that Jeff had built on the island. They made their way into the house, searching for a drink and a couch, as the events of the day had left them utterly exhausted. Gillane still had a nagging feeling that something was being left out of the story, and couldn’t wait to get to a spot to question Don without any interruptions. 

They navigated to the living room, and Don plopped down on the couch, sighing as he slipped off his shoes. Gilane came and sat across the room in a plush, overstuffed chair that looked like it had never been sat in. She leaned forward and said

“So may I ask why we were being chased by feds?” in a tone that did not really seem as polite as the question seemed. 

“The feds? We’re not running from them. Do you remember that run-in with that rival barber gang when Jeff was just getting into the scene?” Don asked, seeming to reminisce back to a time when he, too, was just an up-and-coming groomer, trying to make it by with his best buddy Jeff, looking to cut only the best and most exclusive clientele. 

Jeff made it big with his grooming skills, making powerful connections with many very rich and powerful people around the world. Ultimately, this success is what lead to his downfall, as Don went on to explain that the rival barber gang felt as if Jeff was a threat to their empire, someone who held enough power, clients, and connections that they felt the need to remove him from the equation, and by doing so acquire his list of high profile clients, cementing themselves as the best groomers in all of New New York. 

Gillane, still trying to wrap her head around the deep nuance of this grooming operation she was unknowingly an integral part of, asked:

“So, essentially, I am an accessory to one of the biggest threats to one of the biggest grooming operations in New New York?”

“Exactly,” Don said, seemingly getting exasperated with Gilane’s repeated confusion.

“And now they’re after us, trying to… do what exactly?” asked Gilane.

“Your guess is as good as mine, bruh. I have no idea what they want out of us, other than maybe clean up loose ends,” Don said, over the conversation.

“But who is the big boss? You know, the one who leads it all?” Gilane asked, still trying to grip the situation.

“That doesn’t matter now,” Don said quickly, as if he knew more than he let on.

He got up to find himself something to drink, rummaging through the cabinets until he found a bottle of Hennessy and a cigar box. He stepped outside to get away from Gilane and her nagging. As he stepped to the balcony railing, struggling to light the old cigar that had begun to fall apart, he saw a glint on the horizon. At first, he thought it was a bird riding the air currents of the Caribbean, until it grew larger, swallowing up the setting sun, which outlined the clear shape of a speedboat hurtling toward the island. 

“Gilane!” Don yelled as he dropped the Hennessy, shattering against the marbled granite that lined the outside balcony. He sprinted back inside, grabbing his shoes. Gilane looked confused as he began frantically digging through the drawers looking for the keys to the yacht that Jeff had left vacant when he was kidnapped. 

“DON. What is happening?” Gilane asked incredulously as she shot up from her chair, running to the balcony. She saw the boat, now nearing the island, and cursed out loud, doubling back to help him find the keys. 

Don turned to the front door, looking for a key rack. He pulled off a Jetski key and decided that would work, as their time was running out.

“Here’s the plan. We wait for them to dock and raid the house, we’ll then slip out the back on the jetski, buying us some time to gain some distance from them.” Don said as he rushed to locate where the Jet Ski was docked.

He spotted it on the far side of the island and pulled Gilane down to the dock, fumbling with the rope to untie it. He threw the rope in the water and helped Gilane onto the jet ski and clambered on after her.

The Jetski engine roared to life, and Don navigated it into the open water. They sliced across the darkening water as the lights of the villa flickered to life, illuminating the area in a brilliant display behind them. Don didn’t look back, as he knew what was behind him was a bunch of jealous bums whose fades weren’t nearly as tight as his would ever be, and would never gain access to his seemingly never-ending list of the most prestigious and powerful clients to groom. 

Gilane sat behind him, shivering as the sea wind bit at her, never knowing that Don, the man that seemed to be trying to protect her at all costs, the man that sat in front of her, navigating her to safety, was the very man who kidnapped and killed Jeff, the man that led the rival gang that now controlled the sick ass cuts of all the billionaires.