A) Prologue

Extract from 'The Hair Razing End of Raymond Sanchez', in The New
Eschatologist, Winter 2003, (Fourier, 2003), p.721:

"Raymond 'Ramone' Sanchez had started balding prematurely at the age of
just twenty-three. He had difficulty believing it at first when his
friends joked about him 'thinning on top' and such like and was in a
state of denial for many years until, aged thirty, very few follicles
remained to continue to fight in the Battle of the Bonce and he was
forced to recognise he may have a problem. It meant death for his
career too, no-one wanted a bald stripogram. Ramone's Mediterranean
good-looks were only effective when accompanied by a full head of hair.
It took him a long time to fully accept his condition, longer too to
fully accept the solution. Aged thirty-five now, he was a little old
for his former profession, but still in good shape. Perhaps he would be
given a new lease of life.
"I think it looks wonderful sir" the shop attendant mewled
approvingly.
"It's taken years off me" Ramone replied, unable to think except in
stock phrases.
"You'll be surprised what it'll do for you" the attendant reciprocated,
following the script.
"Thankyou, thankyou again for all your help." Ramone jumped to his feet
and shook the attendant's hand with a self-consciously manly
grip.
"Don't forget to apply this," cautioned the attendant, handing Ramone a
thin tube of glue, "Otherwise the first gust of wind and - phiu!" He
made a hand gesture that was supposed to indicate the dire nature of
such an event, but only succeeded in making Ramone furrow his brow
slightly in confusion.
"Thanks again"
The attendant went in for another hand-shake, but Ramone was already
turning and it was too late to reciprocate. Pulling his hand back
sharply the attendant hoped dearly that the abortive shake attempt had
passed unnoticed, but was aware his face was already flushing crimson.
Ramone too felt no slight awkwardness, having noticed the
half-proffered hand but being too far into his exit turn to respond
without it looking awkward. Instead he decided to completely ignore the
incident and continue making his exit.
"Haveaniceday!" The attendant spluttered, only adding to his
shame.
Outside Ramone unfurrowed his brow and composed himself. He was aware
a slight wind was picking up so when he thought no-one on the street
was looking he quickly removed the toupee from his head and hurried to
his car, the rug clasped tightly in his left hand as if he were
crushing a guinea pig to death.
Once inside the car the ever-impatient Ramone set about applying the
special glue the attendant had given him directly onto his hairless
skull. He was using it a bit like a tube of pritt-stick, but it quickly
became apparent to him that this perhaps was not the best method, as
some of the glue began to run down his face and congeal on his chin. He
sat for a moment in mild confusion before deciding upon a solution,
apply the glue to the wig not the head! Come to think of it the
attendant had told him to do that on a previous visit, but Ramone had
been preoccupied that day and had not been paying attention. In any
case, he set about his new plan with extra care, trying very hard not
to get any of the glue in his new curly black locks. Five or so minutes
later and he was done, and using the rear-view mirror as best he could,
he positioned the follicular fakery carefully on his arid cranium and
admired his newly hirsute splendour from every angle, dropping the glue
tube rather carelessly onto the floor where adhesive continued to ooze
out steadily. When he was younger and had not needed artificial barnets
he had been told that he looked like "that one from Starsky and Hutch"
(no, not David Soul, the other one.) He wasn't too far off that
now.
"Look-ing good" He commended himself with a grin before sitting back in
the seat and pulling out a cigarette. Thinking he looked even cooler
now he had a shiny white cancer stick to suck on he opened the glove
compartment and scrambled around amidst cassettes and odd pairs of
gloves for a lighter. He found one fairly quickly and, grinning with a
self-confidence he had not felt for the best part of a decade, lit up.
As soon as the lighter flame flickered into life however it ignited the
glue fumes that had been steadily filling the car. The resultant
explosion roasted Ramone and his new head of hair into unidentifiable
blackened crispy bits in a matter of minutes."

Meanwhile, deep in a deserted stack in a nearby library, a large,
black, leather-bound tome suddenly vanished from its shelf with satanic
disregard for the Dewey-decimal system. Something was afoot.