The Barber's Thick Secret by Armando94

---

(the intention is for this to be written like an old time myth/legend)

In a quiet down, with all the usual shops and streets, there was an old barber. Not too old, but he had a shock of brilliant silver-fox hair that was styled in an impeccable thick pomp. Yet even with a twinkle in his eye, and a sharp smile, most gentlemen and young boys just saw him as the "old man". Sure, he could be heavy-handed with the clippers given the opportunity. But at the same time, the barber could be just as soft and gentle, catering to whatever the client desired. To the town’s knowledge, the barber had never been married, nor had any children. In fact, it had felt like he’d existed here much longer than any other place or person. The barber simply worked from sun rise to sun set, five days a week, all year long.

For those regulars that were kind to him, the barber didn’t need to worry about. For even outside of his shop, he had eyes on their whereabouts. They were in his good books, and he was always glad to service them. His hope with any of the young boys who sat in his chair was to be as much of an influence on them as possible. Especially for those that had been handed less than satisfactory role models for a father. Thankfully, with the older generations, that was not so much a problem, and most boys would shape out fine. But over the years, with old timers and townies moving on up and out, an influx of newbies surfaced.

Not all of these folks had been raised properly. Thus, as they reached adulthood, it was too late to sort them out. These men, for they certainly didn’t have the right to be called gentlemen, also got caught up in wayward ways that put them off the right track of life. While hope might have been lost to have an effect on these grown men, the barber knew that the cause wasn’t entirely lost. No, there was indeed hope for the future, that might bring this town back to its former crowning glory…



Over all the years, the barber had been witness to many a character. But not as many as he had today. There was one man who occasionally made trips to his shop, with his mousy, unkempt hair, with the stern request "Only a trim, now". A few times, being released from the chair, mumbling "More than I asked for". But the barber knew best, and this man, with his overgrown business-style, was in need of more than a trim. Yet the barber obliged, bending the rules if only slightly, just to see some of that hair laid to rest against his snow white cape. The other reason he disliked this man was what he heard around town. That was, behind the man’s wife’s back. In the night, the barber had seen this man out with other women, even picking some up and disappearing a couple days for "business trips". This frustrated the barber to no end, thinking how could a man treat his wife this way?

Then there was another, who hid finances from his wife, just as much as he did his best to hide the male pattern baldness that was evident on his head. Every time this man sat in the barber’s chair, the barber tried to coax him into the idea of something a bit different. He’d press his pointer fingers on either side of the man’s forehead as he said this, making it obvious what he was pointing towards. The most recent time, the barber had no one in the waiting area, so he thought now was his chance, corner him in. The man went ballistic. Could not fathom what the barber was suggesting. "My hair is perfectly fine, thank you very much!" he shouted, levitating out of the caped up seat. So, the barber proceeded with cleaning up the neckline and around the ears, and doing the most he could with the wisps atop this man’s head.

A third man ran several "businesses" around town, that truly amounted to nothing. His poor wife was led to believe what a great man he was, even bragging about him when half the town knew how crooked he was. This man did frequent the barber often, about every other week. His dark hair thickly plied with gel and mouse. The barber was always forced to wash his hair out before even starting to cut it. Each time, as the man’s head was dunk into the sink, the barber massaging his skull with cold water, he tried to explain to this man the benefit of better hair care. "Less shampooing and conditioning during the week, and less product use when not needed". The man sputtered these suggestions each and every time. And when he sat back up in the barber’s chair with a wet head, proceeded to bark "You know what to do". Which the barber did: a taper in the back and sides, the rest of the hair finely attended to with scissor-cutting only (by request). Then the barber would be precise and perfect with styling the man’s hair with the perfect coif in front. The barber did find it slightly amusing, this gruff and suppose tough man ultimately sporting a fringe in the front equivalent to a little boy’s. The barber did find it fitting, actually. How he desired, though, to have a minor trip on his feet, and allow the clippers at the nape to plunge up through to the man’s crown. Give him a more serious barbered look, then perhaps that flip up front would be a bit more manly…if the barber didn’t attack that with an inch guard as well…

Finally, the fourth "stellar" individual man gave the impression of being a really nice guy. Even the barber had been fooled by him for quite a while, much like everyone else. That was until it became quite evident that this man’s "online business" happened to "hit the road" a lot more often than most of them do. The barber imagined the worst, and he was right. This man’s trips "out of state" couldn’t be any more true. That is, out of state, plus out of country, right over the border. His infrequency to the barber chair was obvious by the oiliness of his hair, and how it hung past his shoulders. While some men could make it work, it was obvious this one had no interest in putting in the effort. And with a mess of a mop, his scraggly beard was worse than any pirate’s. Another thing the barber shook his head in dismay about. Every time the man sat in his chair and asked for the beard to be cleaned up, the barber made it look like that of a luxurious lumberjack man. It was only a matter of time before that lumberjack hit a few too many storms.

The one other common denominator these men all had in common, besides crass attitudes, was this: childless, and thus, no sons. No young boys whose minds had been poisoned or infiltrated with bad manners and rude role models. "So there is hope" the barber would say, as he turned the blinds closed on his shop, so that no one could look in. As the sun set outside, no one could see within the shop, as the barber many called the "old man" transformed from his usual self into that of a younger version of what he once was many a moon ago. He stood up taller now, practically adding a few more inches so he broke the six foot barrier. He wasn’t terribly wrinkled, but with age that is common, but they disappeared from his skin like no surgery could ever perfect. His eyes that had turned a darker blue over the years turned back to ones that could rival Ol’ Blue Eyes himself. And the hair, on top of his head, shook itself from silver to a glorious dark brown. Retaining if not gaining more thickness and fulness, with a bit of shine and wave that made him seem youthful.

Looking down at his hands and then up in one of the wall mirrors of his shop. He saw what was revealed to him every night. A return to what he once was, and still technically was. Turning off the lights, so that no man walking by got any idea that he was still open, the barber closed up for the night and walked out towards the back. Hidden behind a false wall was the stairwell up to his small one-bedroom apartment where he spent most his nights when he didn’t feel like taking a stroll around town, no one knowing that that was the barber. Just some strange, handsome young man, possibly visiting family or here for work. But tonight wasn’t like many of the others. Tonight, and for many to come, he had some risky business to take care of.


It started with the first man’s wife. She was out alone at a bar, sipping her cocktail, looking glum. Her husband was out of town, yet again, but even she was growing tireless of that old trick. In fact, she was beginning to grow wise to it. But she couldn’t visit her folks, because then they’d ask questions. While she is sat there, all on her own, in walks this gorgeous man, late twenties or early thirties, over six foot, dressed in a sharp suit jacket and slacks, with the most glorious thick brown hair that reminded her of John-John back in the day when he was Sexiest man alive. This stranger sits down a chair over from her, and when the bartender asks what he’s having, he turns his attention to her, his eyes like cool ice, and drawls, "The same as her, please," lips slightly parted as he continues to stare back. As the drink is brought forward, he tips his head and thanks the bartender. Before she knows it, the two of them are conversing. He’s here on business, never been to this town before. She says she’s lived here a few years with her husband. He asks where her husband is, is he due to meet her? The barber acts very shy suddenly, as if he’s been stepping out of line. The wife swats it off, tells him he’s "on business", even though her performance is good, but the barber is all-knowing. So the barber moves the conversation onto her, and what she likes, and what she does. They talk for an hour, then two, and even before they could stretch into a third hour, she’s unsure how much she’s had to drink. But this man’s jacket is suddenly around her shoulders, and he’s walking her towards her car. He mentions he’s only at the hotel a block down if she’d like another drink. But she does the unthinkable, and asks him to escort her home.

"I know it might put you out of the way," she exclaims.

"Better to see you home safe, ma’am," the barber replies.

"Ma’am, you make me sound like my mother."

"Not to make you sound old, just to treat you with respect," he clarified.

"Respect," she echoes. And that’s all it takes. There sat in her small car, driving off, him squashed up in the passenger seat. She feels bad how cramped he looks, but knows that won’t be the case much longer.

They enter the house, and she offers him some water. For what was likely only five minutes sprawled on the couch felt more like five seconds. She’s had more to drink than she could ever remember, and he’s still staring at her with such admiration. It isn’t long before they are wrapped up in each other, and he’s carrying her up the stairs, as if he were the man of the house and knew every nook and cranny. He places her on the bed and they begin to remove each others’ clothes, and all she can think about is getting him closer. Once they are wrapped amongst the sheets, her fingers feed through his thick hair. She ushers him with thousands of compliments, on his body, on how great he is, how he’s a god, the best. Gripping onto his gorgeous locks, petrified she might rip them out but also that she might completely lose him if she lets go. And at the same time, she’s willing to do just that, even if its just this one night of ecstasy. One she had been longing for in well over a year now. Nothing from her husband, barely a kiss goodnight.

She wakes up the next morning, engulfed in what transpired. Her blonde hair splayed everywhere, a smile stitched across her lips. She realizes he isn’t there, and figured so much. But is grateful to see a little note left behind with the simple scribble, "Thank you, ma’am."

And so this continues the following evenings. The second man’s wife, with her fire-red hair, the third woman with her caramel-colored brown hair and great smile, and finally the fourth woman with her jet black hair, who was missing her sexy time with her husband. Yet little did these women know the thrill the barber had in store for each of their husbands…


The barber had taken note all this time, especially for those that were bad. He knew what they were up to, knew it well, and had all the receipts. Now that phase one had been completed, phase two could officially commence. Phase two would lend itself into phase three, which had a unique twist if the barber got it his way.

All four of these men were cornered into their faults, found out in more ways than one. Knocks on their door from authorities with questions, and that wasn’t as loud as the rumor mongering amongst the neighbors, and eventually all over town. The first man had even been approached by his wife, who had a sudden burst of confidence he’d never seen before in all the years they’d been together. He even was now being shutout from one of his longest standing mistresses, and other women were harder and harder to come by as word got around. The second man had been fired from work, and yet to tell his wife, even though she was well aware from all going around town. The third wife, well, more like the third man was more lucky he was still alive. The woman who had been his biggest supporter had suddenly become outrageously outspoken, not afraid to tell anyone what she thought of his "business" dealings. And the fourth man was already on the run by the time he got back to town, having had a mishap with his recent "job" and getting the tip off from his wife about the cops showing up twice at their home. Then she even stopped answering his frantic and now frequent text messages.

The barber, and some others around town, had continued to feed information to the authorities and now it was like a protest was on the verge, judging by how many cops were driving around town, or on the main drag every hour. These four men were hopeless, and helpless, and there was nothing they could do but run for it. But how? There seemed like hardly even a path out of town without them being found out.

But there was a path, there always was going to be, one that led them to a specific shop, and a specific chair…

So here they were. The first man ducking and covering until he unknowingly barreled through the door of the barber shop, to find three other men sat in the waiting area, all huddled together. Each shared their woes, and pitied on each other, even though the more they each talked it out, all four men realized how foolish and wrong they had been. And that they only had themselves to blame.

"But its too late now," the first man said, and the other three nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, the barber appeared from the back, none of them having questioned why he hadn’t been out front in his shop in the first place. "May I help you gentlemen?" he slowly asked.

All talking over each other at once, each man parade their sob story for him to hardly hear, a few apologies and misgivings in there, but the barber could see how vain they all still truly were. "It is a good thing you will not bring children into this community," he thought to himself. "Especially sons."

"Well gentlemen, it seems you are all in a pickle," the barber began. "Yes, a fine pickle, stuck in a jar, with no way out. But perhaps I could be of help, if you are willing." All four of the men gladly accepting without asking questions. "I think its safe to say that none of you will be able to live out your days in this town, under your names, under your own lives. And considering you are not innocent, there is no government protection coming your ways. So that does leave us with an alternative. You could assume new identities, and float off into the wind, and no one will ever know what happens. Sure, you lose your past, but think of the future you could still have.

"But before we can ‘legally’ assume new identities, there is something that will need to be done to you," the barber now tapped a free hand on the head of one barber chair. "All of you."

Realization dawned on all of the men real quick, their faces stricken with fear. It was the fourth man, with his oily long hair, who leapt from the chair he sat in, and volunteered himself first. "I have the most to lose, in more ways than one," he stuck his hand through his unkempt hair that had clearly been on the road much longer than usual. And the barber simply stepped to the side, one hand extended out, and welcomed this man into his chair. Capeing him up tightly so he didn’t have second guesses. No, the barber could tell this man was ready. And so was he.

Before he could even contemplate what haircut to administer, the barber took a set of clippers off his station, and announced, "First, I think you know what needs to be done, son." And the man bowed his head like an obedient student, before slightly lifting up his chin. The barber lowered the chair to a recline, and in the dim silence of the room, brought the clippers to life, humming in the air, stripping the overgrown beard. The hot metal clearing up against the man’s tanned skin. Straggly beard hairs falling off in clumps, sliding onto his chest and then off the cape. The vibration and heat ever more present as it glided swiftly above his lip and under his nose, the last bits of facial hair gone. When the barber sat the man upright in the chair, he already looked changed. But all in the shop knew this was far from over.

"We’ve only gotten started," the barber broke the silence.

With the same clippers, and now a comb in the other hand, the barber began to section and slice off the long hair this man had held onto for far too long. Floating onto the cape and floor like seaweed from the deep sea, lifeless and limp. Until his hair was bluntly cut around all sides of his head, and the barber had a better idea of what he was working with. With that, the barber picked up a new pair of clippers, and added an attachment of a quarter of an inch, and began to clear up the man’s left side. The transformation growing more and more drastic if that could even be possible. Until the unorderly mop on top was all that was left. The barber put the machine down and picked up a spray bottle and soaked the man’s hair to the point he had surfaced from under the sea. Then, with scissor and comb, hacked off several more inches till the length from the front was an inch long. This man looked like he never had before in his life, not even as a little boy. A throwback style, as the barber splashed some tonic into his hands and combed the front to the side, making the man look slightly geeky.

Then with a good dash of talc on the duster, the man was brushed off and released from the chair. He could not even move an inch as he stared back at his new reality. But the barber grinned back at him in the mirror, before turning around and shouting, "Who’s next?!"

And so it continued for the next three victims. The man who cheated on his wife surrendered to this mercy, as he sat up from the waiting row, and took the other man’s place, who was still in shock over his new look. The barber pawed his hand through the next clients locks, which had they been brushed more often and taken better care of, could rival the barber’s own nighttime appearance. But it was too late for that, in the barber’s eyes.

"With hair that has such potential," he declared, his fingers slowly sifiting across the man’s scalp, "its important we take good care of it. But when we don’t, well, I personally don’t believe that we should have the privilege to have hair of such length."

The man in the chair was tensing up more than when he entered the shop. While the barber loved the thought of doing a hack-job with the scissors on his head, he really couldn’t wait to go for the kill. He picked up one of the clippers from before, cleaning it off, before firing them up. That same humming sound bouncing off the shop walls, as he made quick work from the back, sheering hair off like a sheep. The man in the chair’s eyes bugged out, his mouth opened wide, but no words. And the barber wasn’t going to be listening even if he tried to object. Instead, the sheering continued from the back and then onto the sides. When he started on the left side, the first side, the client got a real idea of what was going on. The barber had no attachments on the clippers and was bringing him down to a #0 on the sides and back. The barber had a hint of mercy, however, when he approached the client’s top. For his sake, the barber attached the #2 guard and plowed a center strip like he was cutting the lawn in the spring. As the cut was taking shape, the barber was pleasantly surprised with how this sharp, short look befit the man.

Another one dusted off and done, left speechless at his makeover in the mirror. The barber turned around to the last two men, saying, "Next?" like an impatient barber, making it clear that no one was leaving without a haircut. The man who was more regular about getting his haircut stood up next. Even after what might have been a wild few days for him recently, his hair was still thick with gel. It even looked more like grease than usual. As he sat down in the chair, the barber said, "One more wash, for old times’ sake?" to which the man solemnly nodded his head. The barber was very careful to take his time, stroking through and across the man’s scalp. Enjoying every bit of this process as the next one he was about to inflict.

Sitting the man back up, drying off his hair with a towel and then blow dryer. The barber was pleased when the man didn’t bark his usual command. He sat there obediently. The barber brandished the clippers once again, cleaning them off, making sure for this one that the guard was removed. Once again, plowing up the back and sides like there had been a snowstorm. No small taper for this man today, he was finally getting a bald fade. So much so that the barber used other clippers to take it down to the wood. He could sense the man shaking in the chair, even if only slightly. Perhaps he had a horror story from growing up that involved a short haircut. After the back and sides were complete, the barber combed through the top of his client’s head. Then, with the guided comb, he sheered right across it, moving across the surface. This man was not receiving his usual scissors-only on top. The barber was making quick work to carve a nice flattop that barely reached an inch in height. This man was still going to have his privilege of using gel, just not the way he was used to. The barber continued to clean up and even out the sides into the top. Then meticulously making sure with the clipper and comb that the top was erect and even.

Finally, one man left. All the barber did was nod at him to come over. It appeared the man hadn’t shaved in a few days, or perhaps longer, as he had some scruff. The barber realized he could use this to his advantage. The barber proclaimed, "I think its time, don’t you?" He couldn’t tell if the man was about to cry, as he squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled, "Just do it," while shaking his head. Once more, the barber picked up the clippers. Only this time, he allowed them to slowly purr over the surface of this man’s head. The wisps of hair on top, and the longer locks on the side, falling down in defeat until there was nothing left but a faint hint of hair. The barber made sure to buzz that down even further, before he applied a hot towel to start the real treatment. All warm and ready, the barber applied the hot lather like he was painting a canvas. Then, the barber scraped the surface of the man’s head. It didn’t sound like a faint scratch in the quiet of the shop. With no talking, no music, it sounded like sandpaper against wood. On and on he continued, then with a second round, until the head was beyond hairless.

After applying some tonic and toner on top, the barber sat the man back, and with some clippers, began to clean up his beard so it was an even five o’clock shadow. Then edging it around the sides and on the cheeks, above the lips, all freshened up. Of all the transformations, this man was the most unrecognizable.

It felt like hours had gone by at this point as the last client was released from the cape. All four men now inspected their new looks in the mirrors around the shop, still in shock. The barber smiled with glee down at the floor as he swept away every bit of their hair. "Gentlemen," the barber announced, "my work here is done, and I think yours is too. I think its best you get on now, no time to delay. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, and I don’t want my good name tarnished thanks to you all—"

There was a knock at the door. The barber turned, unsure but also realizing who and what it was. He could also tell through the blinds that the sun was setting. "Oh no," he murmured, his voice growing groggy. Before he had time to react, he could feel the transformation upon him. The old man slowly slipping away as the younger one began to take shape. The men around him were confused even more now. Once the barber became his more youthful self, staring down at the palms of his hands like he never had all these many nights before, he turned up to meet the men’s’ shocked grins. "Quick!" he shouted, his voice full of life with this boom. "Through the back," he pointed his finger, guiding the men. There would be no time for helping them with further planning. "There’s a key ring right by the door. Take it, it goes with the old sedan out back. It should still run." The banging of the door grew louder now. The four men moved towards the back, with the barber following in pursuit after them. It was the final man who had his head shaved, that turned around before walking out the back door. He stuck out his hand for a shake and said "Thank you sir."

The barber shook it back, and offered a, "Good luck." He didn’t wait to see if the car’s engine worked or not, he shut the door and locked it, racing back up to the front. When he was only a mere five feet from the door to let the authorities in, the door banged itself open. Startling the barber in his young appearance, as he saw a rookie copy come barreling through, shouting "FREEZE!"

The barber threw his hands up, saying, "What may I help you gentlemen with to—"

But it was too late, another rookie was packing heat and released the blow, right at the barber. More senior officers with them began to freak out, shoving the two rookies to the side to enter the shop. There they found the barber, laying on the floor, eyes shut but face up at the ceiling. The more senior officers ranged from men in their forties to their sixties, men who would have frequented the shop, some even since they were young boys. Having been cut by the old man, who was nowhere to be found. This younger man, who looked like a grandson to the barber, was the only one in here. As the cops surrounded him, trying to make sense of everything, his appearance started to shift. And what was left in front of them was the old man himself, gone.


The town mourned this loss, because it was like a hero had been taken from them. And with the rumors of whether or not he helped those four criminals in the end, or that it really wasn’t the barber who was shot but someone else, and this and that theory running wild, it really gave him a "legend" origin now in town. Men and women and children all came out for a public viewing they had in honor of the barber, who the town now reflected was a pillar of the community, and for some men, a role model they hadn’t realized had been there, quietly in the background. One woman in particular, the blonde wife to the man who cheated on her, was confused as she attended the public viewing. Some old photos had been found in the barber’s upstairs apartment, and it oddly reminded her of the man she had spent the night with recently. Her stomach fluttered at the thought and thrill of that, but also with all the theories going around, could it all really have happened? Was all of this actually real?

The town eventually moved on and kept the barber’s memory alive, even if no one took over the shop. Men resigned to go elsewhere. But four women in town didn’t move on in the months to come, not with the growing, swelling of their bellies. Three of the women were stunned that after many years of trying, they had finally gotten pregnant, only to believe the child they were carrying had an association with their on the run criminal father. None were in contact with each other, but these three knew they did not want to raise a criminal’s child. It was the blonde woman who knew, at least in her case, that this was not her missing husband’s child. This was that mystery man’s. A man who instilled a new confidence in her that she was hoping to embark on, now slightly derailed. But this town was a good town, one that she could trust. And perhaps one day, this child would somehow learn of their true father. And so when she gave birth, she was slightly happy to find it was a boy. A boy with those ice blue eyes just like that man, but blonde hair like hers. She’d already spoken with a nearby parish that took in orphans, and they were happy to take him in. She knew she’d never be a good mother, now that she was heading for Hollywood to make her break after what had been taken years before, thanks to the thankless missing husband. She only asked that the boy be named John, and if they’d call him Jack. Perhaps one day she’d be back to meet this baby Jack, who she was sure would grow into a decent young man.


And so Jack did grow up at the orphanage, unknowingly, with his three brothers Luke, Matt, and Marc, who he only thought were his best friends, all of them happening to celebrate birthdays within two weeks of each other. Each of them had the hair color of their mothers, but the ice-blue eyes of their shared father. One summer, at the annual Town Day, the boys and all the other kids at the orphanage went to the fair. The boys were older now and meant to be responsible of the younger ones, which they were. Having grown into the gentlemen they were hoped to become. As some of the other kids and teens were eating snacks and on rides, the four brothers went under one of the history tents, to cool off from the summer air (their hair all thick like their father’s). As they perused the tables and booths, Jack came across one about a man who was a sort of legend now. A barber who, legend had it, no one knew much about; how old he was or how long he’d been here. But many had been a patron of his, many generations of families even. Jack called to the other three, "Fellas, come see this. I think I’m going crazy." Sure enough, they all looked at photos of this man, and read the article about his passing and then the large funeral held. That night, they approached the nuns of the orphanage, and asked if they could be honest about something. Had all of them been dropped off at the funeral around the same time as babies? Had the nuns known this man, this barber? Then Jack said that the four of them would like to do a DNA test. The nuns did remember this man, he attended mass every Sunday and was always helpful when he could be. He didn’t socialize much otherwise, never at parish nights out. The nuns understood the boys were serious about this, and so inquired in town for DNA test kits. Sure enough, the results proved that all four of them had a shared father.

They found this out before heading back to high school for junior year. Those last few weeks were spent in silence, together though, so in disbelief of what their whole lives had been: a mystery, one big secret, right under their noses. To get them out of the house, and they’d surely done enough praying through the day, at least Jack had, he said he was going for a walk. The other three accompanied him like usual. Jack’s intention was one stop in particular. The storefront was abandoned, but not uncared for. Sort of a historical landmark now, but it looked just like the photos that Jack had copied from the library. This was the barbershop, their father’s barbershop. They all took a moment to pause and reflect, bowed their heads and joined hands in a brief prayer, in remembrance of the man they never knew.

It was from this revelation that the boys found their purpose. The orphanage could only afford them so much in life, college would have to be an expense the boys took on. Like most kids before them in the system, they would find work around town through some trade. These boys knew the exact trade they would enter. A fortnight before school started, in the one boarding room most the boys of the orphanage were kept in, Jack took out a chair, a towel, and a mysterious toolbox. He asked if anyone was interested in a haircut before the first day of school. Luke tussled with his ginger hair, but said he’d go first. Followed by Matt and his caramel-brown hair, and Marc and his jet black hair. Once these friends had been cut, the other boys, old and young, felt more willing. Luke helped Jack out with his hair. This was just the start of what continued through the boys’ senior year when they started to get real good, and even other boys around town would come to the orphanage to get their haircut. The nuns weren’t so thrilled about the business being run under their noses, but they turned a blind eye. Jack truly becoming a master, and his three brothers getting good too, knew where life would take them after high school. One year of barbering school a couple towns over, some saving up more money working other odd jobs (now also to pay rent for a house they were sharing with some others) so they could invest in their business:

Namely, buying their father’s shop.

When the town found out the old barber shop was reopening under new owners, everyone was stunned, shocked, especially to learn that it was, apparently, the old man’s sons. The mystery and lore, and the barber’s secret made its way around town. The grand opening of "Barber’s Sons Shop". Now there were four barbers, versus the sole barber in the past. Things were kept moving along, but not enough to keep up with the demand. The place had been polished and done up to its former glory, the previous barber’s old photos adorning the wall. Along with pictures the orphanage provided of the boys from growing up. And so, like their father before them, these four young men took it as their duty to service the town, but also provide for a better future, starting with encouraging morals and values on not only the youngest of the community but even the older ones as well. The barber’s secret was truly thicker than blood.

---