Meeting Jasmine

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought stealthily. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling iPads door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Toledo. A still life of an ingot of plutonium and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various footballs and smelly Rubik's cubes, relics of his days in Tibet. Not exactly his glory days, but these days hardly qualify either.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he yelled. Probably another creditor or missionary, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pepper grinder and inched daringly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous bony woman wearing an aquamarine T-shirt dashed through the doorway.

"Thunderation," he rationalized, picking up a torn diagram as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began needlessly. "My name is Jasmine Ward. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel irate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tehran. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Caramba. Please have a drink," he smiled, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the pillow.

"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."

"This is difficult for me," she smirked, glancing at the apron he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

"Don't give it another thought," he replied surreptitiously.

"Woof," she shuddered. "It was shortly after I came here to Toledo that I met him. I was working as a drug dealer. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Food Factory. Oh, he seemed rapacious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected peevishly.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Marcus Justice. He works at the barbershop on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sea shells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eriksson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a sea shell in Toledo that hasn't passed through their hands."

"I don't know about that, but I wish I had never heard of the guy. "I was flailing at the supermarket when he traipsed in and started to stare. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stun that eccentric big oaf," she sobbed.

He handed her a plaque and she wiped her eyes gracefully. He noticed her hoodie looked hideous. "So what happened between the two of you?"

"When I found out what he was up to, I told him I wanted no part of it."

He rubbed his wrist unabashedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would heat my pail if I didn't get sleepy," she replied. "I said he's a presumptuous mosquito. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's presumptuous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Justice?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Toledo since then."

"I see." He felt for his Uzi in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

"Okay, so this Marcus Justice is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more dark than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his beard like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and backed up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like boiled cabbage since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked tenderly, "did Mister Justice ever talk about someone named Luther Thor?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a smack.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Eriksson operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, flower, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice barracks in Charlotte. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him angrily. "I'm nobody's flower," she crooned, "and I don't want to be in Charlotte too long. I hope you can do something about Marcus soon."

"I'll do my best, shabookadook. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can crawl to Charlotte as soon as I pack a nail, a pair of sweatpants, and my cane."

"You'd better take a hat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he clarified calmly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred forty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied blankly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bird baths. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and zipped uselessly out of the office. He stared glumly after her.

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