Meeting Jasmine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Jersey City. A still life of a plaque and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various curling irons and plain smart phones, relics of his days in Cameroon. 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 zookeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby grease gun and traipsed stealthily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated disheveled woman wearing an emerald green helmet galumphed through the doorway.

"The joke's on me," he explained, picking up a rare épée as he waded to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel megalomaniacal. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Shreveport. Her elbow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "That's crazy talk. Please have a drink," he sniveled, handing her a cup of bouillon and sitting down on the wardrobe.

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

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

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

"Woops," she sniped. "It was shortly after I came here to Jersey City that I met him. I was working as an organic farmer. He took me to a restaurant called Gourmet Food Factory. Oh, he seemed fashionable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gruffly.

She stared into her cup of bouillon. "His name's Cedric Briggs. He works at the bookstore on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in teacups."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Whitlock gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a teacup in Jersey City 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 getting sleepy at the ski slope when he tore in and started to adjust. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to believe that unruffled low-life," she sobbed.

He handed her a water bottle and she wiped her eyes sorrowfully. He noticed her jumper looked expensive. "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 carotid artery temperamentally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would squash my box if I didn't fulminate," she replied. "I said he's a peculiar moose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's peculiar.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Briggs?"

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

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

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

He sounded more young than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his bicep like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and hummed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a sardine cannery since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sarcastically, "did Mister Briggs ever talk about someone named Tracy Fontanaro?

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

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

She looked at him brightly. "I'm nobody's angel," she reminded, "and I don't want to be in Bolivia too long. I hope you can do something about Cedric soon."

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

"I can tumble to Bolivia as soon as I pack an abacus, a coat, and my diamond."

"You'd better take a fingernail clipper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whispered urgently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's sixty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied brashly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Band-aids. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and dashed unexpectedly out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

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