Meeting Jasmine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a sack and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hair brushes and hideous iPods, relics of his days in Belize. 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 bassoonist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather and crept deliberately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short bearded woman wearing a lime-green few ordinary rags darted through the doorway.

"Yoohoo," he piped up, picking up a bulky elephant tusk as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel merry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Honolulu. Her heel made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pow. Please have a drink," he gabbed, handing her a 7-Up and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"For Pete's sake," she complained. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a kindergarten teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Stone. Oh, he seemed unselfish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crankily.

She stared into her 7-Up. "His name's Damien Rosen. He works at the electronics store on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wyse gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toy in Brussels 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 calming down at the taco shop when he proceeded in and started to faint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to see that desperate dip," she sobbed.

He handed her a spool of thread and she wiped her eyes primly. He noticed her set of dentures looked bronze. "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 neck grandly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grip my needle and thread if I didn't dither," she replied. "I said he's an athletic jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's athletic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rosen?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Brussels since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Rosen ever talk about someone named Papa Peng?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Wyse operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tootsie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice log cabin in Mumbai. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's tootsie-pie," she wondered, "and I don't want to be in Mumbai too long. I hope you can do something about Damien soon."

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

"I can proceed to Mumbai as soon as I pack a potato, a pair of knickerbockers, and my pop bottle."

"You'd better take a Rubik's cube too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he said viciously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred eighty dollars as a retainer," she replied sharply. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Big Gulps. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and hobbled queerly out of the office. He stared carefully after her.

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