There was a short black girl behind the counter, who couldn’t have been older than twenty. She eyed the balloons, though it didn’t appear they impressed her much. The cleaners was hot, oppressively so, and smelled of spray starch and toxic chemicals. I could almost feel my lungs fold in on themselves in an act of self-preservation. I smiled politely. “Hello, is Earlene Skipper here?”

The girl, popping gum, eyed the balloons again, sighed, and then turned and bellowed toward the back. “Miz Skipper? Something for you up here.”

I held my fake smile and waited, trying not to breathe too deeply. The girl watched me wait. As I waited, the balloons hovering over my head, I thought of ways to increase my client base so that I wouldn’t have to do things like this anymore. Maybe an open house? Get some potential clients through the door. Come in, grab a fresh-baked cookie, watch me frisk a guy. I need to work on it.

About a minute later, a rotund black woman, wearing a shirtdress bulging at the seams, padded up to the counter. She was middle-aged, very settled in, and by the disagreeable scowl on her face, it didn’t appear that the balloons were doing anything for her, either.

Faded tats ran along the side of her wide neck and down both arms—fire-breathing dragons, elaborate lotus flowers in bloom, and on her right wrist, for some inexplicable reason, a rendering of Yosemite Sam. I could only imagine what kind of life she’d led up to this point.

“Earlene Skipper?”

“So?”

Skipper was a rough one. I handed her the balloons, took a step back, and pointed at the summons dangling at the end of the streamers. “There’s a note attached.”

Skipper yanked the summons free, and then thrust the balloons at her startled counter girl. Just like with Big Percy, my job was done, but this time, I had no desire to stick around hoping for a good time. This was an easy job, in and out, and that’s how I was going to play it.

“Have a good one,” I said, making for the door.

Halfway there, the cussing started, followed by the scrape of fast-moving feet across the dirty floor. I turned to confirm my suspicions, and saw Earlene Skipper, half-crazed, coming after me at full throttle. I flew through the door, ran for my car, slid over the top of the hood, Starsky and Hutch style, and then jumped in and peeled away from the curb. No shame in that. Live to fight another day, yada yada yada. I glanced in my rearview to see Earlene charging up the sidewalk after me, brandishing a handful of wire hangers, as though she had a chance of catching me. I rounded the corner and left her to it. “Yep. That’s somebody I’d trust with a mink.”

* * *

“Balloons?”

I turned to Ben. “It worked, didn’t it?”