X-Ray Vision Ch. 03: Explored

"Miss Crinshaw! Good to meet you, yeah. Lets get down to business. I got clients, good clients, rich clients, I told you their names you'd know. Value their confidentiality. Sometimes get in a spot of trouble, need a little help getting out."

She took his hand gamely, shook it. I saw her wiping it on her jeans as she waved him to a seat. I stayed put in my corner, sipping my coffee, a fly on the wall. He never glanced at me, a nobody, not worth his time.

"I guarantee my clients, no defaults! Nosiree! So I'm looking for a Bail Bondsman, heh, Bondsgirl, who's willing to make a deal, cut some slack, help out a fella when he's down."

"Do I understand you wish to personally guarantee your clients? That's unusual. That would take deep pockets indeed."

He smiled an unpleasant smile. "Personally? No, I just represent 'em. But you can trust them. From the best families! All of good character! When I call, I want your best deal, I want quick action. I want my clients out within the hour."

"We do our best, but the wheels of justice grind at their own measured pace. Once we settle on terms I cut a check, have a courier take it to the clerk. They register it, let it be known to the bailiff. The bailiff releases them once satisfied the particulars are all in order. That can take several hours."

"Well, see what you can do about that, missy. Use your charms. Send this sweetie down, she looks like she could get a favor from your clerk, your bailiff, doesn't take much but a smile and a tickle? You know what I mean?" He leered at me, wiggled his eyebrows.

"We try to give good service to all our clients, Mr. Gunderson."

"I bet! I bet! Ok, good, I'm gonna call you before long, there's a young lad, appearance this week, nonsense about assault, some Chica in a club, all lies of course. But he might be asked to be a guest of the state, don't want him to get his hands soiled in some holding cell."

He shook her hand again, apparently having said all he had to say, swiveled and left the same way he came in, hell-for-leather, no time for pleasantries.

We sipped our coffee for a time after the door banged on his ass.

She sighed. "So. What did you think?"

"I don't like the guy, but I don't like many lawyers." She cracked a smile, hid it with her coffee cup.

"Persuasion is their business. Nothing is true or false, it's all goal-driven negotiation. I dated a guy like that. Not as greasy, but all about getting what he wanted."

A smile, Good. "What about his referrals?"

I didn't have to think long. "Rich doesn't mean 'pays on time'. Just the opposite, they like their money, don't want to part with it." Except Greg of course; he doesn't give a shit about money. "Also flight risk. They have more resources, can fly to Colombia on a company jet or whatnot if they get in too deep. Not caring about their obligations back home."

"Again, good. So what do you recommend about our rate?"

"Highest, maybe tack on a hazardous-duty surcharge. Tell them it's a special rate, for confidentiality or some shit, what do they know."

She smiled broadly. "Make a bail bondsman of you yet! Update the charge sheet, redistribute with his name the changes you mentioned."

We talked briefly about the surcharge, came up with a rule.

Ahem. "What about the options we talked about yesterday?"

All business, she'd decided. "Phones in the morning. Canvassing to fill those desk in the afternoon. Continue that until the desks are full."

"Got it, boss!" I finished my coffee, crumpled the cup, dropped it into her wastebasket and left her to it.

The charge schedule sheet change took just a minute, penciled in on an existing sheet, down the hall for a bakers' dozen copies, swapped out the sheets on every desk, left one on the boss', destroyed the old ones. Finished just as the morning crew arrived.

Clever boss! If I want more responsibility, want to get off the phones, I have to deliver at this first task. Find my replacement on the desk. Respect!

This was going to be an interesting job.

...

Khang was waiting on the sidewalk when I arrived, walking from work a few blocks over and down. She nearly bubbled over when she saw me!

Giving me a sisterly kiss on tiptoe, she linked elbows and squired me into the tea shop. In Vietnam-town, it was French style inside with white linen tablecloths on tiny round tables for two.

Silver tea services adorned teak side tables with elaborate through-work, perforations in the top in a fine lacy pattern. Fancy!

The hostess greeted us at a lectern; Khang chirped "Two! For me and my sister!" It occurred to me, she'd never been able to do this before, to appear in public with a sister, to share tea and girl talk like her other friends.

Consequently she was in high spirits, nearly bouncing as we followed the hostess to a table by the window. She greeted several couples by name, sisters having tea, and introduced me as 'my sister Jilly!'. They responded politely, puzzlement on their faces but too polite to ask questions.

As we sat I said "Jilly?"

"Oh sisters have pet names. That's my pet name for you!" I was unexpectedly touched. It wasn't what I would choose, but I didn't get to choose; my big sister could call me anything she wanted!

The table service was bright red plates, tiny silver teaspoons and porcelain cups decorated with primrose. Wine glasses for cold tea. A silver tea set arrived immediately, unrequested, the pot steaming. All part of the service!

"So, what is this 'granddaughter duties' talk Phuong wants to give me?"

Khang waved it away. "Not much. No in-law parents, that would be most of it. Respect your sister, take her advice."

Exasperated, "That's why I'm here. For your advice!"

"So that part's easy. Then, honor ancestors. Starting with Phuong."

"I love Phuong! I want to care for him! Help you anyway."

"So, piece of cake! Say yes Ông Ngoại, no Ông Ngoại, you will do fine!"

The vowels were strange to me. "Teach me to say that right!" I tried it, and Khang laughed. Starting slow, she worked me through one syllable at a time, correcting my tone. Soon I had something approximating the honorific for maternal grandparent. Plus some other handy phrases.

"What else?"

"The husband part. Honor your husband. Sleep with him when he's sad. Rub his back when he's sore. Let him lack for nothing in the home."

"I have no husband. But if I did, I think I could do that. Why marry him if I don't want to do that?"

Khang nodded. "You'd be surprised how many forget to do the simple stuff. That's why laying out duties is so important."

What a sensible sister I have.

Khang spoke to a serving boy, rattled off something in Vietnamese; he departed. Decided the teapot had steeped enough, poured for us.

"Ok, so let's get you a husband. I'm gonna make that dress, so Greg will rip it off! and fuck you."

"Shhh!" I was mortified, talking like that in a public place.

Khang grinned, "Silly, this is girl talk. All the tables are sisters here. Nobody notices what we are saying. They're saying the same things."

Indeed, from what I could hear what wasn't in Vietnamese, the conversations were not much different. Lots of talk about boyfriends, girlfriends, sex.

They were all sisters! Other pairs of sisters. Like us. I flushed, suddenly hot. This was going to take some getting used to.

Khang continued, in a conspiratorial tone, "Those two? Worried about their mother, stepping out with a younger man. I heard that man is her daughter's boyfriend! Gonna be fireworks when they find out!"

Presumably one didn't inform about things like that. Their own family business. Talking about it with sisters was ok, but never embarrass another family. Got it.

"See them? Talking about sex with husbands. One is bored; the other suggesting special tea to make him stand up, or some bondage, silk ropes. I think her husband is gay."

Wow, this was a hotbed of intrigue! Families were complicated. A mine field!

"Over there, talking about a girlfriend, the same one for both! Planning a birthday present. Nice family, nice girlfriend, I like them. We should go out sometime, go to a show together!"

That terrifies me, in an exciting way. I will have to get my feet wet in the multi-lover lesbian community sooner or later, having a highly social sex-pistol sister like mine. Baby steps!

The waiter returned with a precious porcelain sandwich-stand holding an array of ridiculously petite cakes, tiny crustless sandwiches.

Khang began loading her plate. "Talking about sex; you have to see your dress! Not done, not a stitch so far, but it will be something, my best work. For my sister. For Greg to rip off."

I was goofily pleased about that. "I can't really let Greg rip it, can I? Your dresses are too special!"

"This dress is for ripping. I will fix it after. Then he can rip it again."

Now I understood; her skills are legendary, and a rippable dress was elementary for her.

"I love you, sister!"

"Of course you do, silly. I love you too." She paused, looked at me fondly. "You cry a lot! It's ok; silly younger sisters are like that."

We drank the tea, ate the tiny food with tiny forks, smiled at each other. Lunch ended too soon.

...

Gregory

I was waiting outside the dress shop when Khang returned from lunch. She was bouncing with unspent energy. Lunch must have been a riot!

I greeted her, she noticed me for the first time.

"Greg! Hey! Good to see you!"

"How's your sister? I hope she paid for lunch. Your advice is worth so much more than lunch to her."

Khang grinned, invited me in.

"What do you need? More shirts? Jillian tells me you hardly wear the clothes I make for you!" She pouted.

I raised my hands in surrender. "They're so nice, I don't have a lot of opportunities! Beachcombing doesn't lend itself to nice clothes."

"What about, lets see, 'private investigating'?" She was teasing me, and I turned red appropriately. "So why Are you here?"

"I, um have something I want to show you. A ring." Khang gasped, put her hand to her mouth, jumped up and down in place.

"Show me! Show me! Now!" She led me to the back, swept some scraps off a cutting table, turned on a work light. Leaned on the table, looked me in the face eagerly.

I took the cocktail ring from my pocket, laid it carefully between us.

In the glow from her work light it gleamed, deep green center surrounded by a thousand points of light, dusky setting, richer than silver. It did look pretty nice. Mysterious even.

She just stared for a long while, then picked it up, put it close to the light. She looked awestruck.

"Is it good enough?"

She looked at me like I am an idiot. "For this ring, even I would marry you. Every young Vietnamese girl I know, you give them this ring, they'll wet themselves, and not with pee. It's astonishing!"

She turned it in her hand, squinted at the diamonds, put it under her bench magnifier, held it up in profile to gauge the size of the central stone. Kind of looked like a professional. Are all young Vietnamese women this expert at analyzing jewelry?

"Worth more than my shop!"

"So that's a yes? Jillian might like it?"

She tried to put it on, but the ring was far too small. It fit on her pinky. She held her hand under the light, turning this way and that, admiring the view.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, she will like it. For an engagement ring! It's too fancy for every day. A wedding ring later, smaller, to wear all the time."

I nodded, taking mental notes.

"Is it too soon?"

She was having a hard time paying any attention to me. Finally she took it off, set it on the table.

"Um, yes. Not yet. She's got to seduce you first. And talk with Ông Ngoại. You can wait; it won't be long." I must have looked pleased, because she punched me in the shoulder.

"Hey, where did you get this? Not from a jeweler around here."

I prevaricated. "Uh, lets say in a thrift shop." She wasn't buying it.

I'll come clean; she's family, or soon to be I hope! "I discovered it in an abandoned building. Everybody involved is long dead, with no descendants. Nobody on record owns the content of the building."

She bought that. I was the Finder; I could find this.

"So what size is Jillian? Can you ask her without giving too much away?"

"I know exactly what size. I knew the first time I fitted her. Six and a half. This ring is three or three and a half."

My face fell. "Can it be resized that much?"

She nodded, "Platinum, very ductile. Vietnamese jeweler, two streets down, sign hanging over the sidewalk, of a big fake diamond. Mention my name!"

I took the ring back, put it in my pocket. She seemed disappointed.

Feeling it in my pocket, I remembered the necklace.

"Oh! I thought I should make some small gift to my prospective future sister-in-law? For all her help. Is that ok?"

I pulled out the necklace, piled it under the light.

She was speechless. Straightened it out, laid it flat, stared.

The green stone was rich, dark, like velvet or moss; the black beads dark as sin. The silver a little tarnished with age, but should polish up pretty.

She looked up at me with tears on her cheeks! Coming around the table, she gathered me into a hug, silently, not trusting herself to speak.

Finally she released me. "If Jilly doesn't marry you, I will never forgive her."

"Well I'm hoping, with any luck, she'll overlook my many defects."

"This is jade! It's good luck. Give jade - good luck for you too. The biggest, finest, greenest, most perfect jade I ever saw.

Everything will be fine! Everything will work out now. Jilly will want you; it is certain now."

...

I rang the bell. Some noise from the back, then a jeweler came through a beaded door. Little, old, very old. Wizened, like a gnome. Smiled a gold-toothed smile.

"May I help you?"

I put the ring on the counter, in a velvet-lined tray there for the purpose. He looked at me for permission, got it, picked it up. Fished a lens from his waistcoat, examined it closely.

"And what do you need? Cleaned? It is somewhat aged, a little tarnished, not been worn for... a long time." He seemed certain of that.

"Yes please. And resized? Six and a half. Can you do that much?"

He turned it in his hand, looked at the band, nodded. "Plenty to work with; platinum, very much doable."

He set it down, looked at me seriously. "I know this ring."

"You've seen it before?" I asked, suspecting he hadn't.

He shook his head. "No. I was a young man when it was made. For a very fine lady. By a very fine jeweler. I was an apprentice at another jeweler. But we all knew of it."

He waited me out, content to let me stew. I was calculating backward in my head. She died in 1955. Had to have been made before that. Say 15 years. He was an apprentice, probably what, 20? It was possible, if he was in his 80's.

"Who was the lady?"

He nodded, that was apparently the right question. "Mrs. Richardson. A granddaughter of old money, daughter of Alfred Vanderbilt through his third wife, getting married young, to a lawyer. He spent his fortune on this ring, to show he was worthy of the fine lady."

That was sad, somehow. All that history, to end up abandoned in a safe for decades.

"May I tell you how I came by it?"

He nodded, very much wanting to know. I knew enough of propriety not to make an elder ask.

"Part of a job lot. Along with some jade, some other stuff." He alerted like a bird dog at the mention of the jade.

A job lot was an auction term, for a box of miscellaneous stuff sold as a unit, usually because it's value was not considered significant. Not traceable, as auction houses often kept sellers anonymous. A good enough lie.

"I bought it as an engagement ring! So it will be the second time, to please a young lady, to prove a fellow worthy.

Oh! and Khang says to say hi!"

That took all the tension out of him. I thought he'd ask about the jade, but he turned back to the ring.

"It brought luck to the original owner. A prosperous land lawyer for early developers of this city. I hope it brings your young lady similar luck."

I understood if I had wanted it valued, intending to sell it, he would have suspected it's origin, questioned me more closely. But as an engagement ring his suspicion evaporated. And Khang's name was like a secret password! Opened doors it seemed, or removed suspicion anyway.

He brought out a velvet bag from a drawer, put the ring in, tied it securely. Wrote me a receipt, which was a formality. There was no replacing this ring, it was unique.

"Next week. Bring the lady to test the fit? No? I understand. Bring it back after, if it needs further adjustment, no extra charge.

And I know Jillian will love the ring! A worthy lady indeed." He smiled a knowing smile.

So my business was everybody's business! It was going to take some getting used to, this close-knit community.

I shook his hand, left him smiling at the bag, remembering.

...

Jillian

My first independent project! I was to find and recruit employees for Crinshaw, fill the empty desks. All I had to do was find people desperate for a job, who wouldn't mind answering phones and butting heads with lawyers for hours a day.

Simple.

The usual suspects were out. Students - High school was too young, and college students aspired to higher callings.

Body shops - provided temporary employment but I needed long-term seats filled.

What was left? Well, in a beach-vacation town that left clubs! And who in a club wanted a job? People came here with mad money and dreams. Like me.

Like me.

How about that? Young folks stuck, like I was, at the end of their rope. Needing another chance, food, a warm bed, a job. Some simple human consideration.

To make that work I'd need to provide more than a job. A meal was easy - so many places to eat on the strip. A warm bed - harder, unless I wanted to bunk with them. Greg would have something to say about that.

But where did young people stay around here, when they didn't have a lot of money?

"Kelly!" It was afternoon, she was idle at the moment, the board only half lit. She turned, smiled, eyebrows up.

"Where do you live?"

She thought that a curious question, tilted her head, wondering whether to answer. I explained.

"Ill be looking for bodies to fill desks. Somebody unemployed and new in town. They'll need a place to stay, at least until their first paycheck comes in."

Kelly caught on. "Maybe even after that! The pay here is barely above minimum wage."

I didn't know. I hadn't actually made any deal with the boss about my pay. Probably should correct that oversight soon.

She continued. "I stay in a rooming house, Vietnam town. Not sure it's everybody's cup of tea. The couple that own it are a dream, the Phams. She's hard of hearing, he has a false leg, hobbles around. English is pretty sketchy.

But you never met nicer people! They provide room and board, clean rooms, a bathroom down the hall you share with other housemates, supper every night. Pretty good, if you like Vietnamese cooking. Which I do!"

"Paid weekly?"

"Monthly, at least that's the deal I have. Didn't even need first month's up front, like apartments require. I just had to pass an interview, which means talking to Mrs. Pham. She likes you, you're in."

Sounded like the deal I was looking for. I got an address from Kelly, headed out. First things first - see if they had any rooms available.

The place was maybe half a mile, on a cross-street near the hilltop neighborhoods, the fancy part of town. This street was the transition, right after a commercial zone of tire shops and vacuum cleaner stores, fast food and dry cleaning. And before the really nice places.

The houses were ridiculous Queen-Anne style, narrow, three stories, porch, gingerbread and shutters and lots of slopes to the roofs. Most were not in the best condition, the gingerbread getting spotty, most houses painted a uniform grey or white, erasing the character.