Nostradamus Speaks - Snickers

Snickers

"Mr. Ricketts," I said, extending my hand to the disbarred attorney and former occupant of my office space, "Can I call you Jim?"

"No," he said, "And it's Rockette, like the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes, without the 's'."

"How about Jimmy?" I said.

"No," he said.

"James?" me again.

"No," he again.

"Jamestown?" another try.

"It's Jameston, not Jamestown, no town in it."

"How about JR?" last chance.

"JR is okay," he said.

"Okay, Jimmy," I said, "What's your cute little doggie's name?" reaching out and then snatching my hand back from the snappy little shit.

"Snickers, her name is Snickers," Jimmy said, kissing the little rat right on the lips.

"Jimmy," I said, "I don't know if I can trust you because I don't know what unprofessional, unethical or illegal thing you did to get disbarred. You might steal my shit."

"I won't steal your shit and I wasn't disbarred; it's only a one-year suspension."

"What did you do?"

"There was a problem with a client's trust fund account."

"Whose?" I asked,

"Yeah," he said.

"Whose?" I asked again.

"Hers," he said again.

"Who is her? What is the client's goddamned name?" 

"Her name is Hu. H-u. She owns this mall," Jimmy finally confessed.

"I think I might know her. She's the nice young Vietnamese girl at the leasing office," I said.

"No, that's Chrisy, Hu's daughter. Don't try to hit on her. Her boyfriend might be a gangster and her dad is definitely a big shot."

"So, did you steal Madam Hu's trust fund money?"

"No, I didn't steal it and she got it all back or I would be dead and Hu is her first name."

"Are you going to tell me her last name? Maybe I know her."

"Ngo. And I doubt it."

"No!? Listen to me Jiminy Crickets or what the fuck, don't jerk me around or I swear I will kick your dishonest, disbarred, unethical, and unprofessional ass right out of this office. And your little dog too.

"Ngo. Her last name is N-g-o." Jimmy said.

"Shit!" I said, "I think I know her. Is she short, rattlesnake mean with a beehive hairdo, tattooed eyebrows and eyelashes, and long sharp red nails."

"That's her. How do you know her?" Jimmy said again.

"I had a run-in with her. The Dragon Lady."

"Which one?" Jimmy asked.

"What do you mean, which one?" I asked back.

"There are two of 'em, sisters, identical twins, no one can tell them apart. Each one meaner than the other."

I knew without a doubt, right then and there, that I was doomed to live out my life in some sort of Abbott and Costello 1950's comedy routine, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it.

Dixi