Something Wicked This Way Comes
JACKSON
She’d broken her word.
Five minutes ago, I asked my secretary, Mable, to leave my office phone on “Do Not Disturb” and here I was, five minutes later, getting disturbed. A call from “Fast Taxis” made its way through. A voicemail from Jeff had found its way to my phone, blinking as annoyingly as the kid himself, and by the time, the third call came through, I was ready to blow a gasket. I nearly ripped the cord from the wall.
The only thing that stopped me was my internal reminder that it was lunch. My growling stomach was right on time, and I called out to Mable for the fourth iteration from a small opening in my large office door.
“Mable?”
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s the word on the Chinese?”
“The Chinese?”
“Yeah. The Chinese.”
“Oh. Boozi chulli,”
