Like a Puppet on a String

If you play your cards right ...

I returned to the other two and updated them on the latest development.

"So," I said summing up. "We now have another body to get rid of and a gangster who thinks we're all square."

"I still like my idea of eliminating the problem, i.e. Mrs Goon," said Fleishman, his fat lips quivering with enthusiasm.

"Look, Bruce," I said, "getting rid of Mrs Goon, as nice at that would be, won't clear her complaint. We'd still be out of business. We need to find another way out of this mess."

Chrissy was staring intensely at me. "This is serious, isn't it?" she said. "If you guys get shut down that means I'll need to get a real job." She shuddered.

"Yes, Chrissy," I sighed. "And I know how much you enjoy being around death."

A strange look appeared on her pale face. "You have no idea, Mr Graves. No idea." Her eyes gleamed yellow through her thick black eyeliner. "Death works in mysterious ways, Mr Graves, but I think Death likes you and Mr Fleishman. Why not ask Him for help?"

I tried not to giggle. I knew Chrissy was a little quirky but I hadn't put her down as Death Worshipper. "You don't happen to have a number for him do you?" I asked innocently. "Maybe I could give him a call."

Her face broke into a wicked smile. She reached into the inside pocket of her long black coat and produced a pack of cards.

"I'd love to play, Chrissy, but I don't think now is the ..."

"No, Mr Graves," she interjected. "You wanted a direct line to Death, well here it is. These are Death Tarot cards."

Chrissy cleared Fleishman's desk and placed the cards down.

She was serious? But then again, we were completely out of options. Why the hell not? I thought. What harm could it do?

"Alright," I said. "Let's do it. Get shuffling."