I was alone in the office. High heels kicked off, feet on the desk, bourbon in a fine crystal glass, and a Sobranie Black Russian in my silver theatre-length cigarette holder. It had been an excellent month so far, and I had no inclination to take a new case immediately.

I heard the click of the outer office door being opened, a door I wished I had locked. Through the frosted glass, I saw a heavyset man enter the outer office. He approached the inner office door.

“Miss Jacaranda?” he called.

“We’re closed,” I responded.

“Please. It’s urgent.”

“Come on in,” I said resignedly. I recognized him when he opened the door, and couldn’t believe my luck.

He approached the desk and eyed me up and down. “Your reputation is excellent, Miss Jacaranda, and I’d like to engage your services. You are a member of the LoA, are you not?”

“License is on the wall,” I indicated. While he reviewed it, I pulled from my desk a dossier, my pistol, and the paperwork that would need to be filed with the League of Assassins.