The Fixer

[The_Oan_Isles]

A Prince in Need,
31 Yabran Suleimid Road,
Upsarion, Bingol

“I didn’t expect you to be here so late”.

Lashiya looked up from her book and saw her brother standing in front of her.

“Ishan”, she said with a smile, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Don’t sound so happy to see me”, Ishan replied mockingly as he sat on the chair across from her desk.

“Hm, I’m not”, Lashiya said, “Ordinarily, your visits come with requests for more money”.

“Well, you were always the one who made the better financial decisions”, Ishan replied sarcastically.

“Yes, I am”, Lashiya said, “Your continued presence may prove to be a financial liability I would be hard-pressed to abide any further”.

“Oh come on, sister”, Ishan said, “I have a fantastic idea for a new business…”

“That’s enough, Ishan”, she interjected, “Please close the door on your way out”.

“Come on, please my beautiful sister, hear me out”, Ishan pleaded.

“Get out, Ishan!” Lashiya yelled, “If you hadn’t wasted your talent for swindling and flattery, you might have made a decent politician or a lawyer”.

“I was never smart enough for university”, Ishan replied.

“Then use whatever intelligence remains in your dense skull”, Lashiya said, annoyed, “Get out!”

Ishan picked up his bag and walked out of her office like an embarrassed little puppy.

Ayra, her secretary entered her office shortly after.

Lashiya yelled as she continued reading through the reports on her desk, “Ishan! I’ve just about had enough…”

“Whoa! Sorry, Miss Lashiya, it’s just me”, Ayra said meekly.

“Oh, sorry, Ayra”, she said, “What is it?”

“We have a special guest”, Ayra said.

Lashiya gathered her papers together and closed the reports piled on her desk, stacking them neatly to the side. She placed her pens and pencils neatly and placed the dirty cups of coffee that had piled up on her coffee table in the sink in her kitchenette.

Her “special guest” walked in. A handsome Feline gentleman wearing a white thobe and a red fez walked in.

“Miss Lashiya”, he said.

“Prince Hamed”, Lashiya replied, “How lovely to see you! Please, have a seat. Ayra, please bring us some tea”.

Ayra walked out and entered again with a silver tray on which were small white porcelain cups and a delicate clay teapot painted with blue patterns and a saucer of biscuits with cardamom and cinnamon and roasted almonds. Lashiya poured and handed the Prince a cup of tea.

“Miss Lashiya”, Prince Hamed said, “I have a problem”.

The Prince had the misfortune of entering into a contract with an unscrupulous businessman called Termad Salwadoon. They had been negotiating a deal to purchase a warehouse in Irpadeen, an industrial town 40 kilometers from Bingol. Prince Hamed made the first payment, a deposit of 960 million dinars, directly into Salwadoon’s bank account. Salwadoon stopped responding to his messages and the office he leased in Upsarion was vacant.

“So he’s fled with your money?” Lashiya asked, “Why not call the authorities and report him for fraud?”

“Because”, the Prince began. he paused and looked around, almost like he was making sure that no one else was in the room. He leaned forward and whispered, “The money is not exactly mine”.

Prince Hamed had been the lucky winner of a genetic lottery that included being born into a family with a trust of 12 billion dinars. Being a royal version of Ishan, his father, Prince Fameed cut him off from the family fortune, so he tricked Lady Yasoub, one of the trustees into signing a letter that said his father needed to make a withdrawal. The septuagenarian, not thinking much of it, approved the withdrawal.

“So what do you want from me”, Lashiya asked.

“Help me find this man and get my money back”, Prince Hamed said, “I heard that you were discreet”.

[The_Oan_Isles]

Challenge Accepted

Upsarion, Bingol

12 July 2023

Lashiya drank her tea as the Prince spoke, absorbing everything he said and examining the way he spoke. He had this calm demeanor, as though in his mind this was a minor mistake that could be resolved quickly. He had the sort of naivety and ignorance to the gravity of his actions that only someone born into extreme wealth could possess.

In a country whose population was largely poor and could never make a 1 million Kirib in their entire life, it was remarkable that there were people who could trifle 8 million Kirib in a day. She resented his hubris and entitlement, but she had to fight her instinct to kick him out and call him a fiend. Biting her lip, she let him explain his story with the victimhood only a chronic narcissistic could muster. Keeping the lights on in the most expensive neighbourhood in Bingol required one to bite the bullet.

“Of course”, Lashiya said as she placed the cup back on its saucer, “Discretion is what we do at Lashiya Saan and Associates”.

She explained the final details of her service, which the Prince acquiesced to. After showing the Prince out, Lashiya asked Ayra to send the contract establishing their service to him and agreeing to keep things quiet. Her services were a little difficult to explain thus she charged at her discretion, assessing the risks to her team and her reputation should she pursue the case. This case was riddled with holes and logical errors and she was determined to suss them out.

She summoned her team into their “work room”, a large empty space with a large table, chairs and a whiteboard and projector to allow them to brainstorm ideas. Assembled in the room were Took, a large burly man who had served in the Special Operations force of the Packilvanian Army but was dismissed for insubordination, Hudeen, a cybersecurity analyst who started hacking government offices and poorly set up e-commerce websites since he was 9 but was arrested for 1 year after selling company documents at his previous employer on the dark Web, and Najda, who had been an attorney at a prestigious law firm in Kemer but lost his job after it was found he stole sealed files from the Department of Justice and admitted them as evidence for a case.

Each one of these people had a story. Miss Lashiya Saan was an attorney and an A student from the University of Bingol who had enjoyed a prosperous career at a big law firm. It became apparent to her that the misogyny of her male colleagues would block her from making senior partner. She loathed to start her own scrappy law firm that would be constrained to the cobwebs of history handling divorce cases for working class couples and traffic law violations. Instead she leveraged her political connections and penchant for rhetoric to become a political fixer.

“Right”, Lashiya said without Preamble, “What do we know about Prince Hamed?”

Not long after Prince Hamed had sent them the signed copy of his contract, did Ayra send a message to the team to begin searching for information about the Prince and Mr Termad Salwadoon. The team had merely 2 hours to gather sufficient Intel to brief Lashiya. This was not an office where slaggards would be accommodated. Instructions from Lashiya were followed without question. Knowing their tenuous employment situations and loyal to their master, the team would drop everything at the utterance of her word to get what she wanted done.

Najda began, “Prince Hamed, born in 1998,to Princess Imayra and Prince Ansawar, who founded and own a textile making business notorious for its sweatshop-like treatment of employees. They amassed a fortune from massive government contracts to produce uniforms for public servants. Prince Hamed is an infamous social butterfly, and unscrupulous businessman whose word is as good as salt in a desert”.

“Ouch”, Took said with a smirk which quickly wiped off his face after Lashiya tossed him a chiding glance.

Najda added, “Termad Salwadoon is a businessman from Drakkengard who ran a perfumery in Upsarion that served as a front for a business where you could purchase illegal services such as commandeering abandoned buildings, services that Prince Hamed sought out because he planned on starting an export business selling illegally mined gold to foreigners. Apparently he was paying villagers in remote places to dig up gold from closed mines, which I would remind you is a crime”.

“Yes”, Lashiya said, “And where last was Salwadoon seen?”

“He was last seen yesterday in Ankalia, a small Suburb to the east of the city”, Hudeen said, “Based on his account details, I think he has layers of identities and front businesses he’s using to swindle money back home to Drakkengard. Based on a search of his social media accounts, he’s into gambling and fast cars, exploits I would not be surprised he spent Hamed’s money on”.

“I asked my drinking buddies at Nekad’s, and they gave mixed reviews. Some said he made good on his promises and others called him a conman”, Took said, “All depends on the fish he was frying”.

Lashiya stood up and put both hands on the table, “Took, I need to you do some digging in Ankalia. Ask around and see if anyone knew him. Hudeen, try to track down each of the cellphone numbers Prince Hamed gave us. I want locations and last connected dates. Najda, you’re coming with me”.

[The_Oan_Isles]

Secrets of a Perfumery
Golden Palace Oud Perfumery,
Upsarion, Bingol, Packilvania

The owner of the shop that Salwadoon leased for his business, the Golden Palace Oud Perfumery, had put the property bck on the market for potential tenants.

The Packilvanian economy while strong was experiencing a Notable contraction in the pace of growth this year due to increased regulation and a slow down in lending to small and medium-sized businesses, so finding a tenant in a place as expensive as Upsarion was very difficult. People in this part of Bingol lived lives and held wealth comparable to people in vastly wealthier countries per capita. This place had all the trappings of an uncommonly affluent area in a developing country: even a minor slow down in economic growth could make life meaningfully difficult for businesses there. The owner had chalked up Salwadoon’s sudden departure and failure to pay rent to the effects of the economic slowdown and was confident that anyone would be interested in this shop in the short term. To his joy and wonder he received a call from an agent wanting to view the property. Overjoyed, he dropped everything on his schedule and book some time for the mystery customer that the agent worked for to have a look.

He waited outside the shop, whose windows had been covered with a paper film that obstructed views to the inside. He wore dirty workman’s clothes and had bits of food sticking to small beard and hands rough from hard labour. Then he saw a man with a women walking up to him. The woman wore a hijab, a suit jacket and a knee length skirt with stockings and black heels and she carried a leather black purse. The man wore a kurta (a type of jacket) over a dress shirt, a fez, and a pair of harem trousers.

‘These people must be so rich’, the owner though to himself.

He approached the man first assuming him to be client accompanied by his wife. He shook his hand and said, “Ashamiliya, good sheikh, I am so happy to show you this property. The cost of my quaint shop would be trivial for a man of your obvious wealth”.

The grin on the owner’s face quickly dissipated and turned to embarrassment when Najda told him, “Eh, sorry but I am not the client. She is”, he said pointing to Lashiya.

The man took off his fez, and bowed to Lashiya, apologising, “I am very sorry Miss, I assumed”.

“No apologies necessary”, Lashiya said, concealing her visible irritation, “These things happen, it is very unconventional for a woman to be richer than all the men around her combined, isn’t it?”.

The owner was doubly embarrassed and stammered an apology, but Lashiya took control of things, “Now, I would like to see the shop. Is it this property here?”

She was already walking as she spoke, determined and unafraid. She was surprisingly quick, forcing both Najda and the owner to to do a little jog to catch up with her.

“Open the door please”, she instructed the owner.

The owner’s hands trembled as he tried to get the keys out of his holster and open the door. She touched his hands and looked him in the eyes and said, “It’s alright, we have time”.

She had a sturdy, somewhat huskier voice than a lot of women, but still feminine and youthful, like the sound of a woman in her mid thirties coming into her own and assured of her identity and feminine power.

He stopped shaking, took a breath and eventually found the key among the many that he had held together in a large hoop. Once the door opened, Lashiya said, “Thank you, Mr Owner, you can leave. I would like to inspect the property myself without disturbance. I suspect, we shall be long”.

“Of course, sheikha”, the owner said.

The owner left, allowing Najda and Lashiya to inspect the property undisturbed. All the furniture such as couches and chairs as well as store signs, had been taken. Even as they entered the back room behind the teller’s counter where the perfume was allegedly manufactured, there was nothing. It was mostly empty except for some of the infrastructure that a shop like this came with such as a large boiler, gas piping, and many cupboards and work tables made of tell attached to the ground with nuts and bolts. There wasn’t much here in the way of clues or evidence that could be seen with the naked eye.

Lashiya and Najda put on face masks, aprons and cleaning gloves that Najda had brought with him and carried in a stylish backpack. They sprayed the room, especially the work table with a bizarre elixir and illuminated the surfaces with a UV light. Fingerprints irridesced under the bluish color emitted by the device. They proceeded to make copies of the fingerprints using a film that took on the pattern and transposed it to another paper like surface. They continued to walk around to empty dust covered shop.

There was a backdoor leading to an alley where a small service vehicle would have brought supplies and through which items could be brought and taken out of. Lashiya pierced through window and noticed that the trash had not been taken by the Municipal collection service yet.

“Najda, look!” Lashiya said pointing at the rubbish.

Najda looked at it bewildered and asked, “That’s just trash”.

She gave him a big smile and held his shoulders firmly.

“You want me to go digging in the trash”, Najda asked.

“How lovely of you to volunteer, Najda!” Lashiya said, “You’re always taking one for the team”.

Najda got to pulling bins out. They stank of rotten food. Bits of cartons and a mouldy shawarma, a bottle of old milk, and some other goodies were found in the bags that he opened.

“What exactly am I searching for”, Najda asked as he tried to contain the vomit in his body from escaping.

“Receipts, invoices, business cards, any paper documents, or even a discarded USB stick”, Lashiya replied from a safe distance as she held a perfumed handkerchief to her face.

“Aren’t you gonna help?” Najda asked on his third back of rubbish.

“You’re doing such a good job, Najda, keep it going!”

Lashiya put the trove of paper into black bags. After Najda had looked through every back in the dumpster, he put all the trash back and closed the lid. Lashiya sprayed some of her premium Basmoud cedar and eucalyptus perfume on Najda and herself.

They took off all the safety gear that they put on, looking more or less the same, except for a very disgruntled Najda.

They walked out and thanked the owner, “This is such a lovely shop, I will be in touch”.

The owner greeted them happily. His nose picked up a strange scent. Before he could ask “What is that smell?”

They were already in their Velox C-class.

As Najda put his hands on the steering wheel and turned the key, he said to Lashiya who was seated in the back, “I hope you’re paying for my car to get cleaned”.

She rolled her eyes playfully and smiled, “Come now, Najda, we haven’t got all day!”