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Jing raised the aluminum grille of the Always Dry Cleaners with a series of rolling clanks. She owned the business with her husband, a lazy man who was supposed to open that morning but unsurprisingly came down with gout pains that would last him well past noon. This man with whom she shared the past twenty years would’ve never been her first choice, but a woman with no family could hardly be picky. Yes, he was lazy and disappointing, but never demanding and mostly did as he was told. Jing wasn't young anymore but she still kept her bark, plus the added patience of age, and that was more than enough to keep everything in order.
August mornings were always rainy, but that hardly slowed business. Fridays were the worst, and Jing made sure to set up early. As the grille rolled up, she heard a flutter of pigeon wings and expertly stepped under the shop’s awning as a barrage of white droppings missed her by an inch. She frowned at the filth on her sidewalk and returned with a push broom, using the morning rain to wash it away before her customers arrived.
The shop bell jingled as the girls who worked the back room came in after her, soaking wet and shaking their umbrellas while arguing over handsome pop singers. Jing scowled at their triviality, calling after them, “Hey, clean that up! You want people to break their necks in my store!”
The girls jumped at her voice and swiftly ran a mop across the lobby. The bicycle boy came soon after and Jing waved them all off to prepare the machines in the back. She cracked some fresh coin rolls for the till and listened to the whirr and hum of machinery. The faint ether smell of Perc brought an unusual smile to her face. The joy of routine. The safety of the familiar.
Traffic picked up outside her storefront. The roar of engines would last well past closing. Jing hated the noise, but the busy street was good business. She unlocked the register and shut the drawer back with a satisfying ka-ching. Popping a cigarette in her mouth, she waited for the morning rush. These were not her brand of choice but not much else could be found in America. The customers didn’t approve of her habit but there was little they could argue against her fast results and reasonable prices.
A second bell jingled soon after her first puff and a lady in a wide-brimmed hat and shades marched to the register with a stola in hand. “Smell that!” She pushed the pink garment an inch from her face. “What is that?” the woman cried indignantly.
Jing refused to inhale whatever the woman offered. Instead, she cracked a polite smile and bobbed her chin with reassuring nods. “We can get it out.”
The uptown woman left with a sigh of relief as Jing pressed barcode stickers on the corners of her garments and scanned the orders to her computer. 
Next came a young mom who lived up the street, always looking like she had too much coffee or too much wine. She had three kids who all played sports. “Smell that!” The young mom slammed the counter with a duffle bag of soccer uniforms, musty t-shirts, and sweaty socks. “It’s a nightmare. These kids are a nightmare. But it’s either sports or having them around the house all day!”
Jing huffed out a short laugh from between her clenched teeth and cigarette. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you. Always.” She pointed at the store’s name on the price menu by the register.
“You’re a lifesaver, Jing.” The young mom left with a tender squeeze on Jing’s shoulder.
The line in her lobby kept moving at a steady pace. The plumber. The construction worker’s wife. More neurotic parents. Maids and chauffeurs and the stockbroker. They were picking up, and dropping off. One after the other. Ka-ching went the register. On went the barcode stickers. Orders rolled to the back, orders returned to the front, and Jing bobbed her head at the steady line of customers with a polite smile and a puff of smoke.
The rush was done by eleven and Jing left one of the girls at the register as she walked the back room, checking the Perc containers, and plastic bag rolls, making sure everything was in order. With the brunt of the work done, she sent the boy on his deliveries, then took a hot cup of tea and some crackers out to the back alley, where the maze of brick walls did its best to muffle the constant buzz of the city. She sat on the steps, cracked her toes, and rolled her neck, lighting one more cigarette as she watched the heavy clouds sail past the high corridor between buildings. The last bit of rain dripped from the electric cables. Cool wet mornings like these were a reminder of her youth in Huangshan, when family life had been calm and happy. Before they turned difficult with her mother’s illness, and Jing’s duty as the oldest sibling demanded she seek employment in the city of Hefei.
She hated the noise then as she did now. Cities were as bad then as they are now. People had hard lives with little joy or reward, and all it took was a small slip for things to go from bad to worse. Then debts would be called in with families losing everything or getting traded like goods. That’s how she ended up at a place called the School, where she paid her debts with dirty work for Madame Chu. A cruel but arguably fair woman. And one that Jing survived to make her way out to America.
Bad things happened in the city and there had been many men. Good men. Bad men. Men of power and influence. And sometimes even women. It had been many years since then, but every day her mind crept back to it, and she feared the old woman would come back to claim her once again. For being let go of the School also came with a price and those debts lasted until the grave.
Pigeons cooed at her from the dripping wires, and she tossed a few crackers to the middle of the courtyard. The voracious flock descended on the crumbs as Jing finished her cup and went back to her routine.
Commanding the register once more, she shooed the girls to take their lunch before the noon rush. Her lazy husband was yet to show, so she mopped the lobby from the mess of morning customers and went by arranging pamphlets and display items. The girls came back, surrounded by their usual chatter, but Jing softened her gruff expression for the first mid-day customer.
“Smell that!” An old man pushed a set of pillowcases under Jing’s nose. “My wife goes to bed with her so-called hair treatments. Oils and roots and what-have-yous. A gosh darn putrid stench is what it is!”
“Absolutely. Very bad.” Jing wrinkled her nose. “We take care of it. Always.”
The man left with a satisfied nod while she scanned the rest of his order.
The honking outside became louder than usual. Engines revved and tires screeched on the blacktop. People yelled as cars crashed somewhere up the street. Jing sucked her teeth and craned her neck to peek at the ruckus.
A frightened mob tumbled down the street before a yellow cab crashed into the traffic out front. Horns blared and the cab’s radiator hissed out like a geyser. Tumbling between the steam clouds, Jing saw what could only be described as a ninja. Clad in black kevlar and a mask, the assassin rolled over the car roofs of stalled traffic. The old woman took a step back as a series of gunshots were answered with a shower of shuriken that hit everything in sight.
The girls rushed from the back room in a jibber-jabber. Jing ducked behind the register and waved them back with furious commands from between her clenched teeth and half-smoked cigarette.
Another ninja tumbled on the sidewalk, dead from a spray of gunfire, courtesy of a young man with shiny black hair tied in a top knot. His torn trench coat flapped by the store window, as he fired back at unseen pursuers. His guns clicked empty and he jumped behind the crashed taxi. In a series of swift movements, his vest flew open and two pins darted out before he hurled a pair of grenades. Shurkiens whistled by and managed to bite into his shoulder before the explosions went off. Buildings rumbled with the blast, shattering both storefront windows. The young assassin ducked from the pelting debris.
Jing frowned over the trashed lobby with a half-inch of ash dangling from her cigarette. The young man’s shoulder bled out from the shuriken wounds as he rolled for a sword from the fallen ninja. The blade swung out in a flash to block an incoming strike. He kicked that third assassin off but more shuriken struck from behind.
Jing didn’t know the young man but she did recognize his fighting style as none other than Madame Chu’s, and his profile matched that of Rodrigo Zepeda, an upstart hitman often hired through the dark web. A hothead newcomer. Popular, but way over his head.
Though she still kept track of everyone in the game, it had been two decades since she played it. Two decades and her old master was still letting these dogs loose on the world, and now her doorstep.
Cornered and on his last leg, Rodrigo Zepeda jolted back like a mongoose, cutting the Yakuza assassins down in a dance of flashing steel. The bodies slumped around as he jumped through the broken storefront, dragging a trail of blood through the floor.
Dirty work. Jing looked at her floor. But this was no longer her work. She was let go with one condition from her master: to remain a sleeper until needed, she could walk out with an activation code to engage in favor of the School. Madame Chu had a cruel sense of humor and wanted Jing looking constantly over her shoulder. Unable to find peace in her routine. Always two words to make her lizard brain flash red, and make her reach for the Glock 19 under the register. Zepeda shambled across the shattered glass, placing both bloody palms on the counter, knowing more Yakuza would soon flood the store, his eyes begged for help as he shouted the activation code, “Smell that!”