The Yellow Hibiscus

Meanwhile, at the 47th Precinct on 2nd Avenue and 79th Street in New York City, Sgt. Booker sat around his desk scanning files. Someone knocked on his door, “Come in,” he said, his words were muffled in the middle of a sneeze.

“Bless you,” Sgt. Willis said, grabbing a box of Kleenex from the top of the filing cabinet and handed it to Sgt. Booker.

“Damnit,” Sgt. Booker sniffled, grabbing the Kleenex. He was in the middle of another sneeze when the phone started ringing. Wiping his nose with Kleenex, he motioned to Sgt. Willis. “Sit down,” he said as he pressed the speaker button on the telephone, “Yes,” he bellowed.

“Dan,” Captain Powell, his boss’ voice echoed through the speaker. “Tell me about the fire at the flower shop?”

Sgt. Booker sneezed again.

“I see Lorna is still bothering you, eh?” Captain Powell asked. “Didn’t I tell you how to get rid of her?”

“It didn’t work. The victim is a 47-year-old male. His name is Juan Luiz. He is employed as a delivery man/ packer at “Every Bloomin Thing”, the flower shop where the fire occurred. According to the Mount Sinai Regional Hospital, he is in critical condition.”

“Will he live?”

“It’s too early to say.”
“What do you make of the florist’s story? I am viewing it right now.”