I need to know something

She slipped into the shop as quietly as she could. She wasn't dressed flashy, nor to incite any sort of reaction. She simply wore jeans and a tank top. She didn't even go straight to the counter. She was wandering, making sure she was alone. And, perhaps, a little hesitant to ask for what she was here for.

Saturday is sitting behind the counter smoking what smells to be a very fine cigar and sewing a doll. From time to time he blows smoke against the fabric and chuckles. Then he dips the needle in a small cup of rum and resumes his fine stitches.

If he notices the stranger, he pays her no mind. But at this time of day, this day of the week... the store is rather vacant. Except for the guard. And the strange shadows. And the clerk.

((My computer ate my reply. Grr.))

She walked up to Saturday, her hands in her pockets. She stood at the counter for a moment, waiting to be noticed.

"Mr. Saturday, I need your help."

Saturday looks up and smiles, "Ah, mon cher. My favorite words. What ken we do fer yer lovely self?"

He flurishes a gesture and half bows.

She bit her lip, then leaned in, speaking in a whisper that would only go so far as him.

"I have memories I need to get back. Or have them buried forever."

He carefully places the doll on the counter and laces his fingers.

"Not dey same ting at all, lovely. Which do ye want?"

"I'm not sure. I can either accept the lie that is now my life, or I can try to find the truth."

She leaned down.

"I'm not likely to accept the lie. Not when I'm getting glimpses of the truth."

Saturday nods.

"Ok den. Tell me bout des memories."

"The first 22 years of my life were changed. A person was removed."

"Dis be mortal memories, den?"

He rubs his chin.

"Buried deep, I tink. Takes some ting big to shake it."

Reaching under the cabinet he pulls up a spiral bound notebook that has clearly seen better days. Flipping through it, various languages and pictures are covered before he settles on one. The depiction is a skeletal woman with a vicious piece of twisted metal in one hand and entrails in another.

"Marinette Bwa Chech. Ain't nice, but she break dey bondage ye mind be in."

He settles his elbows on the counter.

"One way street, though. Tings she liberates stay dat way. You invoke her, de memories wont be put back in no box."

She nodded.

"I am aware. How much will it cost?"

Saturday shrugs.

"Depends what she wants, cher. I just be a middle man."

She nodded.

"Alright. How much will it cost me to meet her?"

"I hear you a warrior. You train mah boys ta fight bettah, we call even. Fair?"

He gestures to the thug fellow by the door.

She turned to give the thug a once over.

"Alright, that I can do. Hand to hand, mostly wrestling stuff."

"Hand ta hand be fine."

He rummages around under his counter bringing up some charms. He makes a series of gestures and spits on the counter. Some tobacco ash and cinnamon oil is mixed in. Saturday mumbles a series of prayers before rubbing the mixture across her forehead in a 'Simba' sort of way.

"Mariette comes in dreams. Might take a few days. She ain't gentle. Be ready."

He presses a charm into her palm.

"Dis bring bad tings an draw dark ting eyes. Put it under where ya sleep till marinette come. Den burn it an scatter dey ashes."

She nodded.

"Than you. I'll come back once she's visited to teach your boys."

Saturday tips his hat.

"You come again, cher. Der be more I ken do fer you, I tink."

She nodded and held out her hand to him.

"Probably. And strangely, I trust your magics more than I trust others."

Saturday shakes the offered hand.

"I rely on repeat bidniss, chil'."

She tucked the charm into her pocket.

"Have a good night."

And she turned to leave.