I processed my latest Fashion Mafia mission all weekend.

The glamorous model who delivered it Friday evening whispered in my ear, “Be at the AMC Tuesday afternoon for the 3:35 screening of ‘Bride Wars’ to pick up a package. Be discreet and bring your designer handgun. You never know when the Fashion Police might show up.”

“Fashion Police?” I asked.

“Yes, they’re a slight nuisance to our organization, but no more than pests, really. No need to worry.”

“What am I picking up and who am I meeting?”

“Is this your first mission?” she asked. “You certainly ask a lot of questions. You will soon learn that messengers do not have the answers you seek. We follow a chain of commands so no one person knows the true nature of the mission. And messengers always change. You will never see me again. We cannot have the Fashion Police, journalists, or wannabes like your little Fiona friend finding information about our organization. Your contact will find you at the theatre. That is all the knowledge you require.”

She stood up and left.

Now I sit in my Yorkville condominium contemplating what will happen tomorrow. Will I actually have to use a gun?