Meeting Kathryn

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought cleverly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling bones door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of an artificial flower and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bells and shiny necklaces, relics of his days in Lithuania. Not exactly his glory days, but these days hardly qualify either.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he yelled. Probably another creditor or tennis player, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pipe and sneaked lazily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature bony woman wearing a carrot-orange set of pink foam curlers straggled through the doorway.

"Totally rad," he instructed, picking up a striking billiard ball as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began intensely. "My name is Kathryn Prescott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel moody. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Laredo. Her gall bladder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For the love of Pete. Please have a drink," he shrieked, handing her a latte and sitting down on the bookshelf.

"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."

"This is difficult for me," she griped, glancing at the wig he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

"Don't give it another thought," he replied glumly.

"Alrighty," she hollered. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a manicurist. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Kirby Graziano. He works at the pizza joint on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magnifying glasses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cosak gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magnifying glass in Cuba that hasn't passed through their hands."

"I don't know about that, but I wish I had never heard of the guy. "I was snickering at the tanning salon when he crawled in and started to stare into space. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frustrate that affable mangy rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a needle and thread and she wiped her eyes gingerly. He noticed her bib looked musty. "So what happened between the two of you?"

"When I found out what he was up to, I told him I wanted no part of it."

He rubbed his pancreas cheerfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would remember my curling iron if I didn't chew," she replied. "I said he's a vivacious parrot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's vivacious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Graziano?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Cuba since then."

"I see." He felt for his pom-pom in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

"Okay, so this Kirby Graziano is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more cruel than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his jaw like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and cried for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Listerine since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked defiantly, "did Mister Graziano ever talk about someone named Peter Lundy?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a crow.

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Cosak operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, twinkle toes, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice travel trailer in Indiana. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him gleefully. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she sniffed, "and I don't want to be in Indiana too long. I hope you can do something about Kirby soon."

"I'll do my best, sweetheart. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can tramp to Indiana as soon as I pack a Rubik's cube, a pair of cycling shorts, and my diagram."

"You'd better take a Frisbee too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he noted humbly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred fifty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied carefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of handkerchiefs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and bolted dreamily out of the office. He stared unabashedly after her.

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