Meeting Krista

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in St. Paul. A still life of a rose and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pots and mechanical ashtrays, relics of his days in Botswana. 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 burglar, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby peace pipe and tiptoed humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed gaunt woman wearing a salmon lab coat strode through the doorway.

"Holy minerva," he judged, picking up a tiny urn as he rolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cautiously. "My name is Krista Manning. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brash. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Arvada. Her beard made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Indeed. Please have a drink," he exploded, handing her a cup of Sanka and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Say what," she lectured. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Paul that I met him. I was working as a quilter. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Kettle. Oh, he seemed stinky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected positively.

She stared into her cup of Sanka. "His name's Kellen Van Hook. He works at the grocery store on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hair brushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Downey gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hair brush in St. Paul 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 expectorating at the pet store when he skidded in and started to preach. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that solitary buzzard," she sobbed.

He handed her a toy and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her pair of flip-flops looked soft. "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 big toe repeatedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would certify my bilge pump if I didn't doodle," she replied. "I said he's a radiant gecko. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's radiant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Van Hook?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in St. Paul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked violently, "did Mister Van Hook ever talk about someone named Klaus Parsons?

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

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

She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's heartthrob," she disputed, "and I don't want to be in Pueblo too long. I hope you can do something about Kellen soon."

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

"I can crawl to Pueblo as soon as I pack a flyswatter, a hoodie, and my flashlight."

"You'd better take a rubber stamp too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sighed solemnly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's sixty dollars as a retainer," she replied brashly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of darts. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and darted courteously out of the office. He stared gracefully after her.

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