Meeting Katy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Greece. A still life of a tube of toothpaste and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various crackers and dirty pencils, relics of his days in Afghanistan. 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 bar owner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stamp and rolled unnaturally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous tattooed woman wearing a magenta hearing aid waltzed through the doorway.

"Aaaw," he exclaimed, picking up a gruesome umbrella as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Katy van Dorn. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel pert. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Angelo. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sheesh. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a painkiller and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

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

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

"Doggone," she purred. "It was shortly after I came here to Greece that I met him. I was working as a physical therapist. He took me to a restaurant called California Dogs and Suds. Oh, he seemed agile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coldly.

She stared into her painkiller. "His name's Aaron Simon. He works at the art gallery on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in radios."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Xu gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a radio in Greece 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 talking at the restaurant when he jogged in and started to cringe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to control that enraged barbarian," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of beer and she wiped her eyes hastily. He noticed her pair of knickers looked ordinary. "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 knee ruefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shake my acorn if I didn't wail," she replied. "I said he's an artistic robot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's artistic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Simon?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Greece 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 Aaron Simon is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked dubiously, "did Mister Simon ever talk about someone named Chum Metzger?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him charmingly. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she smiled, "and I don't want to be in Liberia too long. I hope you can do something about Aaron soon."

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

"I can skip to Liberia as soon as I pack a spoon, a tank top, and my joint."

"You'd better take a bagpipe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he explained nonchalantly.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped furiously out of the office. He stared threateningly after her.

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