Meeting Stephanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Lithuania. A still life of a feather and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various crackers and small sacks of potatoes, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 detective, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hip flask and climbed furiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied fit woman wearing a lime-green G-string slid through the doorway.

"Whee," he belched, picking up a gleaming shovel as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began victoriously. "My name is Stephanie Cruz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frumpy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Winston-Salem. Her pancreas made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ssss. Please have a drink," he interpreted, handing her an old fashioned and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Deranged," she babbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Lithuania that I met him. I was working as a dancer. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Coffee Shop. Oh, he seemed quiet enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected trustingly.

She stared into her old fashioned. "His name's Dylan Knight. He works at the pub on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in artificial flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Clemmons gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an artificial flower in Lithuania 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 jerking at the disco when he traipsed in and started to huff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reeducate that brave slug," she sobbed.

He handed her a pigeon and she wiped her eyes properly. He noticed her beret looked imitation. "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 heel sharply. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strengthen my jar of olives if I didn't look angry," she replied. "I said he's a bald anteater. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bald.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Knight?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Lithuania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked openly, "did Mister Knight ever talk about someone named Blake Bernal?

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

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

She looked at him coldly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she commented, "and I don't want to be in Paris too long. I hope you can do something about Dylan soon."

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

"I can stalk to Paris as soon as I pack a baton, a dress, and my hand puppet."

"You'd better take a crystal ball too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rambled effortlessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred six dollars as a retainer," she replied temperamentally. I also have an extremely valuable collection of boxes of candy. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and danced bravely out of the office. He stared courteously after her.

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