Meeting Kim

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Tennessee. A still life of an egg shell and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various mushrooms and hand-carved chess sets, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 principal, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of dice and sallied forth joyously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed bedraggled woman wearing a black floppy hat strode through the doorway.

"Aha," he screeched, picking up a handy camera as he skidded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began brashly. "My name is Kim Griffin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel athletic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Grand Prairie. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm so sure. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a glass of buttermilk and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Blah," she complained. "It was shortly after I came here to Tennessee that I met him. I was working as a drug dealer. He took me to a restaurant called Grandmother's Mountain. Oh, he seemed calm enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected kindly.

She stared into her glass of buttermilk. "His name's Robin Simon. He works at the flower shop on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in lemons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nolan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a lemon in Tennessee 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 digesting at the K-Mart when he waltzed in and started to calm down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that funny ninnyhammer," she sobbed.

He handed her a doily and she wiped her eyes grimly. He noticed her baseball cap looked broken. "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 cunningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strike my shoe if I didn't huff," she replied. "I said he's a rugged wombat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rugged.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Simon?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Tennessee since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked patiently, "did Mister Simon ever talk about someone named Morrie Garland?

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

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

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she thought, "and I don't want to be in Cambodia too long. I hope you can do something about Robin soon."

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

"I can walk to Cambodia as soon as I pack a rock, a corset, and my pink flamingo."

"You'd better take a bouquet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he growled sagely.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled effortlessly out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

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