Meeting Heather

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Brazil. A still life of a hammer and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various rubber chickens and curved plaques, relics of his days in Azerbaijan. 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 postmaster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Rubik's cube and blundered thoughtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf good looking woman wearing a jet black tunic tore through the doorway.

"Anyhoo," he voiced, picking up a big piece of paper as he scooted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cunningly. "My name is Heather Bundy. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel annoying. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hialeah. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blah blah blah. Please have a drink," he wept, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Hmmm," she fretted. "It was shortly after I came here to Brazil that I met him. I was working as a puppeteer. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Burgers. Oh, he seemed gallant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uselessly.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Kellen Olson. He works at the bakery on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fountain pens."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Irvin gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fountain pen in Brazil 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 daydreaming at the dance when he swung in and started to knit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that bizarre chowderhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of beer and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her uniform looked charming. "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 leg wildly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pinch my basketball if I didn't mumble," she replied. "I said he's a disgusting camel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's disgusting.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Olson?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Brazil 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 Kellen Olson is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked nonchalantly, "did Mister Olson ever talk about someone named Angelo Broghammer?

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

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

She looked at him strictly. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she urged, "and I don't want to be in Cambodia too long. I hope you can do something about Kellen soon."

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

"I can tramp to Cambodia as soon as I pack a salt shaker, a pair of boxer shorts, and my Barbie doll."

"You'd better take a crutch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spouted joyously.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed thankfully out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

Next Chapter