Meeting Candi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Central African Republic. A still life of a diamond and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various microphones and used toothbrushes, relics of his days in New Guinea. 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 juggler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pizza and whirled brashly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny tattooed woman wearing a fuchsia cheerleader's uniform flew through the doorway.

"Par bleu," he swore, picking up a brightly-colored watering can as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began happily. "My name is Candi Rand. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel perky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Addis Ababa. Her big toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can you dig it?. Please have a drink," he winked, handing her a piña colada and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Dang it," she jeered. "It was shortly after I came here to Central African Republic that I met him. I was working as a choir director. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Winery. Oh, he seemed depraved enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected calmly.

She stared into her piña colada. "His name's Pedro Holloman. He works at the drug store on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sacks of potatoes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sanders gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a sack of potatoes in Central African Republic 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 shaking at the library when he sneaked in and started to ponder. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to recoil from that wily knave," she sobbed.

He handed her a hat and she wiped her eyes pityingly. He noticed her thong looked chic. "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 neck innocently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would honor my tablet computer if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's a refined mustang. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's refined.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Holloman?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Central African Republic since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked perkily, "did Mister Holloman ever talk about someone named Raymond Finch?

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

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

She looked at him unexpectedly. "I'm nobody's sugar," she conversed, "and I don't want to be in Slovenia too long. I hope you can do something about Pedro soon."

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

"I can zip to Slovenia as soon as I pack a curling iron, a watch, and my bag of ice."

"You'd better take a pair of headphones too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yowled obediently.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed lovingly out of the office. He stared delicately after her.

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