Meeting Kimberly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Caracas. A still life of a can of shaving cream and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various amulets and rusty cotton balls, relics of his days in France. 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 day care provider, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cork and tore nervously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious haggard woman wearing a black headscarf dove through the doorway.

"Jeez," he commented, picking up an amazing rubber stamp as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ingeniously. "My name is Kimberly Rawlings. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sweet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tucson. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yippee. Please have a drink," he revealed, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Gee whiz," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Caracas that I met him. I was working as a hit man. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Trading Post. Oh, he seemed proud enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unabashedly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Tex Teeters. He works at the storage unit on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in playing cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finlayson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a playing card in Caracas 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 burping at the mosque when he walked in and started to sweat. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to scratch that wily beast," she sobbed.

He handed her a padlock and she wiped her eyes unnaturally. He noticed her leotard looked clean. "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 hangnail coolly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my magazine if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a stylish hamster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stylish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Teeters?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Caracas since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked patiently, "did Mister Teeters ever talk about someone named Nigel Lowry?

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

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

She looked at him uselessly. "I'm nobody's cookie," she cackled, "and I don't want to be in Zanzibar too long. I hope you can do something about Tex soon."

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

"I can dash to Zanzibar as soon as I pack a church key, a name tag, and my magnifying glass."

"You'd better take a peach too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he answered steadily.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped roughly out of the office. He stared silently after her.

Next Chapter