Meeting Pearl

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Cape Verde. A still life of a flyswatter and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cameras and hollow salt shakers, relics of his days in Georgia. 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 bank teller, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bouquet and trekked slyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender chubby woman wearing a sea green corsage scurried through the doorway.

"Cheers," he mouthed, picking up a miniature tote bag as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lamely. "My name is Pearl Pacheco. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bad. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Rosa. Her ankle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Petunia. Please have a drink," he blustered, handing her a latte and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Gosh darn," she mused. "It was shortly after I came here to Cape Verde that I met him. I was working as a tailor. He took me to a restaurant called the Jade Harvest. Oh, he seemed fierce enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected awkwardly.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Vance Matthews. He works at the bus station on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fish."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brooks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fish in Cape Verde 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 drooling at the spelling bee when he whirled in and started to run away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a glass of apricot juice on that drowsy snoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a package and she wiped her eyes tenderly. He noticed her pair of earmuffs looked huge. "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 arm miserably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hammer my map if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a garrulous mountain goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's garrulous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Matthews?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Cape Verde since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lazily, "did Mister Matthews ever talk about someone named Will Bruno?

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

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

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she remarked, "and I don't want to be in St. Petersburg too long. I hope you can do something about Vance soon."

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

"I can skid to St. Petersburg as soon as I pack a calling card, a visor, and my bird bath."

"You'd better take a photograph too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued strictly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied gleefully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of fingernail clippers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and slid pityingly out of the office. He stared nervously after her.

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