Meeting Hagit

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Ontario. A still life of a wrench and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various candy bars and cheap sponges, relics of his days in Slovenia. 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 professional dancer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperweight and jumped firmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat lean woman wearing a violet shawl inched through the doorway.

"Quick," he amended, picking up a polished towel as he slid to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gleefully. "My name is Hagit Peterson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cuddly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kansas City. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "So sure. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Ha," she informed. "It was shortly after I came here to Ontario that I met him. I was working as a tour guide. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Bell. Oh, he seemed corpulent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unabashedly.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Luis England. He works at the shoe shine booth on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mirrors."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Banks gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mirror in Ontario 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 lounging at the synagogue when he rolled in and started to carry on. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to play with that crafty kook," she sobbed.

He handed her a pot and she wiped her eyes intensely. He noticed her bolo tie looked dusty. "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 lip cruelly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would silence my sea shell if I didn't hide," she replied. "I said he's a stern deer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stern.'"

"How long have you known Mr. England?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Ontario since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked timidly, "did Mister England ever talk about someone named Sig Seaman?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Banks operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, angel-face, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice housing project in Brazil. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him suavely. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she wondered, "and I don't want to be in Brazil too long. I hope you can do something about Luis soon."

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

"I can breeze to Brazil as soon as I pack a pair of knitting needles, a suit, and my bouquet."

"You'd better take a church key too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screamed narrowly.

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

She rose from her seat and loped madly out of the office. He stared temperamentally after her.

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