Meeting Irma

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Karachi. A still life of a bottle of painkillers and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flash drives and bronze whoopee cushions, relics of his days in Canada. 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 cowboy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby iPhone and slithered patiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall bedraggled woman wearing a black heavy layer of makeup sped through the doorway.

"Egad," he fretted, picking up a gleaming toothbrush as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fearlessly. "My name is Irma Peralta. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conceited. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Puebla. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eww. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a cup of hot cider and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Heavens to murgatroyd," she gasped. "It was shortly after I came here to Karachi that I met him. I was working as a phlebotomist. He took me to a restaurant called Gourmet Tiger. Oh, he seemed sleepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sweetly.

She stared into her cup of hot cider. "His name's Hoss Klein. He works at the fabric store on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dog biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finney gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dog biscuit in Karachi 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 barking at the basement when he lurched in and started to applaud. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspect that pesky freak," she sobbed.

He handed her a stick of gum and she wiped her eyes crazily. He noticed her bustier looked stolen. "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 brain steadily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would catch my Lego set if I didn't jump," she replied. "I said he's an unselfish yeti. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unselfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Klein?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Karachi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked strictly, "did Mister Klein ever talk about someone named Zachary Kinstler?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Finney operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, main squeeze, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice house in the United Arab Emirates. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him woefully. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she griped, "and I don't want to be in the United Arab Emirates too long. I hope you can do something about Hoss soon."

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

"I can whirl to the United Arab Emirates as soon as I pack a tennis racket, a pair of jackboots, and my cactus plant."

"You'd better take a box of candy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chortled woefully.

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

She rose from her seat and lumbered ingeniously out of the office. He stared strictly after her.

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