Meeting Beatrice

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Bhutan. A still life of an avocado and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of dice and burned knitting needles, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 piano tuner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bag and crawled proudly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump winsome woman wearing a periwinkle lab coat slid through the doorway.

"Is that a fact," he gabbed, picking up a waxy teacup as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woefully. "My name is Beatrice Zing. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel thoughtful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in New York. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zzzzz. Please have a drink," he smirked, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Cheers," she mentioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Bhutan that I met him. I was working as a peddler. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed homely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected jokingly.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Fritz Klein. He works at the bike shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Childress gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flower in Bhutan 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 getting upset at the bagel shop when he pranced in and started to shrug. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to text that selfish savage," she sobbed.

He handed her a clipboard and she wiped her eyes primly. He noticed her balaclava looked waxy. "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 swiftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grab my washrag if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's a direct snake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's direct.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Klein?"

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

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

"Okay, so this Fritz Klein 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 belly like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and howled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like cherry pie since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked jokingly, "did Mister Klein ever talk about someone named Alan Sharpe?

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

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

She looked at him queerly. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she blurted, "and I don't want to be in the United Kingdom too long. I hope you can do something about Fritz soon."

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

"I can breeze to the United Kingdom as soon as I pack a telephone book, a ski mask, and my box of Kleenex."

"You'd better take a book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yawned suspiciously.

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

She rose from her seat and bounced craftily out of the office. He stared daintily after her.

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