Meeting Krista

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Cyprus. A still life of an ingot of plutonium and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various coupons and original pails, relics of his days in Nicaragua. 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 prosecutor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby file folder and jumped victoriously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic blond woman wearing a yellow fez inched through the doorway.

"Piffle," he hollered, picking up a miniature shoe as he loped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sadly. "My name is Krista Ferber. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conscientious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Plano. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Grrrrr. Please have a drink," he articulated, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Really," she rambled. "It was shortly after I came here to Cyprus that I met him. I was working as a math teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Double Mountain. Oh, he seemed sleepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grimly.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Cosmo Zing. He works at the movie theater on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in jars of olives."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pacheco gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a jar of olives in Cyprus 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 shriveling at the mall when he lumbered in and started to dress up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cozy up to that considerate halfwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a teapot and she wiped her eyes briskly. He noticed her sundress looked heavy. "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 ego perkily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would boil my vase if I didn't weep," she replied. "I said he's a coy snipe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's coy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zing?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Zing ever talk about someone named Will Fischer?

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

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

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Uzbekistan too long. I hope you can do something about Cosmo soon."

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

"I can tramp to Uzbekistan as soon as I pack a dollhouse, a bra, and my can of sardines."

"You'd better take an advertisement too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he peeped craftily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twenty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied tenderly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hair brushes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and leapt strangely out of the office. He stared thankfully after her.

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