Meeting Pallavi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Sudan. A still life of a shoe and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Hostess Ding Dongs and striking pearls, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 suitcase and lumbered suddenly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious alert woman wearing a teal ring capered through the doorway.

"Piffle," he hummed, picking up an imitation pink flamingo as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crossly. "My name is Pallavi Baldwin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sarcastic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cambridge. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Absolutely. Please have a drink," he hummed, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Hang it," she reacted. "It was shortly after I came here to Sudan that I met him. I was working as a stamp collector. He took me to a restaurant called Hunan Waterfall. Oh, he seemed insane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected primly.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Cyrus Irons. He works at the drug store on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in suitcases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nurbabayev gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a suitcase in Sudan 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 wobbling at the movie theater when he darted in and started to wake up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that fearless stinker," she sobbed.

He handed her a pain pill and she wiped her eyes frenetically. He noticed her body shirt looked greasy. "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 tongue tenderly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hoist my chain if I didn't come back," she replied. "I said he's a contented cocker spaniel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's contented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Irons?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Sudan since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked bitterly, "did Mister Irons ever talk about someone named Nicholas Simon?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Nurbabayev operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, Banana Cakes, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice quonset hut in Mali. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him fearfully. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she began, "and I don't want to be in Mali too long. I hope you can do something about Cyrus soon."

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

"I can zoom to Mali as soon as I pack a clam, a smartwatch, and my ball."

"You'd better take a pair of binoculars too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he continued breathlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced intensely out of the office. He stared sweetly after her.

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