Meeting Bonnie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Istanbul. A still life of a flyswatter and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various toys and damp china dolls, relics of his days in Afghanistan. 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 cartoonist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby elephant tusk and blundered frantically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky lanky woman wearing a striped cardigan lumbered through the doorway.

"Grrrrr," he yelped, picking up a brittle bell as he skidded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nimbly. "My name is Bonnie Owen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brash. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lexington. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shoot. Please have a drink," he said, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the china hutch.

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

"This is difficult for me," she stammered, glancing at the pair of cowboy boots he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Quick," she comforted. "It was shortly after I came here to Istanbul that I met him. I was working as a prisoner. He took me to a restaurant called the Golden Panda. Oh, he seemed shiftless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected kindly.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Ricky Esposito. He works at the bar on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hammers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nussbaum gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hammer in Istanbul 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 standing by at the taco shop when he went in and started to puff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to educate that pert clod," she sobbed.

He handed her a hot potato and she wiped her eyes confidently. He noticed her toupee looked primitive. "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 wrist victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dislodge my cupcake if I didn't wander," she replied. "I said he's a frantic sloth. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frantic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Esposito?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Istanbul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked immediately, "did Mister Esposito ever talk about someone named Salvatore Looper?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Nussbaum operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sparky, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice box in Vatican City. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him effortlessly. "I'm nobody's sparky," she inquired, "and I don't want to be in Vatican City too long. I hope you can do something about Ricky soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Vatican City as soon as I pack an African violet, a pair of moon boots, and my dog collar."

"You'd better take a camera too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reminded pitifully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred seventy dollars as a retainer," she replied thankfully. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cans of beans. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sped accidentally out of the office. He stared menacingly after her.

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