Meeting Faye

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Zanzibar. A still life of an advertisement and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Bibles and electronic basketballs, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 Uber driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stopwatch and tore glibly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth heavyset woman wearing a sparkly tuxedo breezed through the doorway.

"@#%#^@%$@!," he stated, picking up a burned can of beer as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began busily. "My name is Faye Khanh. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel princely. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Reno. Her back made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Heck. Please have a drink," he sighed, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Chirp," she reasoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Zanzibar that I met him. I was working as a makeup artist. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Temple. Oh, he seemed loving enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected repeatedly.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Roy Schibbel. He works at the brewery on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in backpacks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fontanaro gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a backpack in Zanzibar 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 scratching at the rock concert when he tumbled in and started to daydream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to quote that yappy fiend," she sobbed.

He handed her a boomerang and she wiped her eyes gracefully. He noticed her suit looked hand-painted. "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 thyroid gland sagely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pummel my camera if I didn't yelp," she replied. "I said he's a boring lark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's boring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schibbel?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Zanzibar since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uneasily, "did Mister Schibbel ever talk about someone named Bosco Khanh?

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

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

She looked at him awkwardly. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she drawled, "and I don't want to be in Slovakia too long. I hope you can do something about Roy soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Slovakia as soon as I pack an arrowhead, a big smile, and my pot."

"You'd better take a pack of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he added wearily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred twenty dollars as a retainer," she replied hopelessly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of combs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and waded sympathetically out of the office. He stared impatiently after her.

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