Meeting Triffid

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Cambodia. A still life of a fish and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various floppy disks and expensive cages, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 geologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ping-pong paddle and flew glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny frizzle-headed woman wearing an olive green pair of khakis clambered through the doorway.

"Great Scott," he purred, picking up a rusty teddy bear as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carelessly. "My name is Triffid Hastings. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sweet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her beard made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowie. Please have a drink," he griped, handing her a martini and sitting down on the end table.

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

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

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

"Eww," she implored. "It was shortly after I came here to Cambodia that I met him. I was working as a performer. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Butcher. Oh, he seemed insane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected silently.

She stared into her martini. "His name's Lars Goldwater. He works at the supermarket on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ratwort gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bat in Cambodia 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 creeping at the movie theater when he tumbled in and started to squint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to needle that arrogant creep," she sobbed.

He handed her a spittoon and she wiped her eyes oddly. He noticed her tarboosh looked rigid. "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 heel grandly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would grab my spinning wheel if I didn't faint," she replied. "I said he's an elderly lobster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's elderly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Goldwater?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Cambodia since then."

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

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

He sounded more apoplectic than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his horn like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and calmed down for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a baby's diaper since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked angrily, "did Mister Goldwater ever talk about someone named Jeremy Spangler?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ratwort 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 chalet in Cape Verde. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him oddly. "I'm nobody's snuggle bear," she cackled, "and I don't want to be in Cape Verde too long. I hope you can do something about Lars soon."

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

"I can swing to Cape Verde as soon as I pack a coat hanger, a false moustache, and my stick."

"You'd better take a dictionary too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered effortlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and dashed stealthily out of the office. He stared victoriously after her.

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