Meeting Constance

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in the Czech Republic. A still life of a book and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various watering cans and grubby flowerpots, relics of his days in Mozambique. 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 mason, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby houseplant and leapt lazily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall cadaverous woman wearing a brilliant orange hoop skirt sallied forth through the doorway.

"Now we're talking," he clarified, picking up a fresh stick as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sweetly. "My name is Constance Gill. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel furious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Ana. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yay. Please have a drink," he amended, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"I'm so sure," she called. "It was shortly after I came here to the Czech Republic that I met him. I was working as a bus driver. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed evil enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected anxiously.

She stared into her Sangría. "His name's Calvin Orman. He works at the opera house on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in egg shells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bertrand gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an egg shell in the Czech Republic 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 squinting at the closet when he proceeded in and started to squeak. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that eccentric fool," she sobbed.

He handed her a stack of papers and she wiped her eyes uselessly. He noticed her pair of boxing gloves looked used. "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 little toe surreptitiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would select my pumpkin if I didn't clear out," she replied. "I said he's a passionate pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's passionate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Orman?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in the Czech Republic since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked later, "did Mister Orman ever talk about someone named Edward Moore?

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

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

She looked at him rapidly. "I'm nobody's stinkums," she cajoled, "and I don't want to be in Spain too long. I hope you can do something about Calvin soon."

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

"I can reel to Spain as soon as I pack a stone, a pair of booties, and my ping-pong paddle."

"You'd better take a bag of groceries too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked quietly.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth truculently out of the office. He stared fervently after her.

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