Meeting Candi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Warsaw. A still life of a crayon and a twig hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pain pills and coarse Kindles, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 bicycle messenger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clarinet and scampered timidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony beautiful woman wearing an emerald green wristwatch dashed through the doorway.

"Land's sakes," he urged, picking up a rigid can of shaving cream as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unexpectedly. "My name is Candi Costello. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gallant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Beijing. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Retch. Please have a drink," he purred, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Pshaw," she mentioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Warsaw that I met him. I was working as a scout. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Sun. Oh, he seemed maniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sympathetically.

She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Dick Saramago. He works at the gift shop on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in baskets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Daniels gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a basket in Warsaw 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 chanting at the ski resort when he jogged in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pin that lanky tramp," she sobbed.

He handed her a pacifier and she wiped her eyes nonchalantly. He noticed her flour sack looked authentic. "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 hand nonchalantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strengthen my Hostess Ding Dong if I didn't pace," she replied. "I said he's an awkward gnu. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's awkward.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Saramago?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cleverly, "did Mister Saramago ever talk about someone named Simeon Vargas?

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

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

She looked at him stupidly. "I'm nobody's little one," she fumed, "and I don't want to be in Mali too long. I hope you can do something about Dick soon."

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

"I can parade to Mali as soon as I pack a button, a pair of briefs, and my can of soup."

"You'd better take a dart too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he croaked cheerfully.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled intensely out of the office. He stared humbly after her.

Next Chapter