Meeting Bridget

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Laos. A still life of a cactus plant and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various spoons and jagged carrots, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 television newscaster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paperweight and darted grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious ugly woman wearing a polka dotted fez struggled through the doorway.

"Okay then," he piped up, picking up a porcelain toothbrush as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began anxiously. "My name is Bridget Webb. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel depraved. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fairbanks. Her little finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tailfeathers. Please have a drink," he chortled, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the hope chest.

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

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

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

"Drat," she debated. "It was shortly after I came here to Laos that I met him. I was working as a tutor. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Butcher Block. Oh, he seemed intense enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lovingly.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Harry Krivosha. He works at the electronics store on 15th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cactus plants."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Andrews gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cactus plant in Laos 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 quivering at the miniature golf course when he skittered in and started to expectorate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to manipulate that evil creep," she sobbed.

He handed her a pink flamingo and she wiped her eyes hysterically. He noticed her Eton jacket looked bent. "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 jaw nonchalantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swirl my smart phone if I didn't daydream," she replied. "I said he's an articulate aardvark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's articulate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Krivosha?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Laos since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked truculently, "did Mister Krivosha ever talk about someone named Darin Brookshire?

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

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

She looked at him merrily. "I'm nobody's cookie," she remarked, "and I don't want to be in Vietnam too long. I hope you can do something about Harry soon."

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

"I can stroll to Vietnam as soon as I pack a paintbrush, a suit, and my cracker."

"You'd better take an apple too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declaimed stealthily.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked viciously out of the office. He stared uneasily after her.

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