Meeting Xaviera

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in the United Arab Emirates. A still life of a whoopee cushion and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various flowers and luxurious Rubik's cubes, relics of his days in France. 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 folk singer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chain and slumped frenetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump dapper woman wearing a teal Armani suit slumped through the doorway.

"Great balls of fire," he gabbed, picking up a disgusting telephone as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolorously. "My name is Xaviera Simmons. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel elderly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tulsa. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bleep. Please have a drink," he muttered, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Voilà," she hummed. "It was shortly after I came here to the United Arab Emirates that I met him. I was working as a prankster. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed dismal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected energetically.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Garth Mason. He works at the train depot on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hair brushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nelson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hair brush in the United Arab Emirates 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 gesticulating at the tattoo parlor when he danced in and started to chant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to remember that tactful cur," she sobbed.

He handed her a bowl and she wiped her eyes diligently. He noticed her skeleton costume looked smooth. "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 belly softly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dye my iPad if I didn't catch up," she replied. "I said he's an excitable pig. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's excitable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mason?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in the United Arab Emirates since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked deliberately, "did Mister Mason ever talk about someone named Oliver Corona?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Nelson operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, angel-face, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mud hut in Petaluma. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's angel-face," she simpered, "and I don't want to be in Petaluma too long. I hope you can do something about Garth soon."

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

"I can caper to Petaluma as soon as I pack a box of candy, a motorcycle helmet, and my abacus."

"You'd better take a pinwheel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stammered sharply.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred forty-one dollars as a retainer," she replied hungrily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Band-aids. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

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

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