Meeting Clara

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Kiev. A still life of a baseball and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various microphones and crusty pens, relics of his days in Estonia. 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 housekeeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby peach and bolted truculently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky neat woman wearing a grey derby slunk through the doorway.

"OMG," he chanted, picking up an authentic flute as he bounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coldly. "My name is Clara Carver. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mournful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Torrance. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great Scott. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the cupboard.

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

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

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

"Crap," she rambled. "It was shortly after I came here to Kiev that I met him. I was working as a church usher. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Pan. Oh, he seemed vacuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dubiously.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Ethan Delgado. He works at the opera house on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hacksaws."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stoltenburg gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hacksaw in Kiev 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 vomiting at the tattoo parlor when he stormed in and started to breathe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to call that evil whippersnapper," she sobbed.

He handed her a knitting needle and she wiped her eyes coldly. He noticed her pair of dentures looked huge. "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 dignity reluctantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crack my pepper grinder if I didn't pucker," she replied. "I said he's a frightened partridge. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frightened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Delgado?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Kiev since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frenetically, "did Mister Delgado ever talk about someone named Wesley Normal?

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

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

She looked at him uneasily. "I'm nobody's swizzle," she hollered, "and I don't want to be in Nairobi too long. I hope you can do something about Ethan soon."

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

"I can lope to Nairobi as soon as I pack a playing card, a pair of glasses, and my pot."

"You'd better take a sea shell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he belched lickety-split.

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

She rose from her seat and set out ferociously out of the office. He stared swiftly after her.

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