Meeting Chris

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Athens. A still life of a clock and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various telephone books and gleaming acorns, relics of his days in Israel. 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 sales clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pipe and sailed hopefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature ugly woman wearing a violet pair of combat boots bounded through the doorway.

"Hah," he interpreted, picking up a gigantic stone as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quietly. "My name is Chris Kissling. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel petulant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tripoli. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bada bing bada boom. Please have a drink," he squeaked, handing her a Bacardi and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Aarrggh," she spat. "It was shortly after I came here to Athens that I met him. I was working as an electrical engineer. He took me to a restaurant called Seaside Grill. Oh, he seemed relaxed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cruelly.

She stared into her Bacardi. "His name's Gino Kafka. He works at the psychic reading business on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hair dryers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Withers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hair dryer in Athens 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 hanging around at the swimming pool when he bounded in and started to grimace. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to praise that zany louse," she sobbed.

He handed her a cage and she wiped her eyes softly. He noticed her polo shirt looked damp. "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 toenail lazily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wrap my bottle of perfume if I didn't sigh," she replied. "I said he's a bilious hermit crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bilious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kafka?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Athens since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked again, "did Mister Kafka ever talk about someone named Brent Slade?

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

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

She looked at him immediately. "I'm nobody's sweet," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Belize too long. I hope you can do something about Gino soon."

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

"I can swagger to Belize as soon as I pack a baseball bat, a bracelet, and my baton."

"You'd better take a bugle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he snarled hungrily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred eleven dollars as a retainer," she replied cunningly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Lego sets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and careened charmingly out of the office. He stared truculently after her.

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