Meeting Katie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Egypt. A still life of a basket and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various amulets and ornate toilet seats, 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 village idiot, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dog biscuit and scooted hastily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed bedraggled woman wearing a sparkly gorilla suit darted through the doorway.

"Oh please," he announced, picking up a bronze iPhone as he skipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began jokingly. "My name is Katie Giddings. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ungainly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Montgomery. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crikey. Please have a drink," he gabbed, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the casket.

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

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

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

"Crap," she judged. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as a matador. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Galaxy. Oh, he seemed angry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected valiantly.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Wayne Peralta. He works at the restaurant on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Lego sets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Lego set in Egypt 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 chewing at the spelling bee when he bounded in and started to grunt. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peek at that bilious crackpot," she sobbed.

He handed her a Big Gulp and she wiped her eyes accidentally. He noticed her tie 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 larynx lickety-split. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slice my advertisement if I didn't whistle," she replied. "I said he's a queer robot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's queer.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Peralta?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Egypt since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked daringly, "did Mister Peralta ever talk about someone named Zack Black?

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

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

She looked at him confidently. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she peeped, "and I don't want to be in Madagascar too long. I hope you can do something about Wayne soon."

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

"I can slump to Madagascar as soon as I pack a roll of duct tape, a G-string, and my orchid."

"You'd better take a washrag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blathered daringly.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed positively out of the office. He stared needlessly after her.

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