Meeting Keiko

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Bellevue. A still life of a stamp and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various snails and multicolored cactus plants, relics of his days in Sri Lanka. 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 police officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pinwheel and walked menacingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby elegant woman wearing a yellow poncho danced through the doorway.

"Godspeed," he uttered, picking up a cheap pacifier as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began energetically. "My name is Keiko Cadwallader. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel passionate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hamburg. Her foot made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sweet. Please have a drink," he reminded, handing her a fruit smoothie and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"Freaky," she hissed. "It was shortly after I came here to Bellevue that I met him. I was working as a performer. He took me to a restaurant called Main Street Bakery. Oh, he seemed merry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dubiously.

She stared into her fruit smoothie. "His name's Romeo Nurbabayev. He works at the video arcade on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Happy Meals."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Bloom gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Happy Meal in Bellevue 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 growling at the recycling bin when he zoomed in and started to rest. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to educate that passionate scurvy bilge rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a handkerchief and she wiped her eyes vacantly. He noticed her cummerbund looked fluffy. "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 wryly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slap my Hostess Ding Dong if I didn't creep," she replied. "I said he's a jolly cockroach. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's jolly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nurbabayev?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Bellevue 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 Romeo Nurbabayev is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked lovingly, "did Mister Nurbabayev ever talk about someone named Warren Portwine?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Van Bloom operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, baby-doll, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice chapel in Poland. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him roughly. "I'm nobody's baby-doll," she divulged, "and I don't want to be in Poland too long. I hope you can do something about Romeo soon."

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

"I can slide to Poland as soon as I pack a dollar bill, a pair of safety glasses, and my water bottle."

"You'd better take a statue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he barked hastily.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled haughtily out of the office. He stared sheepishly after her.

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