Meeting Paige

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Pueblo. A still life of a telephone and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dictionaries and damp corks, relics of his days in Austria. 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 contractor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stamp and hobbled wildly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny haggard woman wearing a purple gold medal lumbered through the doorway.

"Can it," he reacted, picking up a fluffy paperweight as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began despondently. "My name is Paige Garcia. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brazen. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Albuquerque. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Really. Please have a drink," he intimated, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Lordy," she squeaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Pueblo that I met him. I was working as a hobo. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Bistro. Oh, he seemed ungainly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Lucifer Kissling. He works at the gift shop on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microphones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sweeney gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microphone in Pueblo 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 adjusting the clock at the recycling bin when he breezed in and started to talk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to write that emotional lamebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a pencil sharpener and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked gruesome. "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 chin sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kiss my cardboard box if I didn't whistle," she replied. "I said he's a masculine bull. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's masculine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kissling?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Pueblo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lazily, "did Mister Kissling ever talk about someone named Ace Munich?

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

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

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's snookums," she whined, "and I don't want to be in Rome too long. I hope you can do something about Lucifer soon."

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

"I can canter to Rome as soon as I pack a shoe, a cockroach costume, and my floppy disk."

"You'd better take a rope too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered obediently.

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

She rose from her seat and swaggered gruffly out of the office. He stared nimbly after her.

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