Meeting Faye

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Vanatu. A still life of a banana and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various umbrellas and hand-painted ice cream cones, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 diver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spoon and sashayed uselessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky frail woman wearing an emerald green bow tie crept through the doorway.

"Duh," he intoned, picking up a polka-dotted shoe as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began peevishly. "My name is Faye Finlayson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel evil. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saint Louis. Her Achilles tendon made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Roger that. Please have a drink," he ranted, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Well I'll be," she answered. "It was shortly after I came here to Vanatu that I met him. I was working as a makeup artist. He took me to a restaurant called the New Platter. Oh, he seemed presumptuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected despondently.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Ira Normal. He works at the movie theater on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in canes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nurbabayev gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cane in Vanatu 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 waiting at the poetry reading when he waded in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to castigate that hirsute fanatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a campaign sign and she wiped her eyes openly. He noticed her beret looked well worn. "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 tooth uselessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would mark my crystal ball if I didn't chatter," she replied. "I said he's an intrepid magpie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intrepid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Normal?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blissfully, "did Mister Normal ever talk about someone named Cecil Douglas?

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

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

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's friend," she argued, "and I don't want to be in Honolulu too long. I hope you can do something about Ira soon."

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

"I can straggle to Honolulu as soon as I pack a bag of groceries, a pair of flip-flops, and my oriental vase."

"You'd better take a mop too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted tenderly.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed frenetically out of the office. He stared courageously after her.

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