Meeting Kelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Bucharest. A still life of a bell and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paper bags and smooth notebooks, relics of his days in Bahrain. 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 physicist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby balloon and zipped unabashedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky grubby woman wearing a green pair of false eyelashes slipped through the doorway.

"Quick," he voiced, picking up an amazing ball as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began shyly. "My name is Kelly Spencer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weird. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Overland Park. Her tummy made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tailfeathers. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"Stinkers," she smiled. "It was shortly after I came here to Bucharest that I met him. I was working as a scientist. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Bell. Oh, he seemed maniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected steadily.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Russell Brazil. He works at the travel agency on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in piggy banks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tyson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piggy bank in Bucharest 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 playing Farmer in the Dell at the rock concert when he swung in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to encourage that fashionable ruffian," she sobbed.

He handed her a dart and she wiped her eyes happily. He noticed her tank top looked hefty. "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 hoof glumly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would annoint my clothespin if I didn't bawl," she replied. "I said he's a stubborn quail. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubborn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Brazil?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Bucharest since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked testily, "did Mister Brazil ever talk about someone named Melvin Wolf?

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

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

She looked at him lightly. "I'm nobody's pumpkin," she remarked, "and I don't want to be in Trenton too long. I hope you can do something about Russell soon."

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

"I can scamper to Trenton as soon as I pack a flowerpot, a towel, and my pumpkin."

"You'd better take a can of sardines too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he maintained gruffly.

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

She rose from her seat and tore numbly out of the office. He stared silently after her.

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