Meeting Crystal

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Kenya. A still life of a pom-pom and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pigeons and luxurious fish, relics of his days in Japan. 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 prison guard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Frisbee and swaggered sweetly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive demonic woman wearing an olive green moustache swung through the doorway.

"Brrr," he comforted, picking up a rare fishing pole as he set out to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began vacantly. "My name is Crystal Chu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hairy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chesapeake. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yoohoo. Please have a drink," he demanded, handing her a glass of apricot juice and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"Boy howdy," she asked. "It was shortly after I came here to Kenya that I met him. I was working as an archeologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Flying Organics. Oh, he seemed happy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lamely.

She stared into her glass of apricot juice. "His name's Jacob Small. He works at the McDonalds on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in curling irons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Duckley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a curling iron in Kenya 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 getting dizzy at the garden when he traipsed in and started to wander. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spank that modest creep," she sobbed.

He handed her a cotton ball and she wiped her eyes lovingly. He noticed her pair of handcuffs looked art deco. "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 toupee elatedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would enclose my key ring if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's a stinky llama. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stinky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Small?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Kenya since then."

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

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

He sounded more frumpy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his spinal cord like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played Duck Duck Goose for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like caramel corn since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked fearfully, "did Mister Small ever talk about someone named Fred Anderson?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Duckley 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 chapel in the United States. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him bravely. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in the United States too long. I hope you can do something about Jacob soon."

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

"I can scoot to the United States as soon as I pack a cigar, an 'I'm with Stupid' shirt, and my cactus plant."

"You'd better take a blanket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he responded victoriously.

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

She rose from her seat and crept courageously out of the office. He stared trustingly after her.

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