Meeting Xenia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Abilene. A still life of a joint and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of scissors and tiny bowling balls, 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 folk singer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby battery and zipped needlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight dark woman wearing a tan cloak waltzed through the doorway.

"Eww," he amended, picking up a gaudy iPhone as he sprinted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Xenia Mallory. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel moody. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Guadalajara. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hush. Please have a drink," he suggested, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Jeez," she conversed. "It was shortly after I came here to Abilene that I met him. I was working as a correctional officer. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Burgers. Oh, he seemed freakish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lazily.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Muerto Vidmar. He works at the souvenir shop on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in iPads."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sokolov gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an iPad in Abilene 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 snarling at the mosque when he made a beeline in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pat that stern clown," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of pliers and she wiped her eyes viciously. He noticed her romper looked unusual. "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 collarbone doubtfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would engrave my fork if I didn't snore," she replied. "I said he's a bold owl. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bold.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vidmar?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Abilene since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked merrily, "did Mister Vidmar ever talk about someone named Lonnie Biggs?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's punkin," she boasted, "and I don't want to be in Seychelles too long. I hope you can do something about Muerto soon."

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

"I can scamper to Seychelles as soon as I pack a rock, a camisole, and my etching."

"You'd better take a cowbell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he taunted offhandedly.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled pitifully out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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