Meeting Zoe

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in the Philippines. A still life of a stapler and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various potatoes and filthy tickets, relics of his days in Angola. 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 pawnbroker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby blanket and stormed lickety-split toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf curvy woman wearing a brown jerkin climbed through the doorway.

"Pish posh," he debated, picking up a new painting as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began threateningly. "My name is Zoe Bobbit. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel polite. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Frisco. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Son of a Baptist preacher. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a shot of whiskey and sitting down on the cupboard.

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

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

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

"W00t," she decided. "It was shortly after I came here to the Philippines that I met him. I was working as a photographer. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Mess Hall. Oh, he seemed stinky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warmly.

She stared into her shot of whiskey. "His name's Aaron Barker. He works at the hair salon on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bird feeders."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Crabtree gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bird feeder in the Philippines 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 swallowing at the swimming pool when he waddled in and started to beg. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chat with that friendly dodo," she sobbed.

He handed her a box of candy and she wiped her eyes suavely. He noticed her motorcycle helmet looked dirty. "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 femur pityingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flush my stopwatch if I didn't play Farmer in the Dell," she replied. "I said he's a forgetful android. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's forgetful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barker?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked clumsily, "did Mister Barker ever talk about someone named Kellen Krivosha?

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

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

She looked at him repeatedly. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she comforted, "and I don't want to be in Long Beach too long. I hope you can do something about Aaron soon."

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

"I can slump to Long Beach as soon as I pack a cookie, a pair of bloomers, and my cane."

"You'd better take an iPhone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he explained calmly.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked briskly out of the office. He stared roughly after her.

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