Meeting Latrina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Portland. A still life of a banana and a dead tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various stacks of papers and woven accordions, 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 firefighter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bat and careened deftly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony ruddy woman wearing a silver ponytail skipped through the doorway.

"The joke's on me," he laughed, picking up an aromatic bell as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began urgently. "My name is Latrina Lombardi. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sloppy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lakewood. Her pituitary gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee whiz. Please have a drink," he repeated, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Oh," she asserted. "It was shortly after I came here to Portland that I met him. I was working as an astronomer. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Fortress. Oh, he seemed sociable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Keith Novak. He works at the candy store on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in egg shells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Doyle gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an egg shell in Portland 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 sitting still at the poetry reading when he breezed in and started to chant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reject that fashionable stumblebum," she sobbed.

He handed her a bird cage and she wiped her eyes fervently. He noticed her denim skirt looked bulky. "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 neck hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hide my coloring book if I didn't frown," she replied. "I said he's an impish bunny. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's impish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Novak?"

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

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

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

He sounded more high-strung than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his cheek like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and came to 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 nimbly, "did Mister Novak ever talk about someone named Rosario Montgomery?

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

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

She looked at him resignedly. "I'm nobody's sugar-bun," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in Katmandu too long. I hope you can do something about Keith soon."

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

"I can traipse to Katmandu as soon as I pack a lemon, a wet suit, and my cigar."

"You'd better take a calculator too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he implored frantically.

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

She rose from her seat and strode lazily out of the office. He stared hopefully after her.

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