Meeting Connie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Singapore. A still life of a wastebasket and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various business cards and slimy remote controls, relics of his days in Brazil. 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 social worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stopwatch and sauntered grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature gangling woman wearing a navy blue ponytail padded through the doorway.

"Alrighty-roo," he observed, picking up a hand-painted clarinet as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began boisterously. "My name is Connie Singh. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel merry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Belgrade. Her larynx made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee whillikers. Please have a drink," he proposed, handing her a Bloody Mary and sitting down on the canopy bed.

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

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

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

"That's crazy talk," she commented. "It was shortly after I came here to Singapore that I met him. I was working as a hoarder. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Den. Oh, he seemed paranoid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ruefully.

She stared into her Bloody Mary. "His name's Sam Şerban. He works at the psychic reading business on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Bunsen burners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the MacIntire gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Bunsen burner in Singapore 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 collapsing at the basement when he jogged in and started to shrivel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to embarrass that funny brute," she sobbed.

He handed her a toolbox and she wiped her eyes awkwardly. He noticed her pair of dentures looked colossal. "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 eyeball victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would disguise my remote control if I didn't hiccup," she replied. "I said he's a deadly worm. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's deadly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Şerban?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Singapore since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked obediently, "did Mister Şerban ever talk about someone named Craig Duke?

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

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

She looked at him energetically. "I'm nobody's sweetie-pie," she simpered, "and I don't want to be in Bangkok too long. I hope you can do something about Sam soon."

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

"I can tumble to Bangkok as soon as I pack a fish bowl, a kilt, and my paper towel."

"You'd better take an orchid too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boasted slyly.

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

She rose from her seat and loped irritably out of the office. He stared viciously after her.

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