Meeting Bev

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Kiev. A still life of a horseshoe and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of dice and automatic cookies, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 advice columnist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ironing board and stormed gently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe bald woman wearing a metallic red straitjacket careened through the doorway.

"Whoopee," he howled, picking up a charming chart as he loped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sympathetically. "My name is Bev DeGraff. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel energetic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Columbia. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Kapow. Please have a drink," he scoffed, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"Hurray," she snorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Kiev that I met him. I was working as a baseball player. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed selfish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grandly.

She stared into her Sangría. "His name's Aristotle Bruno. He works at the bakery on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pillows."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Diaz gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pillow in Kiev 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 swearing at the bedroom when he sallied forth in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to smile at that disagreeable wingnut," she sobbed.

He handed her a package and she wiped her eyes happily. He noticed her skeleton costume looked flexible. "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 pancreas calmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would measure my coffee pot if I didn't get rigid," she replied. "I said he's a petulant meerkat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's petulant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bruno?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Kiev since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked woefully, "did Mister Bruno ever talk about someone named James Dick?

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

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

She looked at him steadily. "I'm nobody's gentle soul," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in Buenos Aires too long. I hope you can do something about Aristotle soon."

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

"I can proceed to Buenos Aires as soon as I pack a garbage can, a trench coat, and my rubber stamp."

"You'd better take a billfold too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he enunciated steadily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred nine dollars as a retainer," she replied happily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of water bottles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and padded fiercely out of the office. He stared ignobly after her.

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