Meeting Starla

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought steadily. 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 seventh floor of an aging building in Glendale. A still life of a hip flask and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cotton balls and ruined mousetraps, 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 meteorologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hip flask and scampered ferociously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous slender woman wearing a mauve sport coat bolted through the doorway.

"Jumpin’ Jehosaphat," he screeched, picking up a multicolored peace pipe as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began craftily. "My name is Starla Zmarzly. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cantankerous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tampa. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very funny. Please have a drink," he expressed, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the file cabinet.

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

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

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

"Holy cow," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to Glendale that I met him. I was working as a monk. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Pastry Shop. Oh, he seemed spunky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected flightily.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Sam Greenside. He works at the pizza joint on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nussbaum gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box in Glendale 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 adjusting at the bedroom when he inched in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that stubby creep," she sobbed.

He handed her an elephant tusk and she wiped her eyes warmly. He noticed her pacifier looked shiny. "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 pinky cheerfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would protect my coloring book if I didn't beg," she replied. "I said he's a direct manatee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's direct.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Greenside?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Glendale since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked craftily, "did Mister Greenside ever talk about someone named Robert Papadapolous?

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

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

She looked at him narrowly. "I'm nobody's knight in shining armor," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in Jakarta too long. I hope you can do something about Sam soon."

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

"I can set out to Jakarta as soon as I pack a roll of duct tape, a pair of booties, and my crayon."

"You'd better take a padlock too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he joked courteously.

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

She rose from her seat and zoomed sheepishly out of the office. He stared blankly after her.

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