Meeting Oksana

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Jersey City. A still life of a flowerpot and a feather hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various stamps and unusual dollhouses, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 missionary, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dictionary and cantered deftly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny frizzle-headed woman wearing a camouflage coat of mail made a beeline through the doorway.

"Zap," he called, picking up a spongy cigarette as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pityingly. "My name is Oksana Woolsey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel lanky. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tut-tut. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the wardrobe.

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

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

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

"Waa," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Jersey City that I met him. I was working as a dog walker. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Sushi. Oh, he seemed creepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected offhandedly.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Geoffrey Simon. He works at the café on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Barbie dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Shaw gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Barbie doll in Jersey City 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 screeching at the pool hall when he sprinted in and started to squint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fight with that poised big oaf," she sobbed.

He handed her a diagram and she wiped her eyes sweetly. He noticed her pair of heels looked hefty. "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 thyroid gland strictly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would silence my nail if I didn't laugh," she replied. "I said he's a zany reindeer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's zany.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Simon?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Jersey City since then."

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

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

He sounded more noxious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his little finger 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 stable since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked nicely, "did Mister Simon ever talk about someone named Devin Emerson?

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

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

She looked at him immediately. "I'm nobody's little one," she raved, "and I don't want to be in Cape Town too long. I hope you can do something about Geoffrey soon."

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

"I can stride to Cape Town as soon as I pack a gun, a sarong, and my pain pill."

"You'd better take a garbage can too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he decided temperamentally.

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

She rose from her seat and climbed admiringly out of the office. He stared rapidly after her.

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