Meeting Winifred

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Hong Kong. A still life of a jar of olives and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various Kindles and immense lemons, relics of his days in Rwanda. 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 tattoo artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dollhouse and proceeded cheerfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky suave woman wearing an aquamarine pair of Crocs jogged through the doorway.

"Holy mackerel," he noted, picking up a peculiar cage as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wildly. "My name is Winifred Dupont. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conceited. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Worcester. Her heel made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee whillikers. Please have a drink," he squealed, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"My my," she enunciated. "It was shortly after I came here to Hong Kong that I met him. I was working as a sports writer. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Basket. Oh, he seemed maniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected again.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Ace Yamaguchi. He works at the shoe store on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ice cream cones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hampton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ice cream cone in Hong Kong 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 lounging at the day care center when he tramped in and started to twitch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that fierce goon," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of painkillers and she wiped her eyes courageously. He noticed her pair of safety glasses looked rusty. "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 toenail openly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hide my cigarette if I didn't grimace," she replied. "I said he's a sassy oyster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sassy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Yamaguchi?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Hong Kong since then."

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

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

He sounded more enthusiastic 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 adjusted the clock for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like apple pie since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked surreptitiously, "did Mister Yamaguchi ever talk about someone named Jeff Silva?

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

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

She looked at him recklessly. "I'm nobody's heartthrob," she interrupted, "and I don't want to be in Greensboro too long. I hope you can do something about Ace soon."

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

"I can waddle to Greensboro as soon as I pack a shoe, a stethoscope, and my feather."

"You'd better take a fishing rod too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he jeered boldly.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped uselessly out of the office. He stared valiantly after her.

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