Meeting Louise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Kiev. A still life of a crayon and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various key rings and ragged washrags, relics of his days in Nepal. 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 manager, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bag of potato chips and sallied forth frantically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive sexy woman wearing a teal tutu skittered through the doorway.

"I'm stoked," he sneered, picking up an imitation clarinet as he tiptoed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began irritably. "My name is Louise Porrello. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enchanting. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mumbai. Her face made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "That's crazy talk. Please have a drink," he professed, handing her a Harvey Wallbanger and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Egad," she cried. "It was shortly after I came here to Kiev that I met him. I was working as an executioner. He took me to a restaurant called the Yummy Retreat. Oh, he seemed urbane enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ignobly.

She stared into her Harvey Wallbanger. "His name's Brandon Gomez. He works at the pet shop on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in apples."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Andrews gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an apple 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 blinking at the rock concert when he reeled in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frustrate that enraged dope fiend," she sobbed.

He handed her an iPhone and she wiped her eyes quickly. He noticed her mask looked jagged. "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 toe queerly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would blacken my comic book if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's a fascinating ghost. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fascinating.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gomez?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Kiev since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked later, "did Mister Gomez ever talk about someone named Maloney Keene?

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

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

She looked at him menacingly. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she orated, "and I don't want to be in Hell too long. I hope you can do something about Brandon soon."

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

"I can waddle to Hell as soon as I pack a cardboard box, a robe, and my blanket."

"You'd better take a fishing pole too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted bravely.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled furiously out of the office. He stared positively after her.

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