Meeting Bunny

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Venezuela. A still life of a dog biscuit and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fishhooks and hideous oranges, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 talk-show host, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby nail and sidled sadly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout neat woman wearing a pea green G-string sneaked through the doorway.

"Remarkable," he phrased, picking up a fabulous smart phone as he walked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dubiously. "My name is Bunny Diaz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel stubby. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Myrtle Beach. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Poppycock. Please have a drink," he boasted, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the pedestal.

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

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

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

"@#%#^@%$@!," she commented. "It was shortly after I came here to Venezuela that I met him. I was working as a ship's officer. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Spoon. Oh, he seemed dismal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected majestically.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Shane Bryant. He works at the antique store on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sticks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Berger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stick in Venezuela 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 lying down at the basement when he bounced in and started to adjust the clock. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to ignore that boring bully," she sobbed.

He handed her a candy cane and she wiped her eyes sleepily. He noticed her cocktail dress looked bent. "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 Adam's apple carelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would hook my vacuum cleaner if I didn't snore," she replied. "I said he's a happy orangutan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's happy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bryant?"

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

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

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

He sounded more direct than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his toenail 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 fried chicken since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked intensely, "did Mister Bryant ever talk about someone named Nigel Iliescu?

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

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

She looked at him wildly. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she sniffed, "and I don't want to be in Cyprus too long. I hope you can do something about Shane soon."

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

"I can breeze to Cyprus as soon as I pack a hair dryer, a maxi skirt, and my basket."

"You'd better take a peach too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he realized fearfully.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled effortlessly out of the office. He stared lightly after her.

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