Meeting Morgan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Liverpool. A still life of a coupon and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various toolboxes and delicate chess sets, relics of his days in the Czech Republic. 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 cowboy, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Happy Meal and slid gingerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed grubby woman wearing a metallic red pair of pajamas scampered through the doorway.

"Whew," he boasted, picking up an ornate computer as he marched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crazily. "My name is Morgan Sokolov. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleek. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Modesto. Her palm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nope. Please have a drink," he pointed out, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Ultimate," she cajoled. "It was shortly after I came here to Liverpool that I met him. I was working as a bullfighter. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Empire. Oh, he seemed vacuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected coldly.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Tim Yoshida. He works at the furniture store on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in snails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Curie gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a snail in Liverpool 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 belching at the K-Mart when he waded in and started to groan. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dump that tense wastrel," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of scissors and she wiped her eyes sourly. He noticed her badge 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 knee sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swat my spool of thread if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a stylish ghost. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stylish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Yoshida?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Liverpool since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cleverly, "did Mister Yoshida ever talk about someone named Rutherford Bryant?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she boomed, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Tim soon."

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

"I can dive to Peoria as soon as I pack a comb, a uniform, and my toothbrush."

"You'd better take a paper bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he explained slyly.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed positively out of the office. He stared accidentally after her.

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