Meeting Marina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Somalia. A still life of an accordion and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bags and hard diaries, relics of his days in Israel. 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 diplomat, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby egg shell and strolled suavely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature adorable woman wearing a peach bedsheet jumped through the doorway.

"Jeepers," he requested, picking up a used comb as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quietly. "My name is Marina Singh. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel exuberant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Memphis. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cheers. Please have a drink," he chanted, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the couch.

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

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

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

"You bet," she snorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Somalia that I met him. I was working as a film producer. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's Feast. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected mysteriously.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Kevin Castaneda. He works at the brewery on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of fuzzy dice."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bean gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of fuzzy dice in Somalia 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 mumbling at the Elvis chapel when he flew in and started to look angry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that wary hoodlum," she sobbed.

He handed her an artificial flower and she wiped her eyes wryly. He noticed her big grin 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 vein craftily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would slice my egg shell if I didn't faint," she replied. "I said he's a creepy orangutan. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's creepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Castaneda?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Somalia since then."

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

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

He sounded more confident than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his face like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and stood by for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fruit since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked gingerly, "did Mister Castaneda ever talk about someone named Tex Whitefoot?

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

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she sniffed, "and I don't want to be in El Paso too long. I hope you can do something about Kevin soon."

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

"I can skitter to El Paso as soon as I pack a pumpkin, a garland, and my whistle."

"You'd better take a map too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he intimated hopefully.

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

She rose from her seat and darted elatedly out of the office. He stared coolly after her.

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