Meeting Drew

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Katmandu. A still life of a paperclip and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various saddles and gigantic pepper grinders, relics of his days in Turkey. 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 major in the Iranian Air force, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toy and inched blissfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth scruffy woman wearing a camouflage Armani suit tiptoed through the doorway.

"Pshaw," he groaned, picking up an automatic soccer ball as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began mysteriously. "My name is Drew Carter. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sincere. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Orlando. Her belly button made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yowee. Please have a drink," he spewed, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"If only," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Katmandu that I met him. I was working as a florist. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Mess Hall. Oh, he seemed careful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected testily.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Larry Quick. He works at the bike shop on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in buckets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Case gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bucket in Katmandu 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 pondering at the rock concert when he struggled in and started to meow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to delight that emotional mangy rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of scissors and she wiped her eyes fearfully. He noticed her bra looked odd. "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 appendix ingeniously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would re-evaluate my bat if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's a stylish bumblebee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stylish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Quick?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Katmandu since then."

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

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

He sounded more conceited than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his larynx like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and came to 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 haughtily, "did Mister Quick ever talk about someone named Vinny Ibrahim?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Case operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice Cape Cod in Mumbai. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him curiously. "I'm nobody's honey-pie," she cackled, "and I don't want to be in Mumbai too long. I hope you can do something about Larry soon."

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

"I can parade to Mumbai as soon as I pack a pinwheel, a jacket, and my box."

"You'd better take a Lego set too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he remarked vigorously.

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

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

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