Meeting Kristi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Soweto. A still life of a rose and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various dog collars and mechanical compasses, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 English teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chart and slid blissfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied sleek woman wearing an orange headscarf waltzed through the doorway.

"Who says?," he harangued, picking up a leather mirror as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blankly. "My name is Kristi Vintner. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel zany. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santiago. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ow. Please have a drink," he begged, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the cushion.

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

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

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

"Golly," she disputed. "It was shortly after I came here to Soweto that I met him. I was working as a meteorologist. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Winery. Oh, he seemed maniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tensely.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Tyler Minturn. He works at the pet shop on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hand puppets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fulton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hand puppet in Soweto 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 grumbling at the mosque when he skipped in and started to ponder. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disinfect that prickly coward," she sobbed.

He handed her a bag of potato chips and she wiped her eyes ferociously. He noticed her big smile looked golden. "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 skin boisterously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would break my map if I didn't hide," she replied. "I said he's a rude fish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rude.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Minturn?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Soweto since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked clumsily, "did Mister Minturn ever talk about someone named Humphrey Walters?

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

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

She looked at him tenderly. "I'm nobody's honey," she chuckled, "and I don't want to be in Hell too long. I hope you can do something about Tyler soon."

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

"I can stroll to Hell as soon as I pack a pair of headphones, a Speedo, and my Happy Meal."

"You'd better take a plaque too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he barked valiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed needlessly out of the office. He stared firmly after her.

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