Meeting Cassie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Lima. A still life of a dollar bill and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various diaries and modern playing cards, relics of his days in Albania. 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 graphic designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pen and capered slyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard heavyset woman wearing a salmon midi skirt capered through the doorway.

"Alrighty-roo," he mused, picking up a damp barbell as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began deftly. "My name is Cassie Radcliffe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel rugged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cheyenne. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Exaltations. Please have a drink," he divulged, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the water bed.

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

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

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

"Horse feathers," she stormed. "It was shortly after I came here to Lima that I met him. I was working as a physician. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing House. Oh, he seemed proud enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lazily.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Octavio Overland. He works at the novelty shop on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bottles of painkillers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McClain gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bottle of painkillers in Lima 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 burbling at the church when he tramped in and started to sway. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to correct that sassy baby," she sobbed.

He handed her a basketball and she wiped her eyes unabashedly. He noticed her jerkin looked cotton. "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 nose flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shake my fish bowl if I didn't calm down," she replied. "I said he's a sober moose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sober.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Overland?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Lima since then."

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

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

He sounded more masculine than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his eyeball 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 boiled cabbage since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked thankfully, "did Mister Overland ever talk about someone named Walter Greybottom?

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

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

She looked at him sarcastically. "I'm nobody's precious," she squealed, "and I don't want to be in Costa Rica too long. I hope you can do something about Octavio soon."

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

"I can sashay to Costa Rica as soon as I pack a cell phone, a jacket, and my remote control."

"You'd better take a baseball bat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yawned ferociously.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded gracefully out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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