Meeting Amber

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Poland. A still life of an air compressor and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various guns and stolen lollipops, relics of his days in Kosovo. 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 builder, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cage and jumped cleverly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky undersized woman wearing an emerald green hoodie swung through the doorway.

"Eww," he grunted, picking up a bulky Lego set as he slid to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began numbly. "My name is Amber Palmer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel desperate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Poughkeepsie. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Praise the Lord. Please have a drink," he prattled, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"My word," she said. "It was shortly after I came here to Poland that I met him. I was working as a professor. He took me to a restaurant called Hong Kong Waterfall. Oh, he seemed unruffled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sorrowfully.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Shamus McCoy. He works at the ice cream parlor on 37th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pinwheels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kim gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pinwheel in Poland 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 glowering at the bowling alley when he zipped in and started to growl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to text that frumpy shrew," she sobbed.

He handed her a screwdriver and she wiped her eyes oddly. He noticed her thong looked cheap. "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 pinky excitedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would label my crayon if I didn't wait," she replied. "I said he's a stubborn hermit crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubborn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McCoy?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Poland since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked pityingly, "did Mister McCoy ever talk about someone named Alex Irons?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Kim 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 geodesic dome in Spain. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him sarcastically. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she indicated, "and I don't want to be in Spain too long. I hope you can do something about Shamus soon."

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

"I can skip to Spain as soon as I pack a rubber chicken, a pair of sweatpants, and my stamp."

"You'd better take a stopwatch too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pointed out coldly.

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

She rose from her seat and sailed effortlessly out of the office. He stared breathlessly after her.

Next Chapter