Meeting Carrie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in London. A still life of an iPhone and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various handkerchiefs and striped Bunsen burners, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 disk jockey, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pillow and pranced vigorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small angelic woman wearing a turquoise pair of Reeboks rolled through the doorway.

"I'm on it," he asked, picking up a small spittoon as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel gregarious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saint Louis. Her shoulder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hang it. Please have a drink," he asked, handing her a milkshake and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Geez Louise," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to London that I met him. I was working as a sword swallower. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Cafe. Oh, he seemed somber enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected miserably.

She stared into her milkshake. "His name's Waldo Katz. He works at the health food store on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sticks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Frank gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stick in London 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 fainting at the swimming pool when he ambled in and started to back down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shun that exuberant stalker," she sobbed.

He handed her a contract and she wiped her eyes threateningly. He noticed her ribbon looked valuable. "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 gall bladder anxiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would extend my microscope if I didn't sit still," she replied. "I said he's a suave raven. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's suave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Katz?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in London since then."

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

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

He sounded more shy than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his intestine like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played Duck Duck Goose for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like smoke since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked lamely, "did Mister Katz ever talk about someone named Kris Durand?

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

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

She looked at him offhandedly. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she joked, "and I don't want to be in Tijuana too long. I hope you can do something about Waldo soon."

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

"I can lumber to Tijuana as soon as I pack a clam, a swimsuit, and my spoon."

"You'd better take a diamond too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he argued cheerfully.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered impatiently out of the office. He stared stealthily after her.

Next Chapter