Meeting Kelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Mauritania. A still life of a file folder and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Barbie dolls and fancy microphones, relics of his days in Austria. 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 courier, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby kite and darted sympathetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge heavyset woman wearing a grey pair of toe shoes whirled through the doorway.

"If only," he stormed, picking up a bulky corsage as he dashed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began confidently. "My name is Kelly Frankowitz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sociable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Blimey. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Great Jehosaphat," she spat. "It was shortly after I came here to Mauritania that I met him. I was working as an auditor. He took me to a restaurant called the Galloping Burgers. Oh, he seemed zany enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected again.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Kyle Ordway. He works at the malt shop on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in darts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Shoemaker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dart in Mauritania 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 standing by at the spelling bee when he cantered in and started to drool. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to outwit that bad bugbrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a jar of olives and she wiped her eyes steadily. He noticed her necktie looked shiny. "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 fervently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my water bottle if I didn't play," she replied. "I said he's a sinister raven. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sinister.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ordway?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Mauritania since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dreamily, "did Mister Ordway ever talk about someone named John Hastings?

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

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

She looked at him truculently. "I'm nobody's hon," she sighed, "and I don't want to be in Mexico too long. I hope you can do something about Kyle soon."

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

"I can swing to Mexico as soon as I pack a houseplant, an Armani suit, and my calculator."

"You'd better take a tube of glue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interpreted clumsily.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline boldly out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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