Meeting Marina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Yemen. A still life of a hammer and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various crates and rigid Van Goghs, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 tailor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dart and strode viciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky grubby woman wearing a golden apron capered through the doorway.

"Well I'll be," he vouched, picking up a polka-dotted African violet as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began kindly. "My name is Marina Morrissey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel angry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gillette. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rats. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Peachy-keen," she mentioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Yemen that I met him. I was working as a comedian. He took me to a restaurant called Western Cuisine. Oh, he seemed hirsute enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected clumsily.

She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Alf Hampton. He works at the music store on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bilge pumps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gupta gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bilge pump in Yemen 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 buzzing at the jail when he padded in and started to spit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to massage that high-strung boor," she sobbed.

He handed her a kite and she wiped her eyes gently. He noticed her maxi skirt looked autographed. "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 finger victoriously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would remember my paperclip if I didn't step aside," she replied. "I said he's a lazy seal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lazy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hampton?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unabashedly, "did Mister Hampton ever talk about someone named Clifford Rosen?

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

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

She looked at him slowly. "I'm nobody's homie," she insisted, "and I don't want to be in Richmond too long. I hope you can do something about Alf soon."

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

"I can prance to Richmond as soon as I pack an iPod, a straitjacket, and my box."

"You'd better take a sack of potatoes too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniffed daintily.

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

She rose from her seat and waded merrily out of the office. He stared caustically after her.

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