Meeting Kristi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Bucharest. A still life of a clothespin and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various salt shakers and rusty bicycles, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 scout, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cane and set out dolorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight lean woman wearing a magenta pair of tights breezed through the doorway.

"Aaaw," he wailed, picking up a damp brochure as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began happily. "My name is Kristi Finegan. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel disagreeable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Riverside. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sheesh. Please have a drink," he alleged, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the counter.

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

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

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

"Wow," she declaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Bucharest that I met him. I was working as an astrologer. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Kettle. Oh, he seemed obnoxious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Abe Craft. He works at the restaurant on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in urns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Douglas gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an urn in Bucharest 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 chuckling at the bedroom when he hobbled in and started to get dizzy. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to cover that sassy poopyhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a vase and she wiped her eyes madly. He noticed her pair of Reeboks looked modern. "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 hip excitedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would engrave my hockey puck if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's a humble Guinea pig. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's humble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Craft?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Bucharest since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked positively, "did Mister Craft ever talk about someone named Gilmo Vandewater?

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

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

She looked at him violently. "I'm nobody's cookie," she orated, "and I don't want to be in Australia too long. I hope you can do something about Abe soon."

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

"I can bound to Australia as soon as I pack a joint, a pair of socks, and my stick."

"You'd better take a paper towel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he panted jokingly.

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

She rose from her seat and dove ignobly out of the office. He stared hopefully after her.

Next Chapter