Meeting Bubbles

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Spain. A still life of a piece of chalk and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various campaign signs and mysterious horseshoes, relics of his days in Slovenia. 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 barista, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coupon and slipped grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby dark woman wearing a burgundy cape bounced through the doorway.

"Big deal," he stuttered, picking up a clean chain as he rolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began narrowly. "My name is Bubbles Pryor. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel statuesque. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Des Moines. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Optimum. Please have a drink," he proposed, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"What the devil," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Spain that I met him. I was working as a comedian. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Chef. Oh, he seemed moody enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected obediently.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Owen Winters. He works at the bike shop on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperweights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Zhao gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperweight in Spain 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 blushing at the K-Mart when he sprinted in and started to die. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mesmerize that bald peabrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a screwdriver and she wiped her eyes sweetly. He noticed her robe looked loose. "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 leg stupidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would jump on my doily if I didn't swallow," she replied. "I said he's a gentle chicken. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gentle.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Winters?"

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

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

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

He sounded more decisive than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his femur 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 barnyard since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked blissfully, "did Mister Winters ever talk about someone named Cory Fagan?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Zhao operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, baby-doll, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice stinky shack in Mauritius. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him dolefully. "I'm nobody's baby-doll," she avowed, "and I don't want to be in Mauritius too long. I hope you can do something about Owen soon."

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

"I can hobble to Mauritius as soon as I pack a cupcake, a name tag, and my coupon."

"You'd better take a paintbrush too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped later.

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

She rose from her seat and set out victoriously out of the office. He stared stealthily after her.

Next Chapter