Meeting Kathy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Oxford. A still life of a mop and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various teapots and expensive clarinets, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 street sweeper, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mop and jogged cheerfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout good looking woman wearing a polka dotted bedsheet sneaked through the doorway.

"Rubbish," he implored, picking up a ridiculous microscope as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began trustingly. "My name is Kathy Stoltenburg. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel generous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tokyo. Her larynx made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Omigosh. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Jeepers creepers," she yelled. "It was shortly after I came here to Oxford that I met him. I was working as a massage therapist. He took me to a restaurant called the Jade Papaya. Oh, he seemed serious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wildly.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Kyle Weiner. He works at the insurance agency on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flowerpots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Xing gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flowerpot in Oxford 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 cheering at the carnival when he zipped in and started to come to. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bury that urbane nerd," she sobbed.

He handed her a business card and she wiped her eyes boisterously. He noticed her Superman costume looked curved. "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 wrist ferociously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bless my rubber chicken if I didn't hang around," she replied. "I said he's a clever bird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's clever.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Weiner?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked zestily, "did Mister Weiner ever talk about someone named Irving Dotson?

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

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

She looked at him curiously. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she alleged, "and I don't want to be in Sudan too long. I hope you can do something about Kyle soon."

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

"I can galumph to Sudan as soon as I pack a garbage can, a ski mask, and my dollar bill."

"You'd better take a spoon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he questioned nervously.

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

She rose from her seat and strode oddly out of the office. He stared madly after her.

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