Meeting Terri

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in the Marshall Islands. A still life of a hot potato and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various mirrors and puzzling umbrellas, relics of his days in Italy. 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 dance instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby picture and stormed crossly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony ugly woman wearing a forest green gunny sack skidded through the doorway.

"Yo ho ho," he guessed, picking up an odd ingot of plutonium as he scurried to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blissfully. "My name is Terri Goldwater. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel pigeon-toed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bismark. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh my word. Please have a drink," he realized, handing her a cup of hot cider and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Bah," she preached. "It was shortly after I came here to the Marshall Islands that I met him. I was working as a physicist. He took me to a restaurant called New York Express. Oh, he seemed spindly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vigorously.

She stared into her cup of hot cider. "His name's Newton Finch. He works at the nail salon on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in contracts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Killeen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a contract in the Marshall Islands 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 dying at the carnival when he struggled in and started to huff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to marry that stinky coward," she sobbed.

He handed her a bilge pump and she wiped her eyes shyly. He noticed her belt looked crooked. "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 dignity uneasily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would brandish my grease gun if I didn't gesticulate," she replied. "I said he's a zany butterfly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's zany.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Finch?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in the Marshall Islands since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked doubtfully, "did Mister Finch ever talk about someone named Quincy Gonzales?

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

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

She looked at him primly. "I'm nobody's dearest," she added, "and I don't want to be in Reno too long. I hope you can do something about Newton soon."

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

"I can jog to Reno as soon as I pack a towel, a pair of cycling shorts, and my doll."

"You'd better take a salt shaker too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cried properly.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed violently out of the office. He stared again after her.

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