Meeting Christina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Bucharest. A still life of a plaque and a tree branch hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various stamps and small packs of gum, relics of his days in Lebanon. 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 scientist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby duffel bag and sprinted blissfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy haggard woman wearing a blue bathrobe slithered through the doorway.

"Yeehah," he yelped, picking up a decrepit beach ball as he set out to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolorously. "My name is Christina Zilch. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel elderly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Nashville. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-huh. Please have a drink," he burbled, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"If only," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Bucharest that I met him. I was working as a music teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Buffet. Oh, he seemed stylish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tensely.

She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Saul Owen. He works at the deli on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peanuts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Payne gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peanut 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 coming over at the Seven-Eleven when he careened in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to massage that cautious bum," she sobbed.

He handed her a pop bottle and she wiped her eyes thankfully. He noticed her pair of cargo pants looked slimy. "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 abdomen blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would study my clam if I didn't barf," she replied. "I said he's a decisive monkey. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's decisive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Owen?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked woefully, "did Mister Owen ever talk about someone named Tracy Bundy?

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

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

She looked at him deliberately. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she mouthed, "and I don't want to be in Newark too long. I hope you can do something about Saul soon."

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

"I can caper to Newark as soon as I pack an avocado, a visor, and my washrag."

"You'd better take a Barbie doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screeched warmly.

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

She rose from her seat and strode coldly out of the office. He stared defiantly after her.

Next Chapter