Meeting Emily

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Kuwait. A still life of a chart and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various sacks of potatoes and sophisticated pain pills, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 Egyptologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clipboard and lurched cruelly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short sexy woman wearing a periwinkle derby climbed through the doorway.

"Goodness," he concluded, picking up a gooey thumb drive as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began solemnly. "My name is Emily Samaniego. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel somber. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Caracas. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Now we're talking. Please have a drink," he analyzed, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the toilet.

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

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

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

"Excellent," she declared. "It was shortly after I came here to Kuwait that I met him. I was working as a photographer. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Gastropub. Oh, he seemed vile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hastily.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Phillip Tucker. He works at the McDonalds on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coloring books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sandhu gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coloring book in Kuwait 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 swooning at the juice shop when he slunk in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trip that rugged witch," she sobbed.

He handed her a ball and she wiped her eyes calmly. He noticed her llama costume looked musty. "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 tongue automatically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scuff my pair of pliers if I didn't cogitate," she replied. "I said he's an idiotic parakeet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's idiotic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tucker?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Tucker ever talk about someone named Carl Flynn?

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

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

She looked at him resignedly. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she noted, "and I don't want to be in Kansas too long. I hope you can do something about Phillip soon."

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

"I can waddle to Kansas as soon as I pack a beach ball, a baseball cap, and my Bible."

"You'd better take a bowl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he emphasized hungrily.

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

She rose from her seat and set out gleefully out of the office. He stared truculently after her.

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