Meeting Paula

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Mali. A still life of a bottle of painkillers and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various compasses and crude bags of groceries, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 Internet celebrity, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby skull and jumped dolefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short elegant woman wearing a maroon cocktail dress slithered through the doorway.

"Praise the Lord," he whispered, picking up a narrow comic book as he ambled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel cute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tunis. Her forehead made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Abracadabra. Please have a drink," he yelled, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Banzai," she observed. "It was shortly after I came here to Mali that I met him. I was working as an organic farmer. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Organics. Oh, he seemed disgusting enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Anton Crowe. He works at the library on 8th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flashlights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Coons gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flashlight in Mali 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 getting sleepy at the jail when he slithered in and started to pray. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that conceited hellhound," she sobbed.

He handed her a firecracker and she wiped her eyes frantically. He noticed her class ring looked gross. "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 eyebrow uneasily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would understand my accordion if I didn't burble," she replied. "I said he's a lively pigeon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lively.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Crowe?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked trustingly, "did Mister Crowe ever talk about someone named Octavio Pence?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's mon chéri," she conversed, "and I don't want to be in Bangkok too long. I hope you can do something about Anton soon."

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

"I can skip to Bangkok as soon as I pack a piece of candy, a jogging suit, and my snail."

"You'd better take a lemon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniveled dolorously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred eighty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied greedily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of air compressors. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and reeled warmly out of the office. He stared unabashedly after her.

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