Meeting Stella

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

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

The office was adorned with various candy bars and archaic yo-yos, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 news reporter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby abacus and hopped breathlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall elderly woman wearing a turquoise pair of gloves trekked through the doorway.

"LOL," he noted, picking up a polka-dotted billfold as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began menacingly. "My name is Stella Gardner. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel direct. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in El Paso. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Fantastic. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

"This is difficult for me," she informed, glancing at the pair of cycling shorts he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Ay yi yi," she blurted. "It was shortly after I came here to Hong Kong that I met him. I was working as a carpenter. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's Serpent. Oh, he seemed cantankerous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected smoothly.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's Gino Plummer. He works at the pastry shop on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clarinets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lawrence gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clarinet in Hong Kong 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 yawning at the Wal-Mart when he sped in and started to groan. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that diabolical cheater," she sobbed.

He handed her a thumb drive and she wiped her eyes suavely. He noticed her bikini looked spongy. "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 hairdo patiently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unfasten my rubber stamp if I didn't step aside," she replied. "I said he's a presumptuous quail. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's presumptuous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Plummer?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Hong Kong since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked innocently, "did Mister Plummer ever talk about someone named Edmond Gray?

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

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

She looked at him busily. "I'm nobody's dearie," she tittered, "and I don't want to be in South Africa too long. I hope you can do something about Gino soon."

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

"I can tumble to South Africa as soon as I pack a telephone book, a lab coat, and my etching."

"You'd better take a tote bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he disputed queerly.

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

She rose from her seat and slunk bravely out of the office. He stared ruefully after her.

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