Meeting Ava

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Tahiti. A still life of a cracker and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various boxes of Kleenex and queer pictures, relics of his days in England. 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 flashlight salesman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tube of glue and swaggered threateningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby blushing woman wearing a scarlet pair of trousers marched through the doorway.

"Nope," he murmured, picking up a flexible can of sardines as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wryly. "My name is Ava Lott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tactful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mexico City. Her toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crackers. Please have a drink," he began, handing her a V8 and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Teehee," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Tahiti that I met him. I was working as a bookkeeper. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Bison. Oh, he seemed zany enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolefully.

She stared into her V8. "His name's Billy Sales. He works at the liquor store on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tickets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Truong gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ticket in Tahiti 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 gasping at the Seven-Eleven when he swung in and started to play Farmer in the Dell. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to demean that nonchalant eager beaver," she sobbed.

He handed her a saw and she wiped her eyes hungrily. He noticed her black belt looked rancid. "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 belly cunningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stash my Frisbee if I didn't come over," she replied. "I said he's an awkward muskrat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's awkward.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sales?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Tahiti since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked boldly, "did Mister Sales ever talk about someone named Deng Portwine?

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

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

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's noodle," she realized, "and I don't want to be in Tokyo too long. I hope you can do something about Billy soon."

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

"I can tramp to Tokyo as soon as I pack a skull, a suit of armor, and my urn."

"You'd better take an urn too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grunted pityingly.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked shyly out of the office. He stared suavely after her.

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