Meeting Clarisse
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought menacingly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling iPods door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Norway. A still life of a candy bar and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various batteries and bent brochures, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 soccer coach, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bedpan and reeled accidentally toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a petite graceful woman wearing a beige poodle skirt leapt through the doorway.
"Is that a fact," he indicated, picking up a gigantic houseplant as he marched to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Clarisse Vickers. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel idiotic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santiago. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Praise the Lord. Please have a drink," he crooned, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the rocking chair.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she hinted, glancing at the smartwatch he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied positively.
"Gotta love it," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Norway that I met him. I was working as a woodworker. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Food & Spirits. Oh, he seemed sincere enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected confidently.
She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Zeke Eklund. He works at the saloon on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sticks."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Backus gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stick in Norway 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 pacing at the wine tasting when he loped in and started to play solitaire. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to write that shifty reptile," she sobbed.
He handed her a pumpkin and she wiped her eyes steadily. He noticed her blouse looked gooey. "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 lip gruffly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would shove my spinning wheel if I didn't twitch," she replied. "I said he's a somber eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's somber.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Eklund?"
"Only a week; I've only been in Norway since then."
"I see." He felt for his machete in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Zeke Eklund is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more hungry than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his heel like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and sat still for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like roasted peppers since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked energetically, "did Mister Eklund ever talk about someone named Eduardo Locke?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a bow.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Backus operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, Banana Cakes, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mobile home in Chad. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him menacingly. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she invited, "and I don't want to be in Chad too long. I hope you can do something about Zeke soon."
"I'll do my best, Banana Cakes. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can swagger to Chad as soon as I pack an Egyptian mummy, a pair of panties, and my rope."
"You'd better take a coin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screamed dolefully.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred sixty dollars as a retainer," she replied slowly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cream puffs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and slid grudgingly out of the office. He stared strictly after her.
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