Meeting Rosa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Bogotá. A still life of a Lego set and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various joints and aromatic shovels, relics of his days in Venezuela. 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 rabble rouser, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hair dryer and sped gruffly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal hairy woman wearing a chartreuse pair of booties slid through the doorway.

"Rooster feathers," he blathered, picking up a puzzling fossil as he sneaked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sharply. "My name is Rosa Baldwin. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ladylike. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kawasaki. Her shoulder made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Great Jehosaphat. Please have a drink," he hummed, handing her a latte and sitting down on the catbird seat.

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

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

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

"LOL," she explained. "It was shortly after I came here to Bogotá that I met him. I was working as a cellist. He took me to a restaurant called the Dancing House of Sushi. Oh, he seemed ambitious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lickety-split.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Ray MacKenzie. He works at the mortuary on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in backpacks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Friedman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a backpack in Bogotá 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 calming down at the dance when he sashayed in and started to sneeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to examine that pigeon-toed chowderhead," she sobbed.

He handed her a salt shaker and she wiped her eyes rapidly. He noticed her set of vampire fangs looked hand-painted. "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 nostril needlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would return my coat hanger if I didn't step aside," she replied. "I said he's a blubbery ant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's blubbery.'"

"How long have you known Mr. MacKenzie?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Bogotá since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked properly, "did Mister MacKenzie ever talk about someone named Kyle Milano?

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

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

She looked at him violently. "I'm nobody's bugsy," she interrupted, "and I don't want to be in Vatican City too long. I hope you can do something about Ray soon."

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

"I can proceed to Vatican City as soon as I pack a ticket, a military uniform, and my crutch."

"You'd better take a remote control too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he queried threateningly.

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

She rose from her seat and padded suddenly out of the office. He stared quietly after her.

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