Meeting Kjersten

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Tahiti. A still life of a bowl and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cages and leather crayons, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 chef, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crystal ball and waltzed timidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious short woman wearing a pink visor hopped through the doorway.

"Gawwwleeee," he boasted, picking up a stiff oriental vase as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began tearfully. "My name is Kjersten Carpenter. 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 Tokyo. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Meh. Please have a drink," he yowled, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the cushion.

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

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

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

"I'm stoked," she whispered. "It was shortly after I came here to Tahiti that I met him. I was working as a tour guide. He took me to a restaurant called Yong's Papaya. Oh, he seemed self-confident enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Conrad Yamamoto. He works at the drug store on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in teacups."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mitchell gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a teacup 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 breathing at the poetry reading when he waltzed in and started to get along. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to break that grizzled baby," she sobbed.

He handed her a spider and she wiped her eyes confidently. He noticed her false beard looked peculiar. "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 ear lazily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would spray my Big Gulp if I didn't scribble," she replied. "I said he's a pensive frog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Yamamoto?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked needlessly, "did Mister Yamamoto ever talk about someone named Ivan Lee?

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

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

She looked at him quickly. "I'm nobody's buttercup," she grunted, "and I don't want to be in Lesotho too long. I hope you can do something about Conrad soon."

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

"I can hobble to Lesotho as soon as I pack a comb, a corset, and my cane."

"You'd better take a mousetrap too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he panted gratefully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's forty dollars as a retainer," she replied impatiently. I also have an extremely valuable collection of toilet plungers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and lurched quickly out of the office. He stared strangely after her.

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