Meeting Abigail

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Zanzibar. A still life of a flash drive and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various buckets and colossal garbage cans, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 nurse, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby computer and bolted arrogantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe good looking woman wearing a jade pair of cowboy boots padded through the doorway.

"Ahoy," he screamed, picking up a porcelain primrose as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cleverly. "My name is Abigail Suzuki. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel pigeon-toed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Columbia. Her shin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shazam. Please have a drink," he brought up, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Crud," she disputed. "It was shortly after I came here to Zanzibar that I met him. I was working as a professional dancer. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Dining Hall. Oh, he seemed unselfish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sleepily.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Bull Norton. He works at the electronics store on 34th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in needles and thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Harrison gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a needle and thread in Zanzibar 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 basement when he scooted in and started to mumble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bump that peculiar pook," she sobbed.

He handed her an etching and she wiped her eyes resignedly. He noticed her leotard looked fabulous. "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 calf stealthily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would observe my flower if I didn't chew," she replied. "I said he's a pensive mole. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Norton?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Zanzibar since then."

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

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

He sounded more dumb 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 shrugged for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like maple syrup since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Norton ever talk about someone named Bart Johnston?

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

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

She looked at him lamely. "I'm nobody's sweet," she explained, "and I don't want to be in the United Kingdom too long. I hope you can do something about Bull soon."

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

"I can crawl to the United Kingdom as soon as I pack an antenna, a cheerleader's uniform, and my hammer."

"You'd better take a dollar bill too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he asserted quickly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirteen dollars as a retainer," she replied testily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of ironing boards. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and flounced humbly out of the office. He stared energetically after her.

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