Meeting Kate

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Montgomery. A still life of a baseball and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various rubber stamps and flaky pencils, relics of his days in Kuwait. 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 travel agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mushroom and tiptoed rapidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stocky ugly woman wearing a sparkly beehive tumbled through the doorway.

"Geez Louise," he peeped, picking up a puzzling biscuit as he slid to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began anxiously. "My name is Kate Schneider. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel carefree. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Grand Prairie. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Why not?. Please have a drink," he whined, handing her a gin and tonic and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Swell," she provoked. "It was shortly after I came here to Montgomery that I met him. I was working as a magistrate. He took me to a restaurant called the Northern Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected courteously.

She stared into her gin and tonic. "His name's Michaelangelo Kinstler. He works at the gym on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cigarettes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bobble gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cigarette in Montgomery 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 scribbling at the juice shop when he waded in and started to get frazzled. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bore that comely poopyface," she sobbed.

He handed her a bird bath and she wiped her eyes sadly. He noticed her Hawaiian shirt looked loose. "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 chest hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would extinguish my rose if I didn't sniffle," she replied. "I said he's an ignoble dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ignoble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kinstler?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Montgomery since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked dolefully, "did Mister Kinstler ever talk about someone named Stephen Duncan?

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

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

She looked at him ignobly. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she sniped, "and I don't want to be in Libya too long. I hope you can do something about Michaelangelo soon."

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

"I can waltz to Libya as soon as I pack a campaign sign, a bustier, and my clam."

"You'd better take a mirror too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he articulated properly.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed slyly out of the office. He stared swiftly after her.

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