Meeting Amber

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Greensboro. A still life of a soccer ball and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various piggy banks and tiny bags of popcorn, relics of his days in Tibet. 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 waiter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pop bottle and went shyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky filthy woman wearing a maroon letter jacket scooted through the doorway.

"My my," he instructed, picking up a charming urn as he padded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gruffly. "My name is Amber Chavez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel beautiful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Shanghai. Her abdomen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sweet. Please have a drink," he called, handing her a V8 and sitting down on the ironing board.

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

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

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

"Holy smokes," she commented. "It was shortly after I came here to Greensboro that I met him. I was working as a bellhop. He took me to a restaurant called Mountain Diner. Oh, he seemed bubbly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uneasily.

She stared into her V8. "His name's Nate Gray. He works at the Starbucks on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peace pipes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Quick gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peace pipe in Greensboro 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 howling at the taco shop when he waddled in and started to howl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to slap that gregarious flowerpot," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of sardines and she wiped her eyes grimly. He noticed her big red rose looked puzzling. "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 skin warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fix my whoopee cushion if I didn't go limp," she replied. "I said he's a spindly eel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's spindly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gray?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Greensboro since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uselessly, "did Mister Gray ever talk about someone named Harley Bundy?

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

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

She looked at him caustically. "I'm nobody's little chickadee," she pointed out, "and I don't want to be in Corpus Christi too long. I hope you can do something about Nate soon."

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

"I can parade to Corpus Christi as soon as I pack a pizza, a pair of nylons, and my cardboard box."

"You'd better take a spittoon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lamented uselessly.

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

She rose from her seat and slumped calmly out of the office. He stared lazily after her.

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