Meeting Olivia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Moldova. A still life of a Kindle and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various tubes of toothpaste and crisp necklaces, 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 talk-show host, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hockey puck and sprinted energetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature emaciated woman wearing an azure belt skittered through the doorway.

"Why not?," he hissed, picking up a bent fountain pen as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began excitedly. "My name is Olivia Kemp. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mobile. Her neck made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Touché. Please have a drink," he spewed, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Hang it," she contended. "It was shortly after I came here to Moldova that I met him. I was working as a violinist. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Empire. Oh, he seemed eccentric enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected briskly.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Nestor Cannon. He works at the barbershop on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microscopes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Chopra gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microscope in Moldova 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 chewing at the church when he rolled in and started to dance. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to awe that bouncy lackwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a trash can and she wiped her eyes accidentally. He noticed her pair of cowboy boots looked crisp. "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 eyebrow sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rub my paper clip if I didn't giggle," she replied. "I said he's a noxious beagle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cannon?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Moldova since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked solemnly, "did Mister Cannon ever talk about someone named Cody Garvey?

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

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

She looked at him sternly. "I'm nobody's bunny," she admitted, "and I don't want to be in Kalamazoo too long. I hope you can do something about Nestor soon."

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

"I can barrel to Kalamazoo as soon as I pack a Band-aid, a skeleton costume, and my ball."

"You'd better take a roll of toilet paper too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he inquired grandly.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped properly out of the office. He stared again after her.

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