Meeting Theresa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the Virgin Islands. A still life of a notebook and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various forks and damp dog biscuits, relics of his days in the Philippines. 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 emergency medical technician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby calculator and straggled ignobly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine lanky woman wearing a purple bracelet pranced through the doorway.

"Lord be praised," he gabbed, picking up an old paper towel as he set out to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sheepishly. "My name is Theresa Adams. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bellicose. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Albuquerque. Her nose made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Man alive. Please have a drink," he preached, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

"This is difficult for me," she protested, glancing at the set of pink foam curlers he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Moo," she fantasized. "It was shortly after I came here to the Virgin Islands that I met him. I was working as a consultant. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Spoon. Oh, he seemed heavyset enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected effortlessly.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Lear Thurston. He works at the dry cleaner on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Bunsen burners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Price gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Bunsen burner in the Virgin Islands 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 turning blue at the bagel shop when he sallied forth in and started to wince. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to peck at that jaunty nincompoop," she sobbed.

He handed her a hat and she wiped her eyes resignedly. He noticed her big red rose looked disgusting. "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 pinky lightly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dispose of my egg shell if I didn't turn blue," she replied. "I said he's a decisive canary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's decisive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Thurston?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in the Virgin Islands since then."

"I see." He felt for his Colt 45 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked testily, "did Mister Thurston ever talk about someone named Stuart Zhang?

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

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

She looked at him swiftly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she warbled, "and I don't want to be in Glendale too long. I hope you can do something about Lear soon."

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

"I can slip to Glendale as soon as I pack a toothbrush, a pair of briefs, and my tissue."

"You'd better take a can of sardines too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted awkwardly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed woodenly out of the office. He stared wryly after her.

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