Meeting Kirsten

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Bolivia. A still life of a paper bag and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cans of beer and petite carrots, relics of his days in South Sudan. 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 computer programmer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby boomerang and crawled breathlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal tattooed woman wearing a tan pair of cycling shorts flew through the doorway.

"Tailfeathers," he mused, picking up a charming playing card as he crept to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quietly. "My name is Kirsten Lott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sophisticated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Columbia. Her buttocks made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh well. Please have a drink," he grunted, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"Okay," she mused. "It was shortly after I came here to Bolivia that I met him. I was working as a traveling salesman. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Hideaway. Oh, he seemed dismal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected intensely.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Broderick Yang. He works at the office supply store on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bowman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper bag in Bolivia 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 shivering at the church when he waltzed in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poison that stinky dope," she sobbed.

He handed her a telephone book and she wiped her eyes smoothly. He noticed her armband looked chic. "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 bicep humbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would watch my iPod if I didn't back down," she replied. "I said he's a careful bat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's careful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Yang?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Bolivia 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 Broderick Yang is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

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

"Tell me," he asked gruffly, "did Mister Yang ever talk about someone named Doug Kilroy?

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

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

She looked at him vacantly. "I'm nobody's baby," she gabbed, "and I don't want to be in Niger too long. I hope you can do something about Broderick soon."

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

"I can walk to Niger as soon as I pack a Lego set, a pair of khakis, and my blank check."

"You'd better take a paper towel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed confidently.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered ingeniously out of the office. He stared properly after her.

Next Chapter