Meeting Stella
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought busily. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling sticks of gum door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Monaco. A still life of a hand puppet and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was adorned with various brochures and hand-painted pairs of pliers, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 harpist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird cage and marched strangely toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a stout thin woman wearing a white jerkin ran through the doorway.
"Whoa," he giggled, picking up a greasy Rubik's cube as he leapt to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began noisily. "My name is Stella Wilhelm. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel precocious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lake Placid. Her scalp made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I think not. Please have a drink," he prattled, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the cash register.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she maintained, glancing at the pacifier he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied wearily.
"Nope," she agreed. "It was shortly after I came here to Monaco that I met him. I was working as a jazz musician. He took me to a restaurant called the Bronze Cornucopia. Oh, he seemed stylish enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected steadily.
She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Conner Higgins. He works at the popcorn shop on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bicycles."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Swaanhof gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bicycle in Monaco 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 sitting still at the tanning salon when he loped in and started to drool. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to giggle at that evil old coot," she sobbed.
He handed her an accordion and she wiped her eyes sourly. He noticed her pair of moccasins looked queer. "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 funny bone nervously. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would categorize my watering can if I didn't fall asleep," she replied. "I said he's a creepy louse. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's creepy.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Higgins?"
"Only a second; I've only been in Monaco since then."
"I see." He felt for his weed whacker in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Conner Higgins is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more miniscule than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his front tooth like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and lay around in bed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like moldy leftovers since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked demurely, "did Mister Higgins ever talk about someone named Nathan Seymour?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a blush.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Swaanhof operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, old bean, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice boxcar in Cape Verde. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him gruffly. "I'm nobody's old bean," she analyzed, "and I don't want to be in Cape Verde too long. I hope you can do something about Conner soon."
"I'll do my best, twinkles. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can tiptoe to Cape Verde as soon as I pack a smart phone, a tunic, and my duffel bag."
"You'd better take a dollar bill too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he babbled charmingly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred eighty-four dollars as a retainer," she replied languidly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of calling cards. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and ran immediately out of the office. He stared deftly after her.
Next Chapter