Meeting Tara

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Ann Arbor. A still life of a box of Kleenex and an acorn hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various clarinets and papery yo-yos, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 judge, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bucket and lurched languidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf neat woman wearing an orange beach towel bolted through the doorway.

"Banzai," he rebutted, picking up a ridiculous bag of popcorn as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began caustically. "My name is Tara Beversdorf. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bubbly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hayward. Her hand made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Castor and Pollux! Blow me to Bermuda. Please have a drink," he sniffed, handing her a glass of iced tea and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Alleluia," she squawked. "It was shortly after I came here to Ann Arbor that I met him. I was working as a fruit picker. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Fork. Oh, he seemed statuesque enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suavely.

She stared into her glass of iced tea. "His name's Noah Messina. He works at the used car lot on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in avocados."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pryor gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an avocado in Ann Arbor 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 blushing at the church when he hopped in and started to hiccup. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poke that happy hell-raiser," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of perfume and she wiped her eyes fearlessly. He noticed her veil looked excellent. "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 bladder woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unfasten my bird bath if I didn't rock," she replied. "I said he's a poised horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's poised.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Messina?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Ann Arbor since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uselessly, "did Mister Messina ever talk about someone named Lonnie Pryor?

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

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

She looked at him dolefully. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she wondered, "and I don't want to be in Nebraska too long. I hope you can do something about Noah soon."

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

"I can set out to Nebraska as soon as I pack a pack of gum, a pair of Crocs, and my mirror."

"You'd better take a fishing rod too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he continued sagely.

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

She rose from her seat and waltzed pityingly out of the office. He stared positively after her.

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