Meeting Cecelia

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in São Paulo. A still life of a peanut and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various whistles and colossal crystal balls, relics of his days in the United States. 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 gardener, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piece of candy and ran energetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard tall woman wearing a camouflage romper sailed through the doorway.

"Easy peasy," he pleaded, picking up a jagged rock as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pitifully. "My name is Cecelia Robinson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cantankerous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Seattle. Her skin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shoot. Please have a drink," he queried, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Ow," she agreed. "It was shortly after I came here to São Paulo that I met him. I was working as a marine biologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Silk Island. Oh, he seemed poised enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected impatiently.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Newton Anderson. He works at the candy store on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bird feeders."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ortega gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bird feeder in São Paulo 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 coughing at the jail when he waded in and started to sneer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to oppose that cantankerous wimp," she sobbed.

He handed her a button and she wiped her eyes nicely. He noticed her thong looked greasy. "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 aorta reluctantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swirl my box of candy if I didn't clear out," she replied. "I said he's a tense troll. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's tense.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Anderson?"

"Only a week; I've only been in São Paulo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Anderson ever talk about someone named Mario Carpenter?

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

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

She looked at him wearily. "I'm nobody's punkin," she yawned, "and I don't want to be in Honolulu too long. I hope you can do something about Newton soon."

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

"I can trek to Honolulu as soon as I pack a spinning wheel, a pair of boxer shorts, and my shoe."

"You'd better take a spinning wheel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he joked urgently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's sixty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied bravely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Hostess Ding Dongs. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and galloped queerly out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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