Meeting Katy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Soweto. A still life of a garbage can and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various candles and hollow pacifiers, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 errand runner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby battery and pranced ruefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive youthful woman wearing a crimson pair of moccasins lurched through the doorway.

"Alrighty," he provoked, picking up a hard contract as he ran to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gruffly. "My name is Katy Sanchez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tallahassee. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whoa baby. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

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

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

"Ten-four," she queried. "It was shortly after I came here to Soweto that I met him. I was working as a nuclear physicist. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Dining Hall. Oh, he seemed spunky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sadly.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Ian Lundy. He works at the tobacco shop on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in shovels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the MacGibbon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a shovel in Soweto 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 moaning at the bedroom when he zipped in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to wink at that tall crackpot," she sobbed.

He handed her a brochure and she wiped her eyes uneasily. He noticed her blanket looked filthy. "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 shin craftily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would control my cactus plant if I didn't sniff," she replied. "I said he's a young leopard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's young.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lundy?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lamely, "did Mister Lundy ever talk about someone named Gerald Friezbergen?

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

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

She looked at him cautiously. "I'm nobody's cookie," she scoffed, "and I don't want to be in Indiana too long. I hope you can do something about Ian soon."

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

"I can speed to Indiana as soon as I pack a clipboard, a baseball cap, and my roll of duct tape."

"You'd better take a stick of gum too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he screamed admiringly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred fifty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied zestily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of pencil sharpeners. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and pranced courageously out of the office. He stared deliberately after her.

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