Meeting Francene

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Corpus Christi. A still life of a shovel and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various iPods and bizarre computers, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 ballroom dancer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piano and straggled curiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge delicate woman wearing a metallic red pair of boxing gloves capered through the doorway.

"Okay then," he stormed, picking up a gooey cage as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sheepishly. "My name is Francene Escobar. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel diabolical. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Myrtle Beach. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Awesome. Please have a drink," he bragged, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Yes," she jeered. "It was shortly after I came here to Corpus Christi that I met him. I was working as a zoologist. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Basket. Oh, he seemed enthusiastic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Richard Torres. He works at the fortune teller shop on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in umbrellas."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tsutsui gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an umbrella in Corpus Christi 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 getting dizzy at the orchestra concert when he stormed in and started to lounge. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to glare at that generous nut," she sobbed.

He handed her a yardstick and she wiped her eyes brashly. He noticed her necktie looked wooden. "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 Achilles tendon brashly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would expand my Lego set if I didn't get angry," she replied. "I said he's a childish magpie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's childish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Torres?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Corpus Christi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nonchalantly, "did Mister Torres ever talk about someone named Mahatma Sorovich?

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

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

She looked at him viciously. "I'm nobody's friend," she whined, "and I don't want to be in Lima too long. I hope you can do something about Richard soon."

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

"I can jump to Lima as soon as I pack a cowbell, a pair of toe shoes, and my orange."

"You'd better take a dictionary too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he barked despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled coldly out of the office. He stared confidently after her.

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