Meeting Kirsten

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Prague. A still life of a saw and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various shoes and disgusting bottles of perfume, relics of his days in India. 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 advice columnist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dish and skidded fervently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stumpy graceful woman wearing a striped corset went through the doorway.

"Fudge," he argued, picking up a golden notebook as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began timidly. "My name is Kirsten Barcelo. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel affable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Dallas. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tailfeathers. Please have a drink," he yowled, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Gosh," she voiced. "It was shortly after I came here to Prague that I met him. I was working as a sales representative. He took me to a restaurant called the Green Kitchen. Oh, he seemed self-assured enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected carelessly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Gino Mondegreen. He works at the barbershop on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of shaving cream."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ross gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of shaving cream in Prague 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 coming to at the bedroom when he blundered in and started to swoon. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to overlook that depraved hothead," she sobbed.

He handed her a crutch and she wiped her eyes demurely. He noticed her necktie looked hand-made. "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 ego hysterically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rotate my cream puff if I didn't come over," she replied. "I said he's a big goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's big.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mondegreen?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Prague since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked peevishly, "did Mister Mondegreen ever talk about someone named DeWitt Schlick?

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

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

She looked at him boldly. "I'm nobody's sugar-bun," she blurted, "and I don't want to be in Bogotá too long. I hope you can do something about Gino soon."

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

"I can lurch to Bogotá as soon as I pack a bird cage, a skirt, and my hacksaw."

"You'd better take a blanket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he maintained blankly.

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

She rose from her seat and loped majestically out of the office. He stared trustingly after her.

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