Meeting Tiffany

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Honolulu. A still life of a cork and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various twigs and hand-carved ping-pong paddles, relics of his days in New Guinea. 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 parole officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby lemon and jogged shyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump dinky woman wearing a chocolate brown jumpsuit slid through the doorway.

"What in tarnation," he howled, picking up a primitive chain as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began victoriously. "My name is Tiffany Cornish. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crafty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Fe. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh please. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"Abracadabra," she lectured. "It was shortly after I came here to Honolulu that I met him. I was working as a priest. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Food Blitz. Oh, he seemed dumb enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Herb Rice. He works at the Starbucks on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cookbooks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sokolov gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cookbook in Honolulu 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 bleeding at the tattoo parlor when he bounded in and started to smile. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chat with that direct doofus," she sobbed.

He handed her an apple and she wiped her eyes ferociously. He noticed her leotard looked aromatic. "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 horn steadily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my doily if I didn't meow," she replied. "I said he's a sociable rooster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sociable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rice?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Honolulu since then."

"I see." He felt for his Colt 45 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked offhandedly, "did Mister Rice ever talk about someone named Randy McGrath?

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

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

She looked at him menacingly. "I'm nobody's little one," she questioned, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Herb soon."

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

"I can lurch to Seoul as soon as I pack a ticket, a parrot costume, and my paperweight."

"You'd better take an avocado too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squealed despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed sagely out of the office. He stared calmly after her.

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