Meeting Marcy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Tokyo. A still life of a football and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cameras and filthy avocados, relics of his days in Macedonia. 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 colonel, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby iPod and slunk slowly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied spry woman wearing an olive green headscarf proceeded through the doorway.

"Holy Mother of Petunias," he stated, picking up a large candy cane as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began tensely. "My name is Marcy Grover. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel portly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Detroit. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eeshk. Please have a drink," he declaimed, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Meow," she reminded. "It was shortly after I came here to Tokyo that I met him. I was working as a midwife. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Moon. Oh, he seemed lanky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected majestically.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Christopher Craft. He works at the butcher shop on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in baseball bats."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Flynn gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a baseball bat in Tokyo 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 winking at the bookstore when he danced in and started to back down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tease that petulant so-and-so," she sobbed.

He handed her a bell and she wiped her eyes demurely. He noticed her necklace looked burned. "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 scalp haughtily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prune my Lego set if I didn't get frazzled," she replied. "I said he's a resolute buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's resolute.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Craft?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked patiently, "did Mister Craft ever talk about someone named Jacob Naipaul?

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

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

She looked at him strangely. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she drawled, "and I don't want to be in Karachi too long. I hope you can do something about Christopher soon."

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

"I can creep to Karachi as soon as I pack a needle and thread, a diamond necklace, and my Bible."

"You'd better take a pigeon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he announced vigorously.

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

She rose from her seat and slumped valiantly out of the office. He stared brightly after her.

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