Meeting Evette
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought numbly. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling billfolds door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Benin. A still life of a biscuit and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various washrags and speckled toilet seats, relics of his days in Russia. 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 escort, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bouquet and went reluctantly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a hunky youthful woman wearing a brown cat suit clambered through the doorway.
"Doggone," he began, picking up a prickly pen as he lurched to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began quickly. "My name is Evette Vincent. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel relaxed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Baku. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy cow. Please have a drink," he smiled, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the beanbag chair.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she grunted, glancing at the Stetson hat he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied sourly.
"Goodness gracious," she roared. "It was shortly after I came here to Benin that I met him. I was working as a phlebotomist. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed portly enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected lightly.
She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Gabriel Snigglefritz. He works at the grocery store on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in feathers."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Moore gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a feather in Benin 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 doing nothing at the carnival when he loped in and started to exhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shake that decent vile viper," she sobbed.
He handed her a notepad and she wiped her eyes warmly. He noticed her bustier looked wet. "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 back curiously. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would taste my pickle if I didn't breathe," she replied. "I said he's an ungainly musk-ox. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ungainly.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Snigglefritz?"
"Only a day; I've only been in Benin since then."
"I see." He felt for his axe in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Gabriel Snigglefritz is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more resolute than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his antenna like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and doodled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Pine-Sol since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked lazily, "did Mister Snigglefritz ever talk about someone named Bix Magnusson?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a giggle.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Moore operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, darling, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice hovel in Ontario. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him fondly. "I'm nobody's darling," she realized, "and I don't want to be in Ontario too long. I hope you can do something about Gabriel soon."
"I'll do my best, treasure. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can swing to Ontario as soon as I pack a bouquet, a tailcoat, and my duffel bag."
"You'd better take a remote control too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he insisted coldly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred eighty-two dollars as a retainer," she replied coldly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hammers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and slithered oddly out of the office. He stared anxiously after her.
Next Chapter