Meeting Hayley

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Seychelles. A still life of a doll and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flutes and hollow dog biscuits, relics of his days in Israel. 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 shoe repairer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby crutch and darted sharply toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard pimply woman wearing a red scarf skittered through the doorway.

"Big whoop," he protested, picking up a curved calling card as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel sophisticated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Corona. Her ankle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Darn. Please have a drink," he wept, handing her a tequila sunrise and sitting down on the pool table.

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

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

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

"Boo," she ranted. "It was shortly after I came here to Seychelles that I met him. I was working as a coin collector. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Dining Room. Oh, he seemed shiftless enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her tequila sunrise. "His name's Eduardo Torres. He works at the perfumery on 14th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fish."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the McCord gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fish in Seychelles 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 rejoicing at the day care center when he staggered in and started to seethe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that ladylike crackpot," she sobbed.

He handed her a whoopee cushion and she wiped her eyes doubtfully. He noticed her jacket looked bulky. "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 pinky coldly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would vacuum my contract if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a frantic crow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frantic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Torres?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Seychelles since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked smoothly, "did Mister Torres ever talk about someone named Dorian Van Veen?

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

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

She looked at him surreptitiously. "I'm nobody's angel," she hinted, "and I don't want to be in the Philippines too long. I hope you can do something about Eduardo soon."

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

"I can skip to the Philippines as soon as I pack a football, a romper, and my rubber stamp."

"You'd better take a stack of papers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yowled pityingly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred forty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied testily. I also have an extremely valuable collection of calling cards. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sidled slowly out of the office. He stared wildly after her.

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