Meeting Clio

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Nairobi. A still life of a barbell and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ashtrays and overgrown knitting needles, relics of his days in Spain. 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 auto mechanic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby picture and struggled trustingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a haggard frizzle-headed woman wearing an azure fig leaf straggled through the doorway.

"Criminy," he queried, picking up a tiny jar of olives as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cunningly. "My name is Clio Trott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brilliant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Overland Park. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jeepers. Please have a drink," he sniped, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the dresser.

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

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

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

"Jumpin’ Jehosaphat," she harangued. "It was shortly after I came here to Nairobi that I met him. I was working as a veterinarian. He took me to a restaurant called the Roman Basket. Oh, he seemed megalomaniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected automatically.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Cheng Krivosha. He works at the shoe shine booth on 41st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boomerangs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Doe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a boomerang in Nairobi 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 grinning at the recycling bin when he swung in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to push that conscientious scurvy dog," she sobbed.

He handed her a protest sign and she wiped her eyes unnaturally. He noticed her cummerbund looked dirty. "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 hoof uneasily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would loosen my paper bag if I didn't stretch," she replied. "I said he's a hysterical worm. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's hysterical.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Krivosha?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Nairobi since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hysterically, "did Mister Krivosha ever talk about someone named Guido Winchester?

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

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

She looked at him sadly. "I'm nobody's cutie-patootie," she howled, "and I don't want to be in Moldova too long. I hope you can do something about Cheng soon."

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

"I can scamper to Moldova as soon as I pack a coin, a burqa, and my billiard ball."

"You'd better take a coat hanger too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cajoled dubiously.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred two dollars as a retainer," she replied jokingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of fountain pens. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and proceeded sharply out of the office. He stared tenderly after her.

Next Chapter