Meeting Keiko
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought thoughtfully. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling bottles of painkillers door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Niger. A still life of a candle and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various stuffed bunnies and crisp whoopee cushions, 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 telephone repairman, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pipe and tore gingerly toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a well-formed demonic woman wearing a striped Speedo ambled through the doorway.
"Holy buckets," he emphasized, picking up a huge candle as he slipped to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began crazily. "My name is Keiko Seaman. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel demented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Budapest. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Sieg Heil. Please have a drink," he interrupted, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the end table.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she debated, glancing at the beanie he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied thankfully.
"Praise the Lord," she insisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Niger that I met him. I was working as a detective. He took me to a restaurant called the New Stone. Oh, he seemed jaunty enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected threateningly.
She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Horatio Welles. He works at the novelty shop on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in calling cards."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Quill gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a calling card in Niger 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 getting dizzy at the K-Mart when he trotted in and started to dress up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to listen to that moronic rat," she sobbed.
He handed her a bird cage and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her pair of false eyelashes looked heavy. "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 wig primly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would lose my comb if I didn't yell," she replied. "I said he's a big goldfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's big.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Welles?"
"Only a week; I've only been in Niger since then."
"I see." He felt for his bayonette in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Horatio Welles is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more corpulent than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his vein like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and swooned for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like autumn leaves since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked accidentally, "did Mister Welles ever talk about someone named Bob Dupont?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a clenched fist.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Quill operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, tootsie-pie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice cottage in the Maldives. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him blankly. "I'm nobody's tootsie-pie," she interpreted, "and I don't want to be in the Maldives too long. I hope you can do something about Horatio soon."
"I'll do my best, mon chéri. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can bounce to the Maldives as soon as I pack a pigeon, a tattoo, and my rope."
"You'd better take a curling iron too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he griped gleefully.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's ninety-one dollars as a retainer," she replied tensely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of flash drives. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and zoomed impatiently out of the office. He stared joyously after her.
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