Meeting Kathryn

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Nepal. A still life of a paper clip and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various duffel bags and hollow dollar bills, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 ballroom dancer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coat check ticket and walked diligently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a potbellied graceful woman wearing a brilliant orange set of football pads padded through the doorway.

"Oh my," he declaimed, picking up an excellent paintbrush as he straggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began woefully. "My name is Kathryn Eaton. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wizened. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Laredo. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ow. Please have a drink," he piped up, handing her a cappuccino and sitting down on the desk.

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

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

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

"Hmmm," she whined. "It was shortly after I came here to Nepal that I met him. I was working as a folk singer. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Empire. Oh, he seemed precocious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected shakily.

She stared into her cappuccino. "His name's Horatio Beasley. He works at the gift shop on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in whoopee cushions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ling gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a whoopee cushion in Nepal 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 chanting at the church when he leapt in and started to leer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to chat with that brash oddball," she sobbed.

He handed her a dollhouse and she wiped her eyes smoothly. He noticed her rain coat looked gaudy. "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 funny bone flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prepare my apple if I didn't grin," she replied. "I said he's an earnest puppy. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's earnest.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Beasley?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Nepal since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked glibly, "did Mister Beasley ever talk about someone named Gabriel Fagan?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ling 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 condominium in Aurora. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

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

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

"I can parade to Aurora as soon as I pack an orchid, a mortarboard, and my beach ball."

"You'd better take a Kindle too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniped warily.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered furiously out of the office. He stared surreptitiously after her.

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