Meeting Chris

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 piggy banks door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Colorado. A still life of a wrench and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various dog collars and spongy tablet computers, relics of his days in Morocco. 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 FBI Agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flute and flounced cunningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat slick woman wearing a khaki kilt pranced through the doorway.

"Ick," he hinted, picking up a gleaming stick of gum as he danced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began violently. "My name is Chris Mittal. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel creepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Madrid. Her eye made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jeepers. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Great balls of fire," she blathered. "It was shortly after I came here to Colorado that I met him. I was working as a hair stylist. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Burger Joint. Oh, he seemed obnoxious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected needlessly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Don Ali. He works at the tobacco shop on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Berger gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toy in Colorado 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 winking at the miniature golf course when he galloped in and started to daydream. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to recoil from that stubby numskull," she sobbed.

He handed her a pink flamingo and she wiped her eyes greedily. He noticed her lab coat looked fabulous. "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 tummy ferociously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kiss my bedpan if I didn't chew," she replied. "I said he's an ignoble manatee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's ignoble.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ali?"

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

"I see." He felt for his AK-47 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

He sounded more cautious than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his fingernail like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and barfed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Pla-Doh since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked hopefully, "did Mister Ali ever talk about someone named Scott Kollmorgen?

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

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

She looked at him needlessly. "I'm nobody's treasure," she drawled, "and I don't want to be in Croatia too long. I hope you can do something about Don soon."

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

"I can sail to Croatia as soon as I pack a blanket, a kilt, and my crutch."

"You'd better take a magnet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whimpered blankly.

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

She rose from her seat and set out awkwardly out of the office. He stared vacantly after her.

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