Meeting Carmen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Comoros. A still life of a chamber pot and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various napkins and petite candles, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby accordion and capered daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny wizened woman wearing a jet black pair of galoshes rushed through the doorway.

"Holy frijole," he hissed, picking up a cotton joint as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began stupidly. "My name is Carmen McIntire. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel selfish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gilbert. Her lung made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Boy oh boy. Please have a drink," he simpered, handing her a kamikaze and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Moo," she snorted. "It was shortly after I came here to Comoros that I met him. I was working as a sales clerk. He took me to a restaurant called Northern House of Delights. Oh, he seemed bubbly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cheerfully.

She stared into her kamikaze. "His name's Don Quick. He works at the restaurant on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in toys."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Graham gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a toy in Comoros 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 mall when he sped in and started to wail. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that direct monkey," she sobbed.

He handed her an iPad and she wiped her eyes needlessly. He noticed her cowboy hat looked hand-painted. "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 heart frantically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my yo-yo if I didn't applaud," she replied. "I said he's a quiet raven. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's quiet.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Quick?"

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

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

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

He sounded more idiotic 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 lay around in bed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like peanut butter since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked anxiously, "did Mister Quick ever talk about someone named Hank Van Bloom?

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

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

She looked at him kindly. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in Honolulu too long. I hope you can do something about Don soon."

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

"I can inch to Honolulu as soon as I pack a button, a nightgown, and my corsage."

"You'd better take a spool of thread too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he divulged pityingly.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth hysterically out of the office. He stared nonchalantly after her.

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