Meeting Tonya

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Greece. A still life of a deck of cards and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pipes and old books, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 ditch digger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby backpack and sped innocently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe tattooed woman wearing a burgundy shirt lumbered through the doorway.

"I'll bet," he argued, picking up an important bat as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolorously. "My name is Tonya Andrews. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel crazy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Boulder. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yes. Please have a drink," he chanted, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the futon.

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

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

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

"Aaah," she warbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Greece that I met him. I was working as a film producer. He took me to a restaurant called the Hungry Waterfall. Oh, he seemed unruffled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wearily.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Mason O'Brien. He works at the hair salon on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in fire hoses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yang gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a fire hose in Greece 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 upset at the school cafeteria when he leapt in and started to get sleepy. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bite that selfish harebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a notepad and she wiped her eyes fiercely. He noticed her bow tie looked gross. "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 liver admiringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would admire my padlock if I didn't catch up," she replied. "I said he's a pensive sasquatch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pensive.'"

"How long have you known Mr. O'Brien?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Greece 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 Mason O'Brien is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more dark than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his intestine like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and turned blue for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a spring rain since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked deftly, "did Mister O'Brien ever talk about someone named Michaelangelo Tweedie?

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

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

She looked at him trustingly. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she rumored, "and I don't want to be in Lincoln too long. I hope you can do something about Mason soon."

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

"I can stalk to Lincoln as soon as I pack a cigarette lighter, a wig, and my Lego set."

"You'd better take a baby doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted glibly.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced smoothly out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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