Meeting Starla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Egypt. A still life of a teddy bear and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various skulls and hard flashlights, relics of his days in Germany. 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 chef, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby corsage and slipped wildly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly frumpy woman wearing an azure hoop skirt capered through the doorway.

"Ow," he scoffed, picking up a cheap fishing rod as he stalked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began courageously. "My name is Starla Kuta. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel happy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Victoria. Her wrist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Never. Please have a drink," he shrieked, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"At last," she interpreted. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as a rabbi. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Cow. Oh, he seemed hungry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected thoughtfully.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Lynn Ferber. He works at the bus station on 45th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of knitting needles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pimsleur gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of knitting needles in Egypt 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 chortling at the laundromat when he stalked in and started to cry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sanitize that crafty dullard," she sobbed.

He handed her a handkerchief and she wiped her eyes silently. He noticed her dress looked hefty. "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 eye hysterically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would develop my advertisement if I didn't cogitate," she replied. "I said he's an elderly dachshund. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's elderly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ferber?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Egypt since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked rapidly, "did Mister Ferber ever talk about someone named Nathaniel Fulton?

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

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

She looked at him blindly. "I'm nobody's snookums," she lamented, "and I don't want to be in Cairo too long. I hope you can do something about Lynn soon."

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

"I can caper to Cairo as soon as I pack a flower, a military uniform, and my Egyptian mummy."

"You'd better take a cupcake too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he appealed quickly.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled grimly out of the office. He stared roughly after her.

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