Meeting Ava

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Senegal. A still life of a bowl and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bowling balls and ridged stuffed bunnies, relics of his days in Bangladesh. 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 truck driver, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clipboard and proceeded cleverly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous hairy woman wearing a blue stethoscope bolted through the doorway.

"By Jove," he blubbered, picking up a flaky can of shaving cream as he breezed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unabashedly. "My name is Ava Cole. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel masculine. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Cambridge. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Neato. Please have a drink," he spewed, handing her a gin fizz and sitting down on the china cabinet.

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

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

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

"Crackers," she requested. "It was shortly after I came here to Senegal that I met him. I was working as a postmaster. He took me to a restaurant called Southern Grub Hall. Oh, he seemed drowsy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her gin fizz. "His name's Bruno Chavez. He works at the tobacco shop on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Egyptian mummies."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Fritz gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an Egyptian mummy in Senegal 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 humming at the wine tasting when he lurched in and started to raise an eyebrow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that irate pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her an amulet and she wiped her eyes effortlessly. He noticed her pair of sweatpants looked abnormal. "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 carotid artery sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bleach my crate if I didn't howl," she replied. "I said he's a vivacious tsetse fly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's vivacious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Chavez?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Senegal since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked queerly, "did Mister Chavez ever talk about someone named Aaron Pham?

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

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

She looked at him needlessly. "I'm nobody's shmoopsie-poo," she trumpeted, "and I don't want to be in Reno too long. I hope you can do something about Bruno soon."

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

"I can lurch to Reno as soon as I pack a map, a kilt, and my piano."

"You'd better take a joint too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he persisted sharply.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered frantically out of the office. He stared clumsily after her.

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