Meeting Tabitha

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in the United States. A still life of a nail and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various duffel bags and dry books, relics of his days in New Zealand. 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 cook, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby blank check and sprinted breathlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby eye-catching woman wearing an olive drab big red rose struggled through the doorway.

"Mommy," he sniffed, picking up a handy piece of chalk as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sternly. "My name is Tabitha Ireland. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mindless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Vienna. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "By all the saints. Please have a drink," he queried, handing her a Mojito and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Verily," she insisted. "It was shortly after I came here to the United States that I met him. I was working as a nurse. He took me to a restaurant called the New Sea. Oh, he seemed poised enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lightly.

She stared into her Mojito. "His name's Royce Vidmar. He works at the novelty shop on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Baca gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clam in the United States 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 sneezing at the restaurant when he hopped in and started to bark. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that relaxed lunatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a cookbook and she wiped her eyes busily. He noticed her name tag looked handy. "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 shin hopelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pat my bottle of painkillers if I didn't nod," she replied. "I said he's an unruffled beaver. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unruffled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Vidmar?"

"Only a century; I've only been in the United States since then."

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

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

He sounded more heavyset than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his skin like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and flinched for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like freshly baked cookies since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Vidmar ever talk about someone named Austin Rexford?

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

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

She looked at him sympathetically. "I'm nobody's princess," she revealed, "and I don't want to be in the Philippines too long. I hope you can do something about Royce soon."

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

"I can hobble to the Philippines as soon as I pack a painting, a skeleton costume, and my spool of thread."

"You'd better take a basket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he informed clumsily.

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

She rose from her seat and leapt uneasily out of the office. He stared pityingly after her.

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