Meeting Martina

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

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

The office was cluttered with various mops and bulky tennis rackets, relics of his days in Romania. 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 bricklayer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Lego set and sidled violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine filthy woman wearing an emerald green hat rolled through the doorway.

"Horse feathers," he guessed, picking up a petite bag of popcorn as he climbed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began steadily. "My name is Martina Seymour. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel amiable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warren. Her scalp made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Weird. Please have a drink," he smiled, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"Banzai," she contended. "It was shortly after I came here to the Swiss Alps that I met him. I was working as a nuclear physicist. He took me to a restaurant called the Magic Gastropub. Oh, he seemed relaxed enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daintily.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Damien Craig. He works at the furniture store on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Bibles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ulster gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Bible in the Swiss Alps 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 partying at the pet store when he slid in and started to lie around in bed. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to laugh at that self-assured mangy rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a shoe and she wiped her eyes tearfully. He noticed her pair of panties looked archaic. "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 toupee greedily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would review my notepad if I didn't collapse," she replied. "I said he's a mean prairie dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's mean.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Craig?"

"Only a century; I've only been in the Swiss Alps since then."

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

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

He sounded more mean than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his big toe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and twitched for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a swimming pool since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked coolly, "did Mister Craig ever talk about someone named Cody Sims?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ulster operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, main squeeze, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice KOA Kampground in Orlando. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him threateningly. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in Orlando too long. I hope you can do something about Damien soon."

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

"I can scamper to Orlando as soon as I pack a clam, a hearing aid, and my firecracker."

"You'd better take a mirror too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he belched despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and padded woefully out of the office. He stared warmly after her.

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