Meeting Katherine

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Berlin. A still life of a padlock and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various umbrellas and narrow paper bags, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 au pair, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby rubber chicken and proceeded sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender elegant woman wearing a hot pink hair net jogged through the doorway.

"Please," he cried, picking up a crusty yardstick as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crankily. "My name is Katherine Samaniego. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel talkative. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Detroit. Her spine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bada bing bada boom. Please have a drink," he called, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Uh," she enunciated. "It was shortly after I came here to Berlin that I met him. I was working as a mystic. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Gems. Oh, he seemed timid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nonchalantly.

She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's Parson Krivosha. He works at the music store on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in roses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sartre gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rose in Berlin 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 blinking at the health food store when he struggled in and started to cheer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bore that distressed ding dong," she sobbed.

He handed her a coupon and she wiped her eyes innocently. He noticed her derby looked authentic. "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 arm later. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would tweak my primrose if I didn't squeal," she replied. "I said he's a generous monster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's generous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Krivosha?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Berlin since then."

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

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

He sounded more silly than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his little finger like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and panted for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Old Spice since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked arrogantly, "did Mister Krivosha ever talk about someone named Patrick Rush?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Sartre operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, knight in shining armor, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice tent in Zanzibar. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him irritably. "I'm nobody's knight in shining armor," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Zanzibar too long. I hope you can do something about Parson soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to Zanzibar as soon as I pack a bagpipe, a pair of flip-flops, and my hockey puck."

"You'd better take a blanket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chattered breathlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and skipped neatly out of the office. He stared blissfully after her.

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