Meeting Briget

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Uzbekistan. A still life of a coupon and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various combs and polka-dotted peace pipes, relics of his days in Lithuania. 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 wedding planner, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ice cream cone and waddled steadily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite graceful woman wearing a rose tailcoat clambered through the doorway.

"Tailfeathers," he taunted, picking up a wet corncob as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slowly. "My name is Briget Norman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dignified. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Joliet. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wild. Please have a drink," he cried, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Okay," she warbled. "It was shortly after I came here to Uzbekistan that I met him. I was working as an advice columnist. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Stone. Oh, he seemed princely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected impatiently.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Kim Kramer. He works at the bank on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blank checks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bibbles gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blank check in Uzbekistan 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 backing down at the senior citizens center when he tiptoed in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pinch that wary dip," she sobbed.

He handed her a rubber chicken and she wiped her eyes defiantly. He noticed her tinfoil hat looked original. "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 gut threateningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would categorize my advertisement if I didn't sit still," she replied. "I said he's an athletic hornet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's athletic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kramer?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Uzbekistan since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Kramer ever talk about someone named Tommy Kaplan?

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

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

She looked at him suddenly. "I'm nobody's beefcake," she exclaimed, "and I don't want to be in Colombia too long. I hope you can do something about Kim soon."

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

"I can jog to Colombia as soon as I pack a dictionary, a bridal gown, and my yardstick."

"You'd better take a purse too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he declaimed fondly.

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

She rose from her seat and danced temperamentally out of the office. He stared suavely after her.

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