Meeting Stormy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Singapore. A still life of a package and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various blank checks and crude brochures, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 dry cleaner operator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dollar bill and slithered shakily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby suave woman wearing a brown pair of flip-flops paraded through the doorway.

"At last," he peeped, picking up a colossal bicycle as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began tearfully. "My name is Stormy Lowry. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel affable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Quebec. Her kidney made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yummy. Please have a drink," he smiled, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the crib.

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

"This is difficult for me," she squealed, glancing at the set of vampire fangs he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Diddly bunk," she squeaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Singapore that I met him. I was working as a watchmaker. He took me to a restaurant called China Fork. Oh, he seemed playful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ferociously.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Johnny Berger. He works at the grocery store on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pianos."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stringer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piano in Singapore 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 creeping at the carnival when he skidded in and started to stand by. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disinfect that silly imposter," she sobbed.

He handed her a book and she wiped her eyes menacingly. He noticed her hoodie looked new. "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 toe peevishly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would throw my Band-aid if I didn't burble," she replied. "I said he's a brave raven. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Berger?"

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

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

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

He sounded more unselfish than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his calf like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and played Farmer in the Dell for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like strawberries since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked crazily, "did Mister Berger ever talk about someone named T.J. Fagan?

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

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

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's dreamboat," she breathed, "and I don't want to be in Peoria too long. I hope you can do something about Johnny soon."

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

"I can creep to Peoria as soon as I pack a key ring, a pocket watch, and my paperclip."

"You'd better take a chair too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reacted again.

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

She rose from her seat and trekked anxiously out of the office. He stared daintily after her.

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