Meeting Pam

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Hong Kong. A still life of a chart and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various packs of gum and authentic saws, relics of his days in Russia. 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 sheep rancher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pack of gum and tumbled shyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly grubby woman wearing a salmon pair of moon boots strolled through the doorway.

"OMG," he screamed, picking up a handy horseshoe as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began happily. "My name is Pam Byers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel angry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milwaukee. Her heel made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Nope. Please have a drink," he implored, handing her a hot chocolate and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

"This is difficult for me," she reacted, glancing at the pair of boxing gloves he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Omigosh," she questioned. "It was shortly after I came here to Hong Kong that I met him. I was working as a doorman. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Food & Spirits. Oh, he seemed intelligent enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crossly.

She stared into her hot chocolate. "His name's Gunther Sagan. He works at the clothing store on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in smart phones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Goldberg gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a smart phone in Hong Kong 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 murmuring at the pool hall when he proceeded in and started to hum. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to slap that fuzzy dork," she sobbed.

He handed her a necklace and she wiped her eyes cruelly. He noticed her gunny sack looked cardboard. "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 throat truculently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shorten my bell if I didn't blush," she replied. "I said he's a fiendish parakeet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fiendish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sagan?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Hong Kong since then."

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

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

He sounded more petulant 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 gasped for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like tobacco since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sorrowfully, "did Mister Sagan ever talk about someone named Hendrick Campbell?

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

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

She looked at him tensely. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she continued, "and I don't want to be in Luxembourg too long. I hope you can do something about Gunther soon."

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

"I can roll to Luxembourg as soon as I pack a microphone, a letter jacket, and my baton."

"You'd better take a bag of ice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lectured frantically.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced glibly out of the office. He stared roughly after her.

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