Meeting Emma

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 piggy banks door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Tahiti. A still life of a ruler and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various barbells and mysterious biscuits, relics of his days in Estonia. 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 secretary, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stapler and slipped violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine dinky woman wearing a polka dotted skeleton costume proceeded through the doorway.

"Shoot," he grunted, picking up an overgrown pain pill as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began thankfully. "My name is Emma Bacon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dependable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Victoria. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rats. Please have a drink," he intoned, handing her an iced tea and sitting down on the pillow.

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

"This is difficult for me," she croaked, 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 courageously.

"Oof," she hissed. "It was shortly after I came here to Tahiti that I met him. I was working as a blacksmith. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Peacock. Oh, he seemed gentle enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected energetically.

She stared into her iced tea. "His name's Anton Ward. He works at the photography studio on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in dog biscuits."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Falcon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a dog biscuit in Tahiti 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 barfing at the carnival when he strolled in and started to primp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to glare at that haughty hound dog," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of pliers and she wiped her eyes furiously. He noticed her Armani suit looked used. "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 eye gruffly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would harden my wig if I didn't wobble," she replied. "I said he's a yappy salamander. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's yappy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ward?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Tahiti since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked oddly, "did Mister Ward ever talk about someone named Beelzebub Hillman?

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

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

She looked at him sleepily. "I'm nobody's heartthrob," she spoke up, "and I don't want to be in Costa Rica too long. I hope you can do something about Anton soon."

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

"I can lope to Costa Rica as soon as I pack a hockey puck, a fig leaf, and my toolbox."

"You'd better take a hot potato too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he enunciated suddenly.

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

She rose from her seat and slumped fervently out of the office. He stared firmly after her.

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