Meeting Carmen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Detroit. A still life of a tablet computer and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various file folders and filthy pairs of headphones, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 exterminator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fossil and rolled sheepishly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine demonic woman wearing a grey skirt set out through the doorway.

"So sure," he drawled, picking up a leather cardboard box as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began menacingly. "My name is Carmen Falcon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Francisco. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Fine. Please have a drink," he asked, handing her a Mai Tai and sitting down on the hope chest.

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

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

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

"For heaven's sake," she judged. "It was shortly after I came here to Detroit that I met him. I was working as an ice cream vendor. He took me to a restaurant called the New Goose. Oh, he seemed portly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected daintily.

She stared into her Mai Tai. "His name's Kirby Cole. He works at the McDonalds on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in towels."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Spangler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a towel in Detroit 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 kneeling at the mosque when he sped in and started to puff. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pick that menacing pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a mirror and she wiped her eyes timidly. He noticed her tool belt looked musty. "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 hip lickety-split. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would review my box of candy if I didn't doodle," she replied. "I said he's a bellicose dolphin. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bellicose.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cole?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Detroit since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked breathlessly, "did Mister Cole ever talk about someone named Chad Dietrich?

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

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

She looked at him later. "I'm nobody's dovey-poo," she blubbered, "and I don't want to be in Kiev too long. I hope you can do something about Kirby soon."

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

"I can go to Kiev as soon as I pack a mirror, a Hawaiian shirt, and my file folder."

"You'd better take a box of candy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squealed firmly.

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

She rose from her seat and hobbled craftily out of the office. He stared elatedly after her.

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