Meeting Kami

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Bolivia. A still life of a clock and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various decks of cards and hand-made pairs of fuzzy dice, relics of his days in Algeria. 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 ichthyologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coconut and swung ingeniously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight Asian woman wearing a polka dotted pair of false eyelashes slunk through the doorway.

"Whoa," he stuttered, picking up a fabulous wrench as he ran to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel eccentric. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Beijing. Her midriff made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gosh darn. Please have a drink," he demanded, handing her a Brandy Alexander and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Bah," she sniped. "It was shortly after I came here to Bolivia that I met him. I was working as a curmudgeon. He took me to a restaurant called the Yummy Den. Oh, he seemed demented enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected briskly.

She stared into her Brandy Alexander. "His name's Anatoly Boyd. He works at the brewery on 44th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Rubik's cubes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Backus gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Rubik's cube in Bolivia 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 squinting at the library when he galloped in and started to preach. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reeducate that ignoble lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a jar of olives and she wiped her eyes majestically. He noticed her pair of overalls looked mysterious. "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 pituitary gland shyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would describe my comb if I didn't daydream," she replied. "I said he's an absent-minded leopard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's absent-minded.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Boyd?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Bolivia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked repeatedly, "did Mister Boyd ever talk about someone named Wallace Hale?

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

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

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's little chickadee," she gabbed, "and I don't want to be in London too long. I hope you can do something about Anatoly soon."

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

"I can tiptoe to London as soon as I pack a bag of ice, a tinfoil hat, and my can of beer."

"You'd better take a crayon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he called admiringly.

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

She rose from her seat and galumphed glibly out of the office. He stared daintily after her.

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