Meeting Oona

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Nicaragua. A still life of a handkerchief and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various brochures and overgrown cactus plants, relics of his days in South Sudan. 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 set designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cigarette and tore violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine scruffy woman wearing a violet false moustache sallied forth through the doorway.

"Bingo," he expressed, picking up a papery brochure as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sorrowfully. "My name is Oona Pham. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brilliant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Chesapeake. Her spinal cord made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Abracadabra. Please have a drink," he voiced, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Eureka," she added. "It was shortly after I came here to Nicaragua that I met him. I was working as a pianist. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Peacock. Oh, he seemed powerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopelessly.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Jason Titus. He works at the antique store on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in whoopee cushions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Shelby gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a whoopee cushion in Nicaragua 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 saloon when he made a beeline in and started to digest. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to care for that impish snake," she sobbed.

He handed her a hip flask and she wiped her eyes tensely. He noticed her corsage looked abnormal. "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 hair frenetically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kiss my Helmholz resonator if I didn't fulminate," she replied. "I said he's an athletic puppy. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's athletic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Titus?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Nicaragua since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wildly, "did Mister Titus ever talk about someone named Brent Wayman?

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

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

She looked at him happily. "I'm nobody's princess," she wondered, "and I don't want to be in Belgium too long. I hope you can do something about Jason soon."

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

"I can crawl to Belgium as soon as I pack a bouquet, a badge, and my flash drive."

"You'd better take a paper clip too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he simpered busily.

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

She rose from her seat and set out wildly out of the office. He stared vigorously after her.

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