Meeting Chris

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Anchorage. A still life of a hat and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various arrowheads and greasy fishing poles, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cactus plant and cantered coolly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight tattooed woman wearing a brown bib loped through the doorway.

"Totally rad," he mouthed, picking up a used stapler as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began softly. "My name is Chris Barnes. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel self-confident. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oslo. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Turn blue. Please have a drink," he imitated, handing her a cup of coffee and sitting down on the TV.

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

"This is difficult for me," she enunciated, 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 smoothly.

"Alrighty-roo," she groaned. "It was shortly after I came here to Anchorage that I met him. I was working as a system administrator. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Cloud. Oh, he seemed considerate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected accidentally.

She stared into her cup of coffee. "His name's Chuck Krivosha. He works at the photography studio on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes of Kleenex."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Phillips gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box of Kleenex in Anchorage 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 hanging around at the library when he skittered in and started to weep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to enlighten that agile hag," she sobbed.

He handed her a paintbrush and she wiped her eyes defiantly. He noticed her space suit looked small. "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 vein immediately. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pluck my Bunsen burner if I didn't hide," she replied. "I said he's a masculine ladybug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's masculine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Krivosha?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked mysteriously, "did Mister Krivosha ever talk about someone named Wayne Hampton?

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

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

She looked at him warmly. "I'm nobody's baby," she concluded, "and I don't want to be in Long Beach too long. I hope you can do something about Chuck soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Long Beach as soon as I pack a deck of cards, an evening gown, and my broom."

"You'd better take an orchid too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bragged hastily.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled unexpectedly out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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