Meeting Kim

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Tennessee. A still life of a basketball and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cans of sardines and colossal remote controls, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 archeologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby button and tumbled briskly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous elderly woman wearing a golden gown sallied forth through the doorway.

"Shoo," he shrieked, picking up a porcelain doll as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began kindly. "My name is Kim Klein. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mindless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Milan. Her eye made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Help. Please have a drink," he stuttered, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Granular," she growled. "It was shortly after I came here to Tennessee that I met him. I was working as a drug dealer. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Goose. Oh, he seemed evil enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected jokingly.

She stared into her double latte. "His name's Ryan Prang. He works at the shoe store on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coupons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Shepard gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coupon in Tennessee 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 puffing at the Wal-Mart when he sprinted in and started to cogitate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to slap that clever drunken royster," she sobbed.

He handed her a saw and she wiped her eyes slowly. He noticed her feather boa looked old. "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 chest dolefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rotate my rubber chicken if I didn't get along," she replied. "I said he's a nonchalant ladybug. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's nonchalant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Prang?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Tennessee since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Prang ever talk about someone named Gilmo Northrum?

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

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

She looked at him dolorously. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she spoke up, "and I don't want to be in the Virgin Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Ryan soon."

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

"I can skid to the Virgin Islands as soon as I pack a top, a towel, and my feather duster."

"You'd better take an orchid too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pointed out trustingly.

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

She rose from her seat and staggered properly out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

Next Chapter