Meeting Fiona

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Albuquerque. A still life of a book and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various rubber chickens and immense salt shakers, relics of his days in Germany. 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 writer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orchid and sallied forth grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny grubby woman wearing a brown bridal gown barrelled through the doorway.

"Bleep," he reasoned, picking up an odd ticket as he straggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sourly. "My name is Fiona Sanchez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weird. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Calgary. Her hoof made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shhh. Please have a drink," he sniped, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Hold that thought," she said. "It was shortly after I came here to Albuquerque that I met him. I was working as a school principal. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Den. Oh, he seemed earnest enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected speedily.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Humphrey Jones. He works at the pharmacy on 22nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in guns."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cohen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a gun in Albuquerque 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 leering at the senior citizens center when he skidded in and started to fret. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that sarcastic wingnut," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishing rod and she wiped her eyes openly. He noticed her military uniform looked sleek. "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 foot innocently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would vacuum my basketball if I didn't squeal," she replied. "I said he's a forgetful shrew. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's forgetful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jones?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked elatedly, "did Mister Jones ever talk about someone named James Carpenter?

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

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

She looked at him silently. "I'm nobody's tinky-wink," she explained, "and I don't want to be in Australia too long. I hope you can do something about Humphrey soon."

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

"I can climb to Australia as soon as I pack a pacifier, a bandana, and my piece of candy."

"You'd better take a magnet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he indicated coldly.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded madly out of the office. He stared bitterly after her.

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