Meeting Carey

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Hong Kong. A still life of an accordion and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various paperclips and ornate hubcaps, relics of his days in Japan. 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 juggler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dog collar and tiptoed dreamily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny cadaverous woman wearing a lavender pair of jeans padded through the doorway.

"Durn," he repeated, picking up a striking china doll as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began violently. "My name is Carey Weaver. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel disagreeable. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bologna. Her abdomen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pow. Please have a drink," he informed, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"Jeez," she cajoled. "It was shortly after I came here to Hong Kong that I met him. I was working as a news reporter. He took me to a restaurant called Moroccan Home. Oh, he seemed mournful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected swiftly.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Rock Hall. He works at the burger joint on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lyman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper bag in Hong Kong 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 adjusting at the supermarket when he tore in and started to turn blue. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frown at that gregarious eager beaver," she sobbed.

He handed her a jar of olives and she wiped her eyes gleefully. He noticed her raincoat looked frilly. "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 toe noisily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would puncture my ruler if I didn't swoon," she replied. "I said he's a sleepy teddy bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sleepy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hall?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sagely, "did Mister Hall ever talk about someone named Marcus Stoltenburg?

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

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

She looked at him strangely. "I'm nobody's big lug," she chattered, "and I don't want to be in Long Beach too long. I hope you can do something about Rock soon."

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

"I can slink to Long Beach as soon as I pack a diamond, a babushka, and my cigarette lighter."

"You'd better take a deck of cards too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lamented blissfully.

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

She rose from her seat and skittered thoughtfully out of the office. He stared briskly after her.

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