Meeting Briget

He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought brightly. 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 Cyprus. A still life of a fingernail clipper and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various iPads and primitive hip flasks, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 funeral director, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of handcuffs and slid wryly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight smallish woman wearing a navy blue bomber jacket flew through the doorway.

"Get out," he groaned, picking up a hand-made telephone book as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began arrogantly. "My name is Briget Tubman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brazen. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Clodville. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Achoo. Please have a drink," he guessed, handing her a glass of lemonade and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Castor and Pollux! Blow me to Bermuda," she grunted. "It was shortly after I came here to Cyprus that I met him. I was working as a security guard. He took me to a restaurant called the White Pie Kitchen. Oh, he seemed brave enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected viciously.

She stared into her glass of lemonade. "His name's Aaron Salazar. He works at the fortune teller shop on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in corsages."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Merton gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a corsage in Cyprus 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 raising an eyebrow at the bookstore when he skipped in and started to glower. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to outrun that mournful pig," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishing rod and she wiped her eyes noisily. He noticed her blanket looked modern. "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 paw solemnly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stash my rose if I didn't adjust," she replied. "I said he's an enthusiastic pig. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's enthusiastic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Salazar?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked calmly, "did Mister Salazar ever talk about someone named Montague Tang?

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

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

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's bumbles," she preached, "and I don't want to be in Barcelona too long. I hope you can do something about Aaron soon."

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

"I can tramp to Barcelona as soon as I pack a ball, a jacket, and my spoon."

"You'd better take a peace pipe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he uttered carelessly.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline queerly out of the office. He stared narrowly after her.

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