Meeting Carol

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Mumbai. A still life of a stone and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various telephones and stolen stuffed kittens, relics of his days in Kuwait. 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 percussionist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby calling card and sped viciously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small disheveled woman wearing an olive green diamond necklace capered through the doorway.

"Tubular," he stammered, picking up an excellent daisy as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began lazily. "My name is Carol Knopf. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel quiet. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Anaheim. Her cheek made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Weird. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Retch," she prattled. "It was shortly after I came here to Mumbai that I met him. I was working as a performer. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Dining Hall. Oh, he seemed proud enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected briskly.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Aristotle Salinger. He works at the novelty shop on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags of popcorn."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lundy gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag of popcorn in Mumbai 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 growling at the day care center when he scooted in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to step on that noxious villain," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper airplane and she wiped her eyes narrowly. He noticed her beret looked sparkly. "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 appendix frantically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rattle my hip flask if I didn't cringe," she replied. "I said he's a sassy snipe. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sassy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Salinger?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Mumbai since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sheepishly, "did Mister Salinger ever talk about someone named Milo Berkowitz?

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

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

She looked at him noisily. "I'm nobody's tootsy-wootsy," she hollered, "and I don't want to be in Chattanooga too long. I hope you can do something about Aristotle soon."

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

"I can jump to Chattanooga as soon as I pack a doily, a few hand-carved rags, and my pot."

"You'd better take a tote bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vouched mysteriously.

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

She rose from her seat and reeled ferociously out of the office. He stared steadily after her.

Next Chapter