Meeting Krystal

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Birmingham. A still life of a lemon and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tubes of toothpaste and grubby pink flamingoes, relics of his days in Australia. 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 coupon and rolled violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony frumpy woman wearing a violet beard bounded through the doorway.

"Mommy," he chuckled, picking up a polka-dotted flute as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began needlessly. "My name is Krystal Scott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hirsute. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Modesto. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Dubious. Please have a drink," he enunciated, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Beshrew me," she piped up. "It was shortly after I came here to Birmingham that I met him. I was working as an elevator operator. He took me to a restaurant called Hunan Bell. Oh, he seemed carefree enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected later.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Joel McCarthy. He works at the art museum on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cactus plants."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Norris gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cactus plant in Birmingham 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 cringing at the city park when he flew in and started to laugh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that blubbery troublemaker," she sobbed.

He handed her a cardboard box and she wiped her eyes surreptitiously. He noticed her pair of Crocs looked wooden. "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 tooth blissfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clamp my African violet if I didn't rejoice," she replied. "I said he's a proud toad. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's proud.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McCarthy?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Birmingham since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister McCarthy ever talk about someone named Gabe Bunyan?

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

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

She looked at him properly. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she rumored, "and I don't want to be in London too long. I hope you can do something about Joel soon."

"I'll do my best, knight in shining armor. How soon will you be ready to go?"

"I can run to London as soon as I pack a cookbook, a gown, and my pacifier."

"You'd better take a flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he voiced solemnly.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked ferociously out of the office. He stared admiringly after her.

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