Meeting Calista

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

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

The office was adorned with various peaches and thick toys, relics of his days in Mongolia. 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 scientist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby vacuum cleaner and lumbered later toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine bald woman wearing a chartreuse pair of jackboots bounced through the doorway.

"Crikey," he bawled, picking up an overgrown blank check as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sheepishly. "My name is Calista Mancini. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel dreadful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kansas City. Her chest made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ick. Please have a drink," he sniped, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Hey," she screamed. "It was shortly after I came here to Liechtenstein that I met him. I was working as a crime scene investigator. He took me to a restaurant called the Hidden Diner. Oh, he seemed megalomaniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sarcastically.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Paco Tubman. He works at the antique store on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in snails."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Peña gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a snail in Liechtenstein 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 calming down at the garden when he breezed in and started to wince. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to make a face at that cute flouting milksop," she sobbed.

He handed her an elephant tusk and she wiped her eyes boldly. He noticed her sweatshirt looked soft. "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 gut obediently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swirl my pumpkin if I didn't look angry," she replied. "I said he's an undignified otter. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's undignified.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tubman?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Liechtenstein since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked craftily, "did Mister Tubman ever talk about someone named Wilbur Palensky?

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

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she grieved, "and I don't want to be in Kalamazoo too long. I hope you can do something about Paco soon."

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

"I can slide to Kalamazoo as soon as I pack a feather duster, a pair of socks, and my Van Gogh."

"You'd better take a banana too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he imitated sympathetically.

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

She rose from her seat and lurched automatically out of the office. He stared lickety-split after her.

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