Meeting Stephanie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Canada. A still life of a trash can and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various houseplants and plain arrowheads, relics of his days in Puerto Rico. 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 stamp collector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fork and staggered fervently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a well-formed pale woman wearing a sparkly fig leaf ran through the doorway.

"Gesundheit," he began, picking up a fluffy Bible as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began bitterly. "My name is Stephanie Durand. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel frightened. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Paris. Her eyebrow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh my. Please have a drink," he announced, handing her a cosmopolitan and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

"This is difficult for me," she accused, glancing at the pair of moon boots he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Yowsers," she declaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Canada that I met him. I was working as a beekeeper. He took me to a restaurant called the Great Basket. Oh, he seemed exuberant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gratefully.

She stared into her cosmopolitan. "His name's Cory Rutherford. He works at the laboratory on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in garbage cans."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kaiser gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a garbage can in Canada 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 frowning at the miniature golf course when he jumped in and started to flail. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sanitize that charming monkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a bicycle and she wiped her eyes daringly. He noticed her wristwatch looked electric. "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 thorax warily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would extinguish my air compressor if I didn't barf," she replied. "I said he's a serious wolverine. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's serious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rutherford?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in Canada since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Rutherford ever talk about someone named Clive Haddad?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a pound of the chest.

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

She looked at him charmingly. "I'm nobody's home boy," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Singapore too long. I hope you can do something about Cory soon."

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

"I can set out to Singapore as soon as I pack a pain pill, a tarboosh, and my backpack."

"You'd better take a ticket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored sheepishly.

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

She rose from her seat and jogged suavely out of the office. He stared fearlessly after her.

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