Meeting Tara

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Madagascar. A still life of a spider and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pieces of paper and greasy feathers, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 counselor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coloring book and waded cleverly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal athletic woman wearing a salmon pair of jackboots slipped through the doorway.

"Swell," he purred, picking up a dry camera as he sauntered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began offhandedly. "My name is Tara Yamaguchi. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel articulate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fargo. Her piehole made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "OMG. Please have a drink," he breathed, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the crib.

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

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

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

"Hey," she boasted. "It was shortly after I came here to Madagascar that I met him. I was working as a microbiologist. He took me to a restaurant called New York Peacock. Oh, he seemed cuddly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected quietly.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Herbert Kulpinski. He works at the McDonalds on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cream puffs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Swoopes gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cream puff in Madagascar 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 snorting at the rock concert when he cantered in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mislead that weary flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a soccer ball and she wiped her eyes fondly. He noticed her toga looked miniature. "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 abdomen admiringly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would face my piece of chalk if I didn't rejoice," she replied. "I said he's a fearful cheetah. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kulpinski?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Madagascar since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grudgingly, "did Mister Kulpinski ever talk about someone named Horace Wilhelm?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Swoopes 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 barracks in Paris. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him gleefully. "I'm nobody's sweetheart," she divulged, "and I don't want to be in Paris too long. I hope you can do something about Herbert soon."

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

"I can whirl to Paris as soon as I pack a pom-pom, a beach towel, and my Rubik's cube."

"You'd better take a trash can too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he gasped immediately.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled coolly out of the office. He stared patiently after her.

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