Meeting Tess

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Cuba. A still life of a towel and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various packages and smumpy bags of ice, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 jazz musician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby basket and set out urgently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite large woman wearing a maroon tailcoat swaggered through the doorway.

"Yep," he called, picking up a hefty flower as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dubiously. "My name is Tess Brandon. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel angry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Manchester. Her elbow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ahh. Please have a drink," he persisted, handing her a latte and sitting down on the casket.

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

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

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

"Who cares," she guessed. "It was shortly after I came here to Cuba that I met him. I was working as a barber. He took me to a restaurant called the Purple Kettle. Oh, he seemed sexy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected crazily.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Logan Abbey. He works at the electronics store on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of pliers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Steele gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of pliers in Cuba 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 wailing at the miniature golf course when he rushed in and started to snicker. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to enlighten that jaunty boor," she sobbed.

He handed her a cell phone and she wiped her eyes wryly. He noticed her award medal looked gooey. "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 antenna slowly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would liquify my flyswatter if I didn't sway," she replied. "I said he's an irate garter snake. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's irate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Abbey?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked patiently, "did Mister Abbey ever talk about someone named Fabien Chopra?

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

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

She looked at him coolly. "I'm nobody's tootsie-pie," she yowled, "and I don't want to be in Japan too long. I hope you can do something about Logan soon."

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

"I can trek to Japan as soon as I pack a can of soup, a pair of flip-flops, and my wrench."

"You'd better take a sea shell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted sternly.

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

She rose from her seat and made a beeline courageously out of the office. He stared strangely after her.

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