Meeting Vivian

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in São Paulo. A still life of a plaque and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various tablet computers and smumpy ashtrays, relics of his days in Malta. 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 cobbler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby knitting needle and stormed boldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby alert woman wearing a red beehive galumphed through the doorway.

"Bah," he fumed, picking up a crude box of candy as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began charmingly. "My name is Vivian Cairns. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel brazen. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fargo. Her knuckle made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Boohoo. Please have a drink," he chanted, handing her a Dr. Pepper and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Shhh," she admitted. "It was shortly after I came here to São Paulo that I met him. I was working as a principal. He took me to a restaurant called Parisian Pizzeria. Oh, he seemed articulate enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected busily.

She stared into her Dr. Pepper. "His name's Abel Walker. He works at the mortuary on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in can of spray paints."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sartre gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of spray paint in São Paulo 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 grinning at the wine tasting when he galumphed in and started to dither. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to examine that cunning laggard," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her space suit looked imported. "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 chin woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would close my Bunsen burner if I didn't inhale," she replied. "I said he's a comely cougar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's comely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Walker?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in São Paulo since then."

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

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

He sounded more dismal than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his face like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and bounced 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 shyly, "did Mister Walker ever talk about someone named Ray Cannon?

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

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

She looked at him patiently. "I'm nobody's hon," she suggested, "and I don't want to be in Burbank too long. I hope you can do something about Abel soon."

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

"I can gallop to Burbank as soon as I pack a padlock, a class ring, and my microscope."

"You'd better take a coloring book too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he retorted humbly.

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

She rose from her seat and dashed glumly out of the office. He stared ingeniously after her.

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