Meeting Paige

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Lubbock. A still life of a shoe and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various compasses and chic carrots, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 kindergarten teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orange and walked shyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny frail woman wearing a hot pink poodle skirt ambled through the doorway.

"Gawwwleeee," he smiled, picking up a ruined houseplant as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cruelly. "My name is Paige Patterson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel silly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Taipei. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Criminy. Please have a drink," he chanted, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"Dum de dum dum," she nattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Lubbock that I met him. I was working as a fortune teller. He took me to a restaurant called the Hot Food Parlor. Oh, he seemed sober enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected curiously.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Robin Sarma. He works at the grocery store on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tubes of toothpaste."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Valentine gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tube of toothpaste in Lubbock 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 sitting still at the Seven-Eleven when he staggered in and started to bawl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to banish that hairy joker," she sobbed.

He handed her a paper bag and she wiped her eyes speedily. He noticed her evening gown looked broken. "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 dignity thoughtfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shred my flute if I didn't sneeze," she replied. "I said he's a cuddly chameleon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's cuddly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sarma?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Lubbock since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked valiantly, "did Mister Sarma ever talk about someone named Nickolas Garston?

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

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

She looked at him reluctantly. "I'm nobody's dearie," she screeched, "and I don't want to be in Trenton too long. I hope you can do something about Robin soon."

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

"I can dash to Trenton as soon as I pack a bottle of painkillers, a necklace, and my knitting needle."

"You'd better take a cell phone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he added humbly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred nineteen dollars as a retainer," she replied positively. I also have an extremely valuable collection of rolls of duct tape. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sauntered dubiously out of the office. He stared sagely after her.

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