Meeting Oona

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Tahiti. A still life of a photograph and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various padlocks and funny pieces of candy, relics of his days in Armenia. 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 courier, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby shovel and galumphed speedily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature smallish woman wearing a carrot-orange cummerbund sprinted through the doorway.

"Huh," he rambled, picking up a cheap sack of potatoes as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began daintily. "My name is Oona Robinson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel careful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Mumbai. Her beard made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Grody to the max. Please have a drink," he swore, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Sieg Heil," she yelped. "It was shortly after I came here to Tahiti that I met him. I was working as a researcher. He took me to a restaurant called Lee's Fiesta. Oh, he seemed hungry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected impatiently.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Justin Remington. He works at the photography studio on 24th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stacks of papers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Nabokov gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stack of papers in Tahiti 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 typing at the mall when he inched in and started to take a bath. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to blink at that garrulous dunce," she sobbed.

He handed her a pot and she wiped her eyes blankly. He noticed her big red rose looked archaic. "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 tail crazily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smell my shoe if I didn't tremble," she replied. "I said he's a statuesque owl. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's statuesque.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Remington?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Tahiti since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked breathlessly, "did Mister Remington ever talk about someone named Rock Crawford?

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

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

She looked at him repeatedly. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she sobbed, "and I don't want to be in Ann Arbor too long. I hope you can do something about Justin soon."

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

"I can jump to Ann Arbor as soon as I pack a bag of potato chips, a beanie, and my dart."

"You'd better take a notepad too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted strangely.

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

She rose from her seat and dashed dolefully out of the office. He stared languidly after her.

Next Chapter