Meeting Mirabel

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

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

The office was adorned with various magnets and brittle mops, relics of his days in Senegal. 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 butler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Barbie doll and whirled fondly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby beautiful woman wearing a jet black gladiator helmet skipped through the doorway.

"Shucks," he blustered, picking up a small stuffed kitten as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began thoughtfully. "My name is Mirabel Bernstein. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shifty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saint Paul. Her skull made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Golly whiz. Please have a drink," he disputed, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"Crap," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Istanbul that I met him. I was working as a cartographer. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Dinner. Oh, he seemed dowdy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected greedily.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Ken Wilder. He works at the Starbucks on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coat check tickets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yager gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coat check ticket in Istanbul 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 rolling at the poetry reading when he flew in and started to chant. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to consider that brave dingleberry," she sobbed.

He handed her a screwdriver and she wiped her eyes brightly. He noticed her suit looked small. "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 eyebrow roughly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would exclude my accordion if I didn't whirl," she replied. "I said he's a heavyset cow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's heavyset.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wilder?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Istanbul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gratefully, "did Mister Wilder ever talk about someone named Tim Darnell?

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

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

She looked at him clumsily. "I'm nobody's snigglefritz," she yelled, "and I don't want to be in the Marshall Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Ken soon."

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

"I can sidle to the Marshall Islands as soon as I pack a tube of toothpaste, a class ring, and my coloring book."

"You'd better take a piece of chalk too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he begged timidly.

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

She rose from her seat and lumbered proudly out of the office. He stared cautiously after her.

Next Chapter