Meeting Priscilla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Thailand. A still life of a sea shell and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pairs of fuzzy dice and shiny feathers, relics of his days in Argentina. 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 hit man, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chart and pranced accidentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature youthful woman wearing a terra cotta stethoscope zipped through the doorway.

"Yowsers," he bellowed, picking up a clean flowerpot as he bounded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began stealthily. "My name is Priscilla Franz. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bizarre. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sydney. Her antenna made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Adios. Please have a drink," he voiced, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the footstool.

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

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

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

"Be still, my beating heart," she bragged. "It was shortly after I came here to Thailand that I met him. I was working as a McDonald's fry-cook. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Bison. Oh, he seemed exuberant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Royce Wright. He works at the beauty salon on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in needles and thread."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the MacIntire gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a needle and thread in Thailand 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 smiling at the ski resort when he sashayed in and started to frown. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trip that conscientious dip," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes rapidly. He noticed her name tag looked wet. "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 rib excitedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unwrap my crutch if I didn't pray," she replied. "I said he's a demented buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's demented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wright?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gently, "did Mister Wright ever talk about someone named Nate Bruno?

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

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

She looked at him carelessly. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in the United Kingdom too long. I hope you can do something about Royce soon."

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

"I can prance to the United Kingdom as soon as I pack a snail, a black belt, and my Van Gogh."

"You'd better take a bowl too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he winked majestically.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded joyously out of the office. He stared violently after her.

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