Meeting Kay

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Buffalo. A still life of an elephant tusk and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various playing cards and jagged chess sets, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 horse trainer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby water bottle and galumphed brightly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine shapely woman wearing a rose robe tiptoed through the doorway.

"Darn," he implored, picking up an authentic dictionary as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began unabashedly. "My name is Kay Schreiber. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel enraged. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in St. Petersburg. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Tailfeathers. Please have a drink," he offered, handing her a glass of milk and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Meh," she maintained. "It was shortly after I came here to Buffalo that I met him. I was working as a magician. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Platter. Oh, he seemed calm enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tearfully.

She stared into her glass of milk. "His name's Stan Wang. He works at the pharmacy on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in synthesizers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bonner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a synthesizer in Buffalo 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 bleeding at the bedroom when he stalked in and started to shiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bury that boring hell-raiser," she sobbed.

He handed her a deck of cards and she wiped her eyes languidly. He noticed her set of dentures looked speckled. "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 grimly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would seal my book if I didn't vomit," she replied. "I said he's a happy raven. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's happy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wang?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Buffalo since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crazily, "did Mister Wang ever talk about someone named Horst Nighthawk?

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

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

She looked at him valiantly. "I'm nobody's homie," she bragged, "and I don't want to be in Mali too long. I hope you can do something about Stan soon."

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

"I can hobble to Mali as soon as I pack a crutch, a maxi skirt, and my barbell."

"You'd better take a battery too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he observed noisily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred forty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied slyly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of piggy banks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sneaked jokingly out of the office. He stared fervently after her.

Next Chapter