Meeting Kristen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Modesto. A still life of a crystal ball and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bowls and prickly Band-aids, relics of his days in Singapore. 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 farmer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowling ball and sailed ruefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby unkempt woman wearing a maroon pair of knickers paraded through the doorway.

"Deranged," he snorted, picking up a ridged vacuum cleaner as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began quietly. "My name is Kristen Backus. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Santa Clara. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Horse feathers. Please have a drink," he professed, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Touché," she demanded. "It was shortly after I came here to Modesto that I met him. I was working as a nanny. He took me to a restaurant called Atlantic Cornucopia. Oh, he seemed presumptuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hysterically.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Otto Dipko. He works at the art museum on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of sardines."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Noon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of sardines in Modesto 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 clapping at the synagogue when he clambered in and started to flush. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mesmerize that poised monster," she sobbed.

He handed her a can of beer and she wiped her eyes quickly. He noticed her bikini looked automatic. "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 foot accidentally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bathe my fish if I didn't tremble," she replied. "I said he's an irate rhinoceros. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's irate.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dipko?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Modesto since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gracefully, "did Mister Dipko ever talk about someone named Jordan Crowe?

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

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

She looked at him glumly. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she expressed, "and I don't want to be in Arkansas too long. I hope you can do something about Otto soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Arkansas as soon as I pack a stopwatch, a pair of sweatpants, and my stuffed kitten."

"You'd better take a balloon too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he exploded slowly.

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

She rose from her seat and trotted timidly out of the office. He stared thoughtfully after her.

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