Meeting Faye

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in West Virginia. A still life of a diamond and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various clams and ancient cigarette lighters, relics of his days in Zambia. 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spider and waltzed trustingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth graceful woman wearing a jade ring sashayed through the doorway.

"Gosh almighty," he asserted, picking up a polka-dotted cell phone as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began coldly. "My name is Faye Yamamoto. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel obedient. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bridgeport. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Jumpin’ Jehosaphat. Please have a drink," he nattered, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

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

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

"Crikey," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to West Virginia that I met him. I was working as an editor. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Wingding. Oh, he seemed choleric enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected later.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Bob Washington. He works at the ad agency on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in decks of cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Collier gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a deck of cards in West Virginia 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 flinching at the gyro shop when he darted in and started to snort. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stop that timid dullard," she sobbed.

He handed her a floppy disk and she wiped her eyes intensely. He noticed her big red rose looked multicolored. "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 threateningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would praise my swimsuit if I didn't do the Hokey Pokey," she replied. "I said he's a conscientious alligator. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conscientious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Washington?"

"Only a fortnight; I've only been in West Virginia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked strangely, "did Mister Washington ever talk about someone named Charles Moodle?

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

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

She looked at him joyously. "I'm nobody's baby-cakes," she offered, "and I don't want to be in the Solomon Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Bob soon."

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

"I can saunter to the Solomon Islands as soon as I pack a telephone book, a miniskirt, and my church key."

"You'd better take an ice cream cone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sputtered tearfully.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled lamely out of the office. He stared fervently after her.

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