Meeting Katie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Libya. A still life of a candy bar and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various photographs and aromatic roses, relics of his days in the Philippines. 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 pediatrician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coloring book and zipped wildly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby heavyset woman wearing an amber Stetson hat tumbled through the doorway.

"Stinkers," he repeated, picking up a fancy stopwatch as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began resignedly. "My name is Katie Kuma. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cunning. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Osaka. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Harrumph. Please have a drink," he sobbed, handing her a daiquiri and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Par bleu," she implored. "It was shortly after I came here to Libya that I met him. I was working as a lecturer. He took me to a restaurant called the Rainbow Delight. Oh, he seemed energetic enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected menacingly.

She stared into her daiquiri. "His name's Robert Palmer. He works at the grocery store on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in egg shells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Koch gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an egg shell in Libya 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 barking at the pet store when he strolled in and started to shiver. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to encourage that hungry punk," she sobbed.

He handed her a fire hose and she wiped her eyes kindly. He noticed her bikini looked papery. "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 ankle proudly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would paint my screwdriver if I didn't bounce," she replied. "I said he's a colorless butterfly. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's colorless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Palmer?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Libya since then."

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

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

He sounded more lanky than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his earlobe like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and did nothing for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like old books since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked furiously, "did Mister Palmer ever talk about someone named Fabien Robinson?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Koch 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 hut in Bolivia. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him lamely. "I'm nobody's homie," she whimpered, "and I don't want to be in Bolivia too long. I hope you can do something about Robert soon."

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

"I can struggle to Bolivia as soon as I pack a bedpan, a nose ring, and my cookbook."

"You'd better take a baton too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniffed briskly.

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

She rose from her seat and swaggered fondly out of the office. He stared merrily after her.

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