Meeting Evette

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Malaysia. A still life of a twig and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various yardsticks and grubby jars of olives, relics of his days in Albania. 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 food critic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sponge and lurched courageously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive bony woman wearing a pink diaper stormed through the doorway.

"Excuse me," he yelled, picking up a petite backpack as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Evette Gates. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel demented. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fullerton. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Cool beans. Please have a drink," he quoted, handing her a glass of wine and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Eeshk," she harangued. "It was shortly after I came here to Malaysia that I met him. I was working as a disk jockey. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Drive-In. Oh, he seemed sophisticated enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected briskly.

She stared into her glass of wine. "His name's Christopher Nicholas. He works at the office supply store on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paper airplanes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dupont gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paper airplane in Malaysia 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 groaning at the taco shop when he whirled in and started to carry on. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dismay that humble fuddy-duddy," she sobbed.

He handed her a flyswatter and she wiped her eyes dolefully. He noticed her sari looked brittle. "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 ego frantically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would boil my map if I didn't pant," she replied. "I said he's an anemic ring-tailed lemur. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's anemic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nicholas?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Malaysia since then."

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

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

He sounded more cheerful than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his hair like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and adjusted 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 nimbly, "did Mister Nicholas ever talk about someone named Dan Zaborowski?

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

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

She looked at him despondently. "I'm nobody's old bean," she jeered, "and I don't want to be in Suriname too long. I hope you can do something about Christopher soon."

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

"I can careen to Suriname as soon as I pack a bag of popcorn, a hair net, and my basket."

"You'd better take a calculator too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he affirmed energetically.

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

She rose from her seat and set out blindly out of the office. He stared crazily after her.

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