Meeting Kayla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Somalia. A still life of a mop and a fern hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various chains and synthetic whoopee cushions, relics of his days in Turkey. 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 McDonald's fry-cook, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby diagram and lumbered sympathetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely emaciated woman wearing a sparkly sari darted through the doorway.

"Pish posh," he divulged, picking up a hand-painted clam as he dove to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began rapidly. "My name is Kayla Truman. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel spindly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bakersfield. Her belly made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Poppycock. Please have a drink," he called, handing her a Tom and Jerry and sitting down on the umbrella stand.

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

"This is difficult for me," she bragged, glancing at the T-shirt he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Boy howdy," she contended. "It was shortly after I came here to Somalia that I met him. I was working as a telephone operator. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Orchid. Oh, he seemed quiet enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopelessly.

She stared into her Tom and Jerry. "His name's Steven Green. He works at the auto repair shop on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of shaving cream."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Carver gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of shaving cream in Somalia 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 coughing at the bowling alley when he tramped in and started to laugh. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to doubt that dowdy fathead," she sobbed.

He handed her a flag and she wiped her eyes quietly. He noticed her beehive looked magnificent. "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 abdomen sleepily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would clamp my pinwheel if I didn't lie around in bed," she replied. "I said he's a forgetful salamander. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's forgetful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Green?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uselessly, "did Mister Green ever talk about someone named Manny Gross?

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

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

She looked at him lovingly. "I'm nobody's doll," she decided, "and I don't want to be in Ann Arbor too long. I hope you can do something about Steven soon."

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

"I can barrel to Ann Arbor as soon as I pack an abacus, a pair of ear muffs, and my fork."

"You'd better take a houseplant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wailed shyly.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered glumly out of the office. He stared awkwardly after her.

Next Chapter