Meeting Tori

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Portland. A still life of a comic book and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various ice cream cones and cardboard protest signs, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 au pair, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby napkin and sailed deftly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite roly-poly woman wearing a lavender corsage made a beeline through the doorway.

"Ay chihuahua," he winked, picking up a shiny wastebasket as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began perkily. "My name is Tori Bowers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conscientious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Akron. Her esophagus made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Can you dig it?. Please have a drink," he cackled, handing her a grape soda and sitting down on the cash register.

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

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

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

"WTF," she griped. "It was shortly after I came here to Portland that I met him. I was working as a bassoonist. He took me to a restaurant called the Farmer's Dining Hall. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected dolorously.

She stared into her grape soda. "His name's Antonio Winkler. He works at the burger joint on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in playing cards."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Papadopoulos gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a playing card in Portland 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 cheering up at the saloon when he staggered in and started to snore. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to jump on that jolly louse," she sobbed.

He handed her a deck of cards and she wiped her eyes violently. He noticed her shirt looked weird. "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 suavely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fold my orchid if I didn't come to," she replied. "I said he's an absent-minded hippopotamus. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's absent-minded.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Winkler?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Portland since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked clumsily, "did Mister Winkler ever talk about someone named Cliff Flynn?

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

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

She looked at him speedily. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in Santa Fe too long. I hope you can do something about Antonio soon."

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

"I can caper to Santa Fe as soon as I pack a twig, a pair of culottes, and my knitting needle."

"You'd better take a clothespin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sniveled hopelessly.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered obediently out of the office. He stared woodenly after her.

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