Meeting Eppie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in New Zealand. A still life of a cowbell and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cigars and rancid paper airplanes, relics of his days in Cuba. 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 puppeteer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby paper bag and set out gratefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin slick woman wearing a jade uniform traipsed through the doorway.

"Holy mackerel," he repeated, picking up a cotton Van Gogh as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gracefully. "My name is Eppie Snyder. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fearless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Carlsbad. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Mother of peanut butter. Please have a drink," he noted, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

"This is difficult for me," she invited, glancing at the pair of false eyelashes he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Big whoop," she ranted. "It was shortly after I came here to New Zealand that I met him. I was working as a boat captain. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Bell. Oh, he seemed excitable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected needlessly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Isaac Kuta. He works at the popcorn shop on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rubber stamps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Eklund gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a rubber stamp in New Zealand 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 staring at the pool hall when he sneaked in and started to kneel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to whisper to that masculine moron," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishing rod and she wiped her eyes gently. He noticed her sport coat looked rare. "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 pinky tensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would swat my lemon if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a wary squirrel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wary.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kuta?"

"Only a month; I've only been in New Zealand since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked anxiously, "did Mister Kuta ever talk about someone named Abraham Findley?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Eklund 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 KOA Kampground in Billings. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him craftily. "I'm nobody's baby-cakes," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Billings too long. I hope you can do something about Isaac soon."

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

"I can sidle to Billings as soon as I pack a sponge, a bustier, and my pom-pom."

"You'd better take a toilet seat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he stammered angrily.

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

She rose from her seat and bounded hopefully out of the office. He stared gingerly after her.

Next Chapter