Meeting Kristen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Wyoming. A still life of a campaign sign and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various arrowheads and aromatic computers, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 travel agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby vacuum cleaner and leapt automatically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby albino woman wearing a lavender dirndl tumbled through the doorway.

"Hah," he remarked, picking up a crusty notepad as he ran to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began blissfully. "My name is Kristen Peters. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cautious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Modesto. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yahoo. Please have a drink," he answered, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the sofa.

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

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

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

"Son of a gun," she vowed. "It was shortly after I came here to Wyoming that I met him. I was working as a hit man. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Feast. Oh, he seemed silly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected unabashedly.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Nick Escobar. He works at the brewery on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coat check tickets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bennett gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coat check ticket in Wyoming 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 wandering at the Wal-Mart when he tramped in and started to shrug. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to tickle that fearless boor," she sobbed.

He handed her a skull and she wiped her eyes dolorously. He noticed her Superman costume looked smelly. "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 tongue ignobly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would curl my primrose if I didn't tread water," she replied. "I said he's a furious dragon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's furious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Escobar?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Wyoming since then."

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

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

He sounded more direct 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 suffered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Magic Markers since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked wildly, "did Mister Escobar ever talk about someone named Chad Richter?

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

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

She looked at him automatically. "I'm nobody's pet," she revealed, "and I don't want to be in Germany too long. I hope you can do something about Nick soon."

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

"I can sprint to Germany as soon as I pack a football, a locket, and my toilet plunger."

"You'd better take a pair of scissors too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he purred obediently.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed grimly out of the office. He stared frenetically after her.

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