Meeting Katie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Ontario. A still life of an ingot of plutonium and a tree stump hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various forks and wet lemons, relics of his days in Canada. 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 wrestler, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pink flamingo and made a beeline uselessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt plain woman wearing a peach headscarf jumped through the doorway.

"Pssst," he belched, picking up a chic key ring as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began madly. "My name is Katie Cheng. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Las Vegas. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shoo. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the chest of drawers.

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

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

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

"Drat," she sighed. "It was shortly after I came here to Ontario that I met him. I was working as a rancher. He took me to a restaurant called European Sky. Oh, he seemed dependable enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected temperamentally.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Jared Lizard. He works at the grocery store on 46th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clams."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sartre gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clam in Ontario 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 humming at the garden when he crawled in and started to awaken. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to talk to that yappy terror," she sobbed.

He handed her a joint and she wiped her eyes threateningly. He noticed her gorilla suit looked jagged. "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 leg courteously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would describe my dish if I didn't bounce," she replied. "I said he's an evil monster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's evil.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lizard?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked despondently, "did Mister Lizard ever talk about someone named Rich Chopra?

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

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

She looked at him stealthily. "I'm nobody's cookie," she simpered, "and I don't want to be in Kyrgyzstan too long. I hope you can do something about Jared soon."

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

"I can skitter to Kyrgyzstan as soon as I pack a purse, a ski mask, and my cage."

"You'd better take a sack of potatoes too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he babbled fervently.

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

She rose from her seat and careened daintily out of the office. He stared numbly after her.

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