Meeting Valentina

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

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

The office was cluttered with various jars of olives and shiny sacks, 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 bailiff, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chain and hopped bravely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt plain woman wearing a striped belt slid through the doorway.

"Ahh," he blustered, picking up a coarse tennis racket as he slunk to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began irritably. "My name is Valentina Mann. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conceited. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lexington. Her kneecap made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Inconceivable. Please have a drink," he reminded, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"Dubious," she shrieked. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as an engineer. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Bell. Oh, he seemed atrocious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected viciously.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Ryan Houston. He works at the sandwich shop on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in advertisements."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Beversdorf gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an advertisement in Egypt 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 bleeding at the restaurant when he scampered in and started to mutter. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to grill that arrogant lamebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her an egg shell and she wiped her eyes narrowly. He noticed her cardigan looked stiff. "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 foot haughtily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would brush my picture if I didn't look puzzled," she replied. "I said he's an affable puma. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's affable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Houston?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Egypt since then."

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

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

He sounded more desperate than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his Adam's apple like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and panted for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like road kill since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked grudgingly, "did Mister Houston ever talk about someone named Shane Romer?

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

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

She looked at him angrily. "I'm nobody's tootsie," she guessed, "and I don't want to be in Canada too long. I hope you can do something about Ryan soon."

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

"I can reel to Canada as soon as I pack a business card, a cloak, and my abacus."

"You'd better take an accordion too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hinted grandly.

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

She rose from her seat and swaggered tenderly out of the office. He stared strictly after her.

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