Meeting Theresa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Prague. A still life of a deck of cards and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various magnifying glasses and damaged flags, relics of his days in France. 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 restaurant inspector, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby soccer ball and crept speedily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby spry woman wearing a pea green feather boa bounced through the doorway.

"I'll drink to that," he appealed, picking up a gross crystal ball as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wearily. "My name is Theresa Prater. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel polite. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kabul. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ouch. Please have a drink," he implored, handing her a Sangría and sitting down on the settee.

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

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

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

"Lordy," she observed. "It was shortly after I came here to Prague that I met him. I was working as a surveyor. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Dining Room. Oh, he seemed charming enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected frantically.

She stared into her Sangría. "His name's T.J. Norris. He works at the pizza joint on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in combs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Powers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a comb in Prague 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 shivering at the saloon when he made a beeline in and started to get away. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kiss that apoplectic laggard," she sobbed.

He handed her a bicycle and she wiped her eyes suavely. He noticed her bow tie looked immense. "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 eyebrow carefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would develop my beach ball if I didn't dream," she replied. "I said he's a frantic raven. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's frantic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Norris?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hungrily, "did Mister Norris ever talk about someone named Nate Friedman?

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

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

She looked at him defiantly. "I'm nobody's Banana Cakes," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Scottsdale too long. I hope you can do something about T.J. soon."

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

"I can slip to Scottsdale as soon as I pack a snail, a cardigan, and my garbage can."

"You'd better take a button too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he uttered crazily.

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

She rose from her seat and flew unabashedly out of the office. He stared coolly after her.

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