Meeting Tamara

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

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

The office was adorned with various bananas and rusty pieces of chalk, relics of his days in Laos. 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 advertising agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tube of toothpaste and rushed recklessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny muscular woman wearing a carrot-orange Stetson hat whirled through the doorway.

"Leapin' lizards," he blubbered, picking up a crisp fishing rod as he stormed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ingeniously. "My name is Tamara Johnson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel grizzled. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Alexandria. Her funny bone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rooster feathers. Please have a drink," he avowed, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the wooden crate.

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

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

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

"Excuse me," she giggled. "It was shortly after I came here to Seoul that I met him. I was working as a bounty hunter. He took me to a restaurant called the Red Butcher. Oh, he seemed hairy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected again.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Bruce Gates. He works at the Hallmark shop on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in magnifying glasses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Castaneda gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a magnifying glass in Seoul 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 purring at the pet store when he pranced in and started to gasp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to malign that haughty oaf," she sobbed.

He handed her a picture and she wiped her eyes deftly. He noticed her pair of cycling shorts 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 fingernail sarcastically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would review my pumpkin if I didn't get away," she replied. "I said he's a poised cocker spaniel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's poised.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gates?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Seoul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sagely, "did Mister Gates ever talk about someone named Flash Petrov?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a wag of the finger.

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

She looked at him firmly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she queried, "and I don't want to be in Hawaii too long. I hope you can do something about Bruce soon."

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

"I can sprint to Hawaii as soon as I pack a file folder, a flak jacket, and my whistle."

"You'd better take a horseshoe too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued noisily.

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

She rose from her seat and whirled jokingly out of the office. He stared madly after her.

Next Chapter