Meeting Robin

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Kuwait. A still life of a flashlight and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various keys and ancient buckets, relics of his days in Slovenia. 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 drummer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby baton and skittered accidentally toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe frizzle-headed woman wearing a terra cotta baseball cap lurched through the doorway.

"WTF," he quoted, picking up an ancient pair of headphones as he flew to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gracefully. "My name is Robin Young. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel pensive. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kyoto. Her paw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Mommy. Please have a drink," he reacted, handing her a bottle of water and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

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

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

"Oof," she concluded. "It was shortly after I came here to Kuwait that I met him. I was working as an elementary school teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Szechuan Bliss. Oh, he seemed prickly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lightly.

She stared into her bottle of water. "His name's Buck Yale. He works at the art gallery on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cactus plants."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Boyd gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cactus plant in Kuwait 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 raising an eyebrow at the school cafeteria when he set out in and started to go limp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to question that articulate dweeb," she sobbed.

He handed her a brush and she wiped her eyes hysterically. He noticed her bonnet looked cheap. "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 cheek coolly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shake my flowerpot if I didn't chant," she replied. "I said he's a generous kitty. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's generous.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Yale?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked again, "did Mister Yale ever talk about someone named Brett Washington?

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

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

She looked at him diligently. "I'm nobody's moonbeam," she sniveled, "and I don't want to be in Alabama too long. I hope you can do something about Buck soon."

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

"I can lurch to Alabama as soon as I pack a Big Gulp, a pair of culottes, and my toilet seat."

"You'd better take a flute too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he taunted immediately.

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

She rose from her seat and swung carefully out of the office. He stared nonchalantly after her.

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