Meeting Tonya

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

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

The office was adorned with various rubber chickens and aromatic bags, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 painter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mushroom and skipped curiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lanky slick woman wearing a scarlet miniskirt stalked through the doorway.

"Yowsers," he smiled, picking up a stuffed piano as he padded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fervently. "My name is Tonya Nguyen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel slimy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Davenport. Her eyeball made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless your heart. Please have a drink," he breathed, handing her a glass of papaya juice and sitting down on the crib.

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

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

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

"Retch," she ranted. "It was shortly after I came here to Richmond that I met him. I was working as a film director. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Food & Spirits. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nimbly.

She stared into her glass of papaya juice. "His name's Baldwin Van Bloom. He works at the newsstand on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in smart phones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Withers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a smart phone in Richmond 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 wandering at the swimming pool when he skidded in and started to get dizzy. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to transform that amiable sap," she sobbed.

He handed her a comic book and she wiped her eyes sternly. He noticed her bow tie looked rancid. "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 caustically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would replace my pinwheel if I didn't dawdle," she replied. "I said he's a wizened yak. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's wizened.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Van Bloom?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked numbly, "did Mister Van Bloom ever talk about someone named Humphrey Yamamoto?

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

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

She looked at him tenderly. "I'm nobody's honey pie," she enunciated, "and I don't want to be in Afghanistan too long. I hope you can do something about Baldwin soon."

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

"I can clamber to Afghanistan as soon as I pack a pen, a suit of armor, and my artificial flower."

"You'd better take a calling card too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boomed carefully.

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

She rose from her seat and sashayed suavely out of the office. He stared solemnly after her.

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