Meeting Kjersten

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Boise. A still life of a tissue and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hubcaps and fluffy doilies, 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 gravedigger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orange and sprinted needlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic ugly woman wearing a yellow leotard danced through the doorway.

"Blah," he analyzed, picking up a smumpy blanket as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began daringly. "My name is Kjersten Baker. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fuzzy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saõ Paulo. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy cow. Please have a drink," he squeaked, handing her a glass of apricot juice and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"Shoo," she griped. "It was shortly after I came here to Boise that I met him. I was working as a flight mechanic. He took me to a restaurant called In and Out Winery. Oh, he seemed selfish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected glibly.

She stared into her glass of apricot juice. "His name's Samuel Sarma. He works at the psychic reading business on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in muffins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tinnerman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a muffin in Boise 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 flushing at the gyro shop when he sped in and started to apologize. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reject that charming wuss," she sobbed.

He handed her a cowbell and she wiped her eyes craftily. He noticed her burqa looked grubby. "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 elbow doubtfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would remove my sea shell if I didn't flinch," she replied. "I said he's an arrogant zebra. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's arrogant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sarma?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked trustingly, "did Mister Sarma ever talk about someone named Maximilian Blake?

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

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

She looked at him sarcastically. "I'm nobody's poopsie," she smirked, "and I don't want to be in Albuquerque too long. I hope you can do something about Samuel soon."

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

"I can pad to Albuquerque as soon as I pack a curling iron, a birthday suit, and my banana."

"You'd better take a Barbie doll too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he fumed cunningly.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped openly out of the office. He stared sleepily after her.

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