Meeting Hagit

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

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

The office was cluttered with various Bunsen burners and smumpy spittoons, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 cat rancher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bagpipe and sprinted trustingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender tan woman wearing a metallic red pair of handcuffs sashayed through the doorway.

"Yoohoo," he scoffed, picking up an unusual stapler as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slowly. "My name is Hagit Popper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mindless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Nairobi. Her front tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Begad. Please have a drink," he rebutted, handing her a glass of orange juice and sitting down on the bench.

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

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

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

"Holy mackerel," she commented. "It was shortly after I came here to Poland that I met him. I was working as a computer geek. He took me to a restaurant called Downtown Sky. Oh, he seemed daring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ferociously.

She stared into her glass of orange juice. "His name's Joshua Marsden. He works at the opera house on 47th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chess sets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bruno gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chess set in Poland 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 nodding at the laundromat when he walked in and started to roll. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fight with that exuberant madman," she sobbed.

He handed her a Bunsen burner and she wiped her eyes obediently. He noticed her pair of safety glasses looked striped. "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 thumb suspiciously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would guard my bell if I didn't murmur," she replied. "I said he's a masculine ostrich. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's masculine.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Marsden?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Poland since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked carelessly, "did Mister Marsden ever talk about someone named Cyrus McCarthy?

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

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

She looked at him immediately. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she thought, "and I don't want to be in New Zealand too long. I hope you can do something about Joshua soon."

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

"I can walk to New Zealand as soon as I pack a cigarette lighter, a pair of knickerbockers, and my campaign sign."

"You'd better take a pail too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he vowed valiantly.

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

She rose from her seat and ambled sorrowfully out of the office. He stared steadily after her.

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