Meeting Esther

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Laos. A still life of a napkin and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various flashlights and gross purses, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 entomologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bird cage and waded awkwardly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin scruffy woman wearing a brown letter jacket tumbled through the doorway.

"I've had it," he requested, picking up a fancy bilge pump as he tumbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began demurely. "My name is Esther Şerban. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel miniscule. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Worcester. Her arm made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Zap. Please have a drink," he disputed, handing her a soda and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Holy Mother of Petunias," she screamed. "It was shortly after I came here to Laos that I met him. I was working as a bicycle messenger. He took me to a restaurant called the New Taqueria. Oh, he seemed noble enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected brightly.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Kenneth Bluestein. He works at the opera house on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sponges."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Goossens gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a sponge in Laos 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 watching at the library when he crawled in and started to squint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to break that tall donkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a Big Gulp and she wiped her eyes lamely. He noticed her pair of khakis looked rare. "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 paw grimly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would copy my rubber chicken if I didn't calculate," she replied. "I said he's a gregarious duck-billed platypus. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gregarious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bluestein?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Laos since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked lovingly, "did Mister Bluestein ever talk about someone named Michael North?

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

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

She looked at him deftly. "I'm nobody's bunny," she groveled, "and I don't want to be in the Philippines too long. I hope you can do something about Kenneth soon."

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

"I can roll to the Philippines as soon as I pack a calling card, a cap, and my smart phone."

"You'd better take a can of shaving cream too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he proposed coolly.

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

She rose from her seat and flew suavely out of the office. He stared joyously after her.

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