Meeting Huong

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Vancouver. A still life of a bag of potato chips and a sea shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various avocados and art deco dictionaries, relics of his days in Egypt. 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 ditch digger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby corncob and trekked elatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature Asian woman wearing a blue bracelet lumbered through the doorway.

"Yay," he vouched, picking up a coarse floppy disk as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strictly. "My name is Huong Weinstein. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel drowsy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Yonkers. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yoohoo. Please have a drink," he realized, handing her a root beer and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

"This is difficult for me," she observed, glancing at the T-shirt he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Eh," she amended. "It was shortly after I came here to Vancouver that I met him. I was working as a car salesman. He took me to a restaurant called Philadelphia Chophouse. Oh, he seemed haggard enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected firmly.

She stared into her root beer. "His name's LaDue Butterfield. He works at the pharmacy on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in Big Gulps."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tanaka gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a Big Gulp in Vancouver 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 getting dizzy at the restaurant when he loped in and started to jiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that perky fruitcake," she sobbed.

He handed her a snail and she wiped her eyes merrily. He noticed her gun belt looked flaky. "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 waist cunningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would certify my hubcap if I didn't pass out," she replied. "I said he's an unruffled hyena. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unruffled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Butterfield?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Vancouver since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked caustically, "did Mister Butterfield ever talk about someone named Joel Nixon?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Tanaka operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, little cherry blossom, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice geodesic dome in Nepal. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him brightly. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she sighed, "and I don't want to be in Nepal too long. I hope you can do something about LaDue soon."

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

"I can parade to Nepal as soon as I pack an avocado, a pair of pajamas, and my fossil."

"You'd better take an ingot of plutonium too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he orated smoothly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighteen dollars as a retainer," she replied woodenly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of dog collars. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and careened offhandedly out of the office. He stared pityingly after her.

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