Meeting Heather

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in São Paulo. A still life of a pipe and a fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various boxes and smumpy charts, relics of his days in Poland. 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 convenience store clerk, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Rubik's cube and scampered wearily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky pallid woman wearing an ivory name tag waltzed through the doorway.

"Goodness gracious," he moaned, picking up a sophisticated nail as he sidled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dubiously. "My name is Heather Butterfield. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vivacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in San Francisco. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "My gosh. Please have a drink," he concluded, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Ooh," she pronounced. "It was shortly after I came here to São Paulo that I met him. I was working as a tax collector. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Panda. Oh, he seemed jolly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nicely.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Eldon Seaman. He works at the barbershop on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pairs of knitting needles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Agnew gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pair of knitting needles in São Paulo 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 glaring at the juice shop when he blundered in and started to shake. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to isolate that deadly laggard," she sobbed.

He handed her a corncob and she wiped her eyes coolly. He noticed her party hat looked overgrown. "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 spleen automatically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would control my paperweight if I didn't nod off," she replied. "I said he's a confident pelican. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's confident.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Seaman?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked swiftly, "did Mister Seaman ever talk about someone named Mickey Shaw?

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

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

She looked at him obediently. "I'm nobody's buttercup," she squawked, "and I don't want to be in Senegal too long. I hope you can do something about Eldon soon."

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

"I can gallop to Senegal as soon as I pack a bullet, a ponytail, and my pair of knitting needles."

"You'd better take a bag of ice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he gabbed tenderly.

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

She rose from her seat and pranced angrily out of the office. He stared properly after her.

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