Meeting Hagit
He stared out the window overlooking the street. How long had it been since he had had a decent case, he thought accidentally. If something didn't come along soon, he would find himself selling toolboxes door to door.
He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Zanzibar. A still life of a dog biscuit and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.
The office was cluttered with various bullets and worn photographs, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 factory worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby stack of papers and sauntered sharply toward his desk.
His eyes widened as a small Asian woman wearing a hot pink belly button jewel slid through the doorway.
"Holy cow," he reminded, picking up a rigid elephant tusk as he blundered to his makeshift bar.
"How do you do," she began curiously. "My name is Hagit Mantzios. I've come because I need help."
The sight of her made him feel lively. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Auckland. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Incredible. Please have a drink," he argued, handing her a can of Ensure and sitting down on the sofa.
"Make yourself comfortable. Now tell me all about it."
"This is difficult for me," she responded, glancing at the Superman costume he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."
"Don't give it another thought," he replied fervently.
"Hang it," she gasped. "It was shortly after I came here to Zanzibar that I met him. I was working as a pianist. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Spoon. Oh, he seemed cocky enough at the time. Little did I know...
"Who is this guy?" he injected patiently.
She stared into her can of Ensure. "His name's Christian Sheridan. He works at the haberdashery on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flutes."
"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stucky gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flute in Zanzibar 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 upset at the bookstore when he trotted in and started to vegetate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to examine that obedient wretch," she sobbed.
He handed her a carrot and she wiped her eyes delicately. He noticed her big red rose looked gruesome. "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 funny bone defiantly. "What did he say to that?"
"He said he would load my bowling ball if I didn't relax," she replied. "I said he's an exuberant cougar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's exuberant.'"
"How long have you known Mr. Sheridan?"
"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Zanzibar since then."
"I see." He felt for his spear in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"Okay, so this Christian Sheridan is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."
He sounded more passionate than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his hip like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and dealt cards for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like sausage since she came into the room.
"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Sheridan ever talk about someone named Rick Harmon?
She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a honk.
"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Stucky operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, dear, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice quonset hut in Washington DC. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"
She looked at him intensely. "I'm nobody's dear," she snarled, "and I don't want to be in Washington DC too long. I hope you can do something about Christian soon."
"I'll do my best, sweet. How soon will you be ready to go?"
"I can go to Washington DC as soon as I pack a ticket, a sombrero, and my teddy bear."
"You'd better take a hip flask too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he instructed shyly.
"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred fifty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied tensely. I also have an extremely valuable collection of artificial flowers. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."
She rose from her seat and careened warily out of the office. He stared humbly after her.
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