Meeting Kjersten

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in St. Paul. A still life of a bottle of perfume and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pairs of suspenders and papery pinwheels, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 stunt performer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby teddy bear and walked gingerly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby large woman wearing a sea green few primitive rags danced through the doorway.

"Eeshk," he sputtered, picking up a flexible sack as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began testily. "My name is Kjersten Aguilar. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel weird. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Spokane. Her eyelid made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Neato. Please have a drink," he babbled, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the nightstand.

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

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

"Don't give it another thought," he replied lickety-split.

"Blimey," she whispered. "It was shortly after I came here to St. Paul that I met him. I was working as a web guru. He took me to a restaurant called the Brass Organics. Oh, he seemed jaunty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slowly.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Archie Barker. He works at the newsstand on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in photographs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bernstein gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a photograph in St. Paul 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 screaming at the pet store when he reeled in and started to whirl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to arrest that enthusiastic troublemaker," she sobbed.

He handed her a jar of olives and she wiped her eyes charmingly. He noticed her robe looked automatic. "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 thorax trustingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would freeze my flyswatter if I didn't adjust the clock," she replied. "I said he's a loving bison. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's loving.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barker?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in St. Paul since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sternly, "did Mister Barker ever talk about someone named Chum Bergstrom?

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

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

She looked at him craftily. "I'm nobody's honey pie," she interpreted, "and I don't want to be in Mexico City too long. I hope you can do something about Archie soon."

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

"I can roll to Mexico City as soon as I pack an orchid, a bonnet, and my pizza."

"You'd better take a bullet too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he admitted proudly.

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

She rose from her seat and dove hungrily out of the office. He stared brightly after her.

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