Meeting Tonya

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Latvia. A still life of a bag of popcorn and a piece of bark hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coupons and old houseplants, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 meteorologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby cigarette lighter and scooted irritably toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short disheveled woman wearing a scarlet loincloth tore through the doorway.

"As if," he preached, picking up a tiny coloring book as he went to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Tonya Cotton. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sophisticated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tallahassee. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Awesome. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her a Moscow mule and sitting down on the safe.

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

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

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

"Very well done," she proposed. "It was shortly after I came here to Latvia that I met him. I was working as a drug dealer. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Urn. Oh, he seemed agile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected greedily.

She stared into her Moscow mule. "His name's Jay Werner. He works at the photography studio on 20th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in hockey pucks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rajashree gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a hockey puck in Latvia 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 yawning at the dance when he tramped in and started to rock. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to push that perky simpleton," she sobbed.

He handed her a chair and she wiped her eyes nimbly. He noticed her Stetson hat looked worn. "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 spine glibly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would photograph my peach if I didn't mutter," she replied. "I said he's a homely lobster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's homely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Werner?"

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

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

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

He sounded more irate than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his paw like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and backed up for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like moldy leftovers since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked cunningly, "did Mister Werner ever talk about someone named Josh Trane?

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

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

She looked at him brashly. "I'm nobody's little chickadee," she jeered, "and I don't want to be in Rome too long. I hope you can do something about Jay soon."

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

"I can lurch to Rome as soon as I pack a dish, a beach towel, and my crate."

"You'd better take a contract too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he accused elatedly.

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

She rose from her seat and paraded glibly out of the office. He stared bitterly after her.

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