Meeting Constance

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Tahiti. A still life of a bagpipe and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various hair brushes and new pencils, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 fashion designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby model airplane and skittered stupidly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf sexy woman wearing an azure burqa tore through the doorway.

"Kazow," he rumored, picking up a tiny fishing pole as he strolled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gratefully. "My name is Constance Bede. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sleepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Porto Alegre. Her fingernail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bah. Please have a drink," he provoked, handing her an iced tea and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Piffle," she called. "It was shortly after I came here to Tahiti that I met him. I was working as a scoutmaster. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Sushi. Oh, he seemed stylish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sleepily.

She stared into her iced tea. "His name's Nickolas Torres. He works at the bakery on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in oranges."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Wapner gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an orange in Tahiti 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 sitting still at the movie theater when he padded in and started to fall asleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dismay that obnoxious noodlebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her an avocado and she wiped her eyes unnaturally. He noticed her headscarf looked puzzling. "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 hoof slyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would balance my feather if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a stinky polar bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stinky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Torres?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Tahiti since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked flightily, "did Mister Torres ever talk about someone named Charles Wolfe?

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

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

She looked at him violently. "I'm nobody's doll," she blurted, "and I don't want to be in Colombia too long. I hope you can do something about Nickolas soon."

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

"I can lumber to Colombia as soon as I pack an air compressor, a Panama hat, and my Helmholz resonator."

"You'd better take a handkerchief too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cajoled madly.

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

She rose from her seat and scooted innocently out of the office. He stared fondly after her.

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