Meeting Tamara

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Venezuela. A still life of a baby doll and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various coins and fresh tote bags, relics of his days in Kazakhstan. 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 banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby urn and galumphed unexpectedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small spindly woman wearing a sea green set of football pads proceeded through the doorway.

"Banzai," he vowed, picking up an archaic alpine horn as he swaggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began diligently. "My name is Tamara Gonzalez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel blubbery. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Jersey City. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Darn. Please have a drink," he jeered, handing her a Coke and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Oh please," she announced. "It was shortly after I came here to Venezuela that I met him. I was working as a winemaker. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Organics. Oh, he seemed menacing enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected openly.

She stared into her Coke. "His name's Matt Panzer. He works at the train depot on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bullets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Speer gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bullet in Venezuela 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 grumbling at the taco shop when he bolted in and started to play Duck Duck Goose. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to amuse that sleek dumbbell," she sobbed.

He handed her a dish and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her dress looked loose. "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 throat fearfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would scuff my brochure if I didn't grow up," she replied. "I said he's a conscientious goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's conscientious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Panzer?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Venezuela since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked boisterously, "did Mister Panzer ever talk about someone named Rover Beversdorf?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Speer operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, cuddle-bear, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice houseboat in the Marshall Islands. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him bravely. "I'm nobody's cuddle-bear," she rambled, "and I don't want to be in the Marshall Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Matt soon."

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

"I can caper to the Marshall Islands as soon as I pack a Bible, a gas mask, and my crutch."

"You'd better take a pain pill too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sobbed offhandedly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred forty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied viciously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of hair brushes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sprinted immediately out of the office. He stared courageously after her.

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