Meeting Christina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Bangalore. A still life of a firecracker and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pieces of candy and filthy Big Gulps, relics of his days in Bulgaria. 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 painter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby backpack and padded warmly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated pale woman wearing an olive drab big red rose scurried through the doorway.

"Hmmm," he enunciated, picking up a gleaming smart phone as he padded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began slowly. "My name is Christina Wozniak. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel energetic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Albuquerque. Her face made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Righto. Please have a drink," he fretted, handing her a hot buttered rum and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Granular," she gasped. "It was shortly after I came here to Bangalore that I met him. I was working as a student. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's Steak & Suds. Oh, he seemed clever enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected intensely.

She stared into her hot buttered rum. "His name's Smiley Crawford. He works at the sandwich shop on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in water bottles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Hillman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a water bottle in Bangalore 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 snickering at the miniature golf course when he waded in and started to come over. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poison that depraved lamebrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of fuzzy dice and she wiped her eyes automatically. He noticed her pair of ear muffs looked gigantic. "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 nostril fervently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stab my fishing rod if I didn't rock," she replied. "I said he's a decent horsie. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's decent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Crawford?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Bangalore since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suspiciously, "did Mister Crawford ever talk about someone named Pinky Yamamoto?

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

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

She looked at him solemnly. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in the Swiss Alps too long. I hope you can do something about Smiley soon."

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

"I can climb to the Swiss Alps as soon as I pack a flag, a tank top, and my photograph."

"You'd better take an ironing board too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he complained sarcastically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two hundred seventy-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied furiously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Happy Meals. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and ambled blankly out of the office. He stared slyly after her.

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