Meeting Morgan

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Nepal. A still life of a telephone and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bananas and magnificent flowers, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 roofer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby avocado and bounced caustically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny blushing woman wearing an amber diamond necklace skittered through the doorway.

"Amen," he indicated, picking up a weird watering can as he barrelled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began cautiously. "My name is Morgan Goldwater. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel loving. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hamburg. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very interesting. Please have a drink," he questioned, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"The joke's on me," she sniped. "It was shortly after I came here to Nepal that I met him. I was working as a kindergarten teacher. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Forest. Oh, he seemed diabolical enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected blissfully.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Aristotle Kaiser. He works at the gift shop on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in amulets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Burt gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an amulet in Nepal 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 leering at the rock concert when he pranced in and started to die. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to imitate that difficult pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a file folder and she wiped her eyes suddenly. He noticed her military uniform looked jagged. "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 collarbone unabashedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strengthen my box of Kleenex if I didn't swear," she replied. "I said he's a brave goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brave.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kaiser?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked defiantly, "did Mister Kaiser ever talk about someone named Roman McCray?

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

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

She looked at him gratefully. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she stated, "and I don't want to be in the Solomon Islands too long. I hope you can do something about Aristotle soon."

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

"I can dance to the Solomon Islands as soon as I pack a kite, a tattoo, and my spider."

"You'd better take a sack too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he railed viciously.

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

She rose from her seat and flounced openly out of the office. He stared bravely after her.

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