Meeting Kirsten

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Mexico City. A still life of a pickle and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various toolboxes and coarse paperclips, relics of his days in Serbia. 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 mathematician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby shoe and barrelled busily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature stocky woman wearing a lime-green earring staggered through the doorway.

"Excuse me," he jeered, picking up a leather pop bottle as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began glibly. "My name is Kirsten Walker. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel selfish. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Eau Claire. Her intestine made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Really. Please have a drink," he whispered, handing her a latte and sitting down on the dresser.

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

"This is difficult for me," she warbled, 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 blankly.

"Boohoo," she intimated. "It was shortly after I came here to Mexico City that I met him. I was working as an author. He took me to a restaurant called Mother's River. Oh, he seemed friendly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected merrily.

She stared into her latte. "His name's Richard Hampton. He works at the mortuary on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in piggy banks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Suzuki gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piggy bank in Mexico City 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 calming down at the poetry reading when he galloped in and started to cry. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mesmerize that choleric bum," she sobbed.

He handed her a chess set and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her towel looked archaic. "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 breathlessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would extend my piece of candy if I didn't swear," she replied. "I said he's a dependable yak. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dependable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hampton?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Mexico City since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked vacantly, "did Mister Hampton ever talk about someone named Louie Hoffa?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Suzuki operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, poopsy-woopsy, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice subway tunnel in Rwanda. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him boisterously. "I'm nobody's poopsy-woopsy," she articulated, "and I don't want to be in Rwanda too long. I hope you can do something about Richard soon."

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

"I can slump to Rwanda as soon as I pack a yardstick, a blanket, and my spider."

"You'd better take a ruler too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he alleged frenetically.

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

She rose from her seat and sped uneasily out of the office. He stared menacingly after her.

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