Meeting So-Yeng

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Denmark. A still life of a fossil and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pieces of candy and plain ingots of plutonium, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 fire marshal, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piece of candy and zoomed humbly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous bald woman wearing a carrot-orange denim skirt tumbled through the doorway.

"Ahem," he responded, picking up a stiff primrose as he swaggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began demurely. "My name is So-Yeng Buckley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cunning. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fullerton. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Retch. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the bookshelf.

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

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

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

"As if," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Denmark that I met him. I was working as an optician. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore House of Sushi. Oh, he seemed bold enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected rapidly.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Jordan Mann. He works at the popcorn shop on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in file folders."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bowers gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a file folder in Denmark 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 suffering at the closet when he blundered in and started to seethe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sing to that obese lubberly lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a tissue and she wiped her eyes gleefully. He noticed her cat suit looked flaky. "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 paw trustingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bite my garbage can if I didn't fret," she replied. "I said he's a shy antelope. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's shy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Mann?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Denmark since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked defiantly, "did Mister Mann ever talk about someone named Lars Small?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him reluctantly. "I'm nobody's old bean," she reacted, "and I don't want to be in Bogotá too long. I hope you can do something about Jordan soon."

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

"I can dart to Bogotá as soon as I pack a cookbook, a Speedo, and my pack of gum."

"You'd better take a fossil too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he chimed greedily.

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

She rose from her seat and traipsed deliberately out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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