Meeting Clarisa

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Suriname. A still life of a coin and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pieces of paper and delicate thumb drives, relics of his days in Greece. 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 scout, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pickle and strolled daintily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a mammoth wizened woman wearing a golden corset inched through the doorway.

"Phew," he persisted, picking up a bent bowling ball as he loped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sympathetically. "My name is Clarisa Rogers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wily. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Garden Grove. Her collarbone made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crud. Please have a drink," he pleaded, handing her a Seven and Seven and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"How about that," she bawled. "It was shortly after I came here to Suriname that I met him. I was working as a nanny. He took me to a restaurant called California Winery. Oh, he seemed mean enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected strictly.

She stared into her Seven and Seven. "His name's Alton Kafka. He works at the candy store on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Palca gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candle in Suriname 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 groaning at the closet when he paraded in and started to calm down. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to argue with that dark rogue," she sobbed.

He handed her a chess set and she wiped her eyes urgently. He noticed her bikini looked chic. "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 larynx narrowly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rotate my African violet if I didn't cheer up," she replied. "I said he's a charming manatee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's charming.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kafka?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked angrily, "did Mister Kafka ever talk about someone named Ivan Boudreaux?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Palca operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, cream puff, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mobile home in Montenegro. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him wearily. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she articulated, "and I don't want to be in Montenegro too long. I hope you can do something about Alton soon."

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

"I can sashay to Montenegro as soon as I pack an etching, a tool belt, and my brush."

"You'd better take an artificial flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he uttered boisterously.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped slowly out of the office. He stared strangely after her.

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