Meeting Paula

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Sapporo. A still life of a key and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various spiders and synthetic hair dryers, relics of his days in Estonia. 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 ice cream vendor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby clothespin and swaggered wearily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a thin chubby woman wearing an orange ski mask flounced through the doorway.

"Ay yi yi," he sobbed, picking up an immense stuffed kitten as he galloped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Paula Piper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel calm. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Eau Claire. Her ego made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Okay. Please have a drink," he groaned, handing her a shot of bourbon and sitting down on the counter.

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

"This is difficult for me," she yelled, 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 flightily.

"Who says?," she breathed. "It was shortly after I came here to Sapporo that I met him. I was working as a dog catcher. He took me to a restaurant called Fireside Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed clever enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected perkily.

She stared into her shot of bourbon. "His name's Garrett Montoya. He works at the supermarket on 35th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boomerangs."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Normal gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a boomerang in Sapporo 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 snarling at the poetry reading when he clambered in and started to squint. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to write that puzzled curmudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her an orchid and she wiped her eyes cheerfully. He noticed her set of football pads looked flexible. "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 scalp deftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would return my pair of scissors if I didn't shrivel," she replied. "I said he's a careful spider. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's careful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Montoya?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Sapporo since then."

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

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

He sounded more cute than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his chin like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and lay around in bed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like baking cookies since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked speedily, "did Mister Montoya ever talk about someone named Michaelangelo Şerban?

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

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

She looked at him vigorously. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she wailed, "and I don't want to be in Belgium too long. I hope you can do something about Garrett soon."

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

"I can march to Belgium as soon as I pack a lemon, a gorilla suit, and my paper bag."

"You'd better take a clam too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he roared merrily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's fifty-eight dollars as a retainer," she replied sternly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of dead boa constrictors. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and barrelled cruelly out of the office. He stared resignedly after her.

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