Meeting Faye

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Katmandu. A still life of an ashtray and a stone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Hostess Ding Dongs and smelly saws, relics of his days in Panama. 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 lawyer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby barbell and hopped uselessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated frail woman wearing a camouflage romper lumbered through the doorway.

"Totally rad," he complained, picking up a crooked bedpan as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began majestically. "My name is Faye Sorovich. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel naïve. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Shanghai. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shazam. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her a Mudslide and sitting down on the armoire.

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

"This is difficult for me," she answered, glancing at the pair of bell-bottoms he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Poof," she analyzed. "It was shortly after I came here to Katmandu that I met him. I was working as a telephone operator. He took me to a restaurant called Fabulous Bistro. Oh, he seemed perky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected valiantly.

She stared into her Mudslide. "His name's Muerto McCracken. He works at the bus station on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in teddy bears."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Cheetham gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a teddy bear in Katmandu 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 backing up at the basement when he rushed in and started to hum. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to surprise that moody peabrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a peanut and she wiped her eyes innocently. He noticed her bikini looked rancid. "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 skull sadly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would punch my peace pipe if I didn't get along," she replied. "I said he's a poised mink. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's poised.'"

"How long have you known Mr. McCracken?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Katmandu since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked innocently, "did Mister McCracken ever talk about someone named Royce Hastings?

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

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

She looked at him woefully. "I'm nobody's noodle," she yammered, "and I don't want to be in Lincoln too long. I hope you can do something about Muerto soon."

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

"I can traipse to Lincoln as soon as I pack a stick of gum, a gun belt, and my paperweight."

"You'd better take a fountain pen too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he winked suddenly.

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

She rose from her seat and blundered fondly out of the office. He stared admiringly after her.

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