Meeting Karen

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

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

The office was adorned with various urns and valuable batteries, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 owl rancher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby nail and trekked nervously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gaunt plump woman wearing a black denim skirt swaggered through the doorway.

"Freaky," he grieved, picking up a big pack of gum as he jumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began zestily. "My name is Karen Gunderson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bilious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Madrid. Her pituitary gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eh. Please have a drink," he opined, handing her a mint julep and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Poof," she smiled. "It was shortly after I came here to Madagascar that I met him. I was working as a radio announcer. He took me to a restaurant called China Sun. Oh, he seemed impish enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected strictly.

She stared into her mint julep. "His name's Sam Castaneda. He works at the mortuary on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in piggy banks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bowe gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piggy bank in Madagascar 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 flinching at the gyro shop when he slipped in and started to burble. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that vile knave," she sobbed.

He handed her a flowerpot and she wiped her eyes sorrowfully. He noticed her sombrero looked cotton. "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 mouth tearfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would glue my tube of glue if I didn't lie around in bed," she replied. "I said he's a powerful android. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's powerful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Castaneda?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Madagascar since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked crossly, "did Mister Castaneda ever talk about someone named Mason Van Bloom?

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

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

She looked at him delicately. "I'm nobody's radiant starlight," she wept, "and I don't want to be in Lebanon too long. I hope you can do something about Sam soon."

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

"I can dive to Lebanon as soon as I pack a firecracker, a rain coat, and my diary."

"You'd better take a deck of cards too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he questioned peevishly.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled daintily out of the office. He stared dolorously after her.

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