Meeting Christabel

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Nepal. A still life of a daisy and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various microscopes and waxy hair dryers, relics of his days in Iraq. 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 elementary school teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ping-pong paddle and bounded defiantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky dapper woman wearing a maroon headscarf strode through the doorway.

"Far out," he panted, picking up an autographed bugle as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began reluctantly. "My name is Christabel Wall. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conceited. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Eugene. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Crackers. Please have a drink," he raved, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the umbrella stand.

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

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

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

"Indeed," she moaned. "It was shortly after I came here to Nepal that I met him. I was working as a street artist. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Lounge. Oh, he seemed disgusting enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected rapidly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Saul Barnes. He works at the coffee shop on 19th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pickles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Flores gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pickle in Nepal 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 rocking at the day care center when he barrelled in and started to swallow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to avoid that irate curmudgeon," she sobbed.

He handed her a dish and she wiped her eyes strangely. He noticed her diaper looked thick. "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 toupee wildly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would kick my football if I didn't sneer," she replied. "I said he's an intrepid honeybee. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intrepid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Barnes?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Nepal since then."

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

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

He sounded more pigeon-toed than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his fingernail like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and looked puzzled for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like rose petals since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked unnaturally, "did Mister Barnes ever talk about someone named Mickey Oliver?

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

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

She looked at him boisterously. "I'm nobody's mon chéri," she shouted, "and I don't want to be in Georgia too long. I hope you can do something about Saul soon."

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

"I can flounce to Georgia as soon as I pack a yardstick, a T-shirt, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a spool of thread too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he judged testily.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled lightly out of the office. He stared hungrily after her.

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