Meeting Kelly

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Burbank. A still life of a flash drive and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various file folders and hand-carved decks of cards, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 investment banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hacksaw and sailed arrogantly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a bony obese woman wearing a periwinkle toga galumphed through the doorway.

"Huh," he phrased, picking up a petite blanket as he tiptoed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began diligently. "My name is Kelly Zhu. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel urbane. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Salinas. Her waist made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Woohoo. Please have a drink," he peeped, handing her a cup of espresso and sitting down on the bookcase.

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

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

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

"Unbelievable," she exclaimed. "It was shortly after I came here to Burbank that I met him. I was working as a gastroenterologist. He took me to a restaurant called China Bakery. Oh, he seemed vile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Howard West. He works at the furniture store on 40th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blank checks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Osborne gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blank check in Burbank 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 yelping at the senior citizens center when he slunk in and started to take a bath. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to demean that fiendish ninnyhammer," she sobbed.

He handed her a ball and she wiped her eyes kindly. He noticed her belt buckle looked fluffy. "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 intensely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wax my shoe if I didn't pant," she replied. "I said he's a dreadful monster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dreadful.'"

"How long have you known Mr. West?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Burbank since then."

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

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

He sounded more dreadful than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his appendix like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and typed 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 narrowly, "did Mister West ever talk about someone named Anatoly Bromley?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Osborne operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, sweet pea, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice church in Cape Town. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him roughly. "I'm nobody's sweet pea," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Cape Town too long. I hope you can do something about Howard soon."

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

"I can parade to Cape Town as soon as I pack a pickle, a beehive, and my piece of candy."

"You'd better take a mop too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pleaded sympathetically.

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

She rose from her seat and tumbled automatically out of the office. He stared sternly after her.

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