Meeting Regina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Mumbai. A still life of a dead salamander and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cardboard boxes and gooey salt shakers, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 farmer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mop and ran sarcastically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small scruffy woman wearing a purple kilt slid through the doorway.

"For cryin' out loud," he hummed, picking up a wet bag of ice as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began caustically. "My name is Regina McDermott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel relaxed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Toronto. Her appendix made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "By all the saints at the backside door of purgatory. Please have a drink," he observed, handing her a soda and sitting down on the billiard table.

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

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

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

"Big deal," she joked. "It was shortly after I came here to Mumbai that I met him. I was working as a courier. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Plate. Oh, he seemed serious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected furiously.

She stared into her soda. "His name's Bronk Valentine. He works at the mortuary on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cans of soup."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Swaanhof gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a can of soup in Mumbai 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 twitching at the school cafeteria when he jumped in and started to sleep. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to soothe that crafty bilge rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes thoughtfully. He noticed her Stetson hat looked ancient. "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 Achilles tendon smoothly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pierce my backpack if I didn't wake up," she replied. "I said he's a freakish colt. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's freakish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Valentine?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Mumbai since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked awkwardly, "did Mister Valentine ever talk about someone named Henry Potatohead?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Swaanhof operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, joy of my life, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice mansion in Greece. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him kindly. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she sputtered, "and I don't want to be in Greece too long. I hope you can do something about Bronk soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Greece as soon as I pack a can of soup, a locket, and my chart."

"You'd better take a bucket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted perkily.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded steadily out of the office. He stared happily after her.

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