Meeting Helga

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Paraguay. A still life of a paper airplane and a cedar tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various rubber stamps and bulky key rings, relics of his days in Germany. 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 social worker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby tube of glue and zoomed crankily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a miniature shapely woman wearing a chocolate brown ribbon waded through the doorway.

"Blecch," he cackled, picking up an important bullet as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Helga Portwine. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sensible. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tempe. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Maybe. Please have a drink," he interpreted, 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 offered, glancing at the balaclava he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Diddly poo," she chattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Paraguay that I met him. I was working as a massage therapist. He took me to a restaurant called the Fragrant Sea. Oh, he seemed pesky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected smoothly.

She stared into her cup of espresso. "His name's Damien Pummelly. He works at the clothing store on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags of popcorn."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Robinson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag of popcorn in Paraguay 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 relaxing at the taco shop when he made a beeline in and started to vomit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to exclude that humble ding dong," she sobbed.

He handed her a pearl and she wiped her eyes diligently. He noticed her Stetson hat looked large. "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 liver stealthily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would melt my sack of potatoes if I didn't freak out," she replied. "I said he's a megalomaniacal bat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's megalomaniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Pummelly?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Paraguay since then."

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

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

He sounded more self-assured than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his tongue like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and ran away for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like rum since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked pitifully, "did Mister Pummelly ever talk about someone named Dusty Wells?

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

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

She looked at him delicately. "I'm nobody's love," she cackled, "and I don't want to be in Vanatu too long. I hope you can do something about Damien soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Vanatu as soon as I pack a statue, a hat, and my tissue."

"You'd better take a dollar bill too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he announced innocently.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's forty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied intensely. 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 ran crazily out of the office. He stared flightily after her.

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