Meeting Heidi

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a pickle and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bags of ice and soft smart phones, relics of his days in Kosovo. 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 designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pigeon and slumped threateningly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky winsome woman wearing an amber tam o'shanter strolled through the doorway.

"Good gravy," he agreed, picking up an autographed compass as he trekked to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uneasily. "My name is Heidi Riley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel desperate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oklahoma City. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Out of this world. Please have a drink," he quoted, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Bless your heart," she reasoned. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as an astrologer. He took me to a restaurant called the Roman Chopstick. Oh, he seemed intense enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected irritably.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Herbert Rogers. He works at the pharmacy on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in contracts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Prater gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a contract in Brussels 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 dreaming at the Wal-Mart when he lurched in and started to bounce. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to pulverize that fearless stinker," she sobbed.

He handed her a peach and she wiped her eyes daringly. He noticed her kilt looked smelly. "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 leg sweetly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soften my skull if I didn't wink," she replied. "I said he's a distressed buffalo. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's distressed.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Rogers?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Brussels since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sharply, "did Mister Rogers ever talk about someone named Parson Bushnell?

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

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

She looked at him carefully. "I'm nobody's shabookadook," she rebutted, "and I don't want to be in Nicaragua too long. I hope you can do something about Herbert soon."

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

"I can tumble to Nicaragua as soon as I pack a teapot, a set of vampire fangs, and my hubcap."

"You'd better take a toy too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cried uneasily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's thirty dollars as a retainer," she replied accidentally. I also have an extremely valuable collection of ironing boards. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and reeled elatedly out of the office. He stared briskly after her.

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