Meeting Stephanie

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

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

The office was adorned with various kites and rusty dictionaries, relics of his days in Liechtenstein. 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 therapist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flute and flew positively toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny dainty woman wearing an emerald green bracelet tumbled through the doorway.

"Lo and behold," he stammered, picking up a big tube of glue as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gingerly. "My name is Stephanie Dipko. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel timid. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in El Paso. Her brain made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Omigosh. Please have a drink," he repeated, handing her a gin sour and sitting down on the credenza.

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

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

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

"Thunderation," she chanted. "It was shortly after I came here to Nigeria that I met him. I was working as an advertising agent. He took me to a restaurant called the Flying Bliss. Oh, he seemed hungry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her gin sour. "His name's Zachary Xing. He works at the butcher shop on 1st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in candles."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Finegan gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a candle in Nigeria 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 murmuring at the movie theater when he loped in and started to squeal. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to speak to that high-strung mangy rascal," she sobbed.

He handed her a cookbook and she wiped her eyes truculently. He noticed her pair of Oxfords looked art deco. "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 lip lovingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rattle my daisy if I didn't shrivel," she replied. "I said he's a stubby beaver. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stubby.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Xing?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Nigeria since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked bitterly, "did Mister Xing ever talk about someone named Jerry Miles?

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

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

She looked at him obediently. "I'm nobody's sunshine," she screamed, "and I don't want to be in New Orleans too long. I hope you can do something about Zachary soon."

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

"I can tumble to New Orleans as soon as I pack a doily, a sport coat, and my contract."

"You'd better take a cork too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he boasted awkwardly.

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

She rose from her seat and inched smoothly out of the office. He stared crankily after her.

Next Chapter