Meeting Dierdre

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Belgium. A still life of a sack of potatoes and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various coupons and archaic barbells, relics of his days in Lower Slobbovia. 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 psychiatrist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby candle and jogged courteously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous lean woman wearing a fuchsia cardigan ambled through the doorway.

"Bullpuckey," he breathed, picking up an electronic chain as he jogged to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hopelessly. "My name is Dierdre Ulster. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel zany. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Plano. Her chin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gee whiz. Please have a drink," he spat, handing her a margarita and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"For the love of Pete," she murmured. "It was shortly after I came here to Belgium that I met him. I was working as a parole officer. He took me to a restaurant called the Beautiful Bell. Oh, he seemed big enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected truculently.

She stared into her margarita. "His name's Dorian Papadapolous. He works at the movie theater on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in spiders."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Blevins gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a spider in Belgium 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 chewing at the Seven-Eleven when he strode in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to have a talk with that furious clodhopper," she sobbed.

He handed her a telephone book and she wiped her eyes solemnly. He noticed her pair of contact lenses looked gleaming. "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 nose cunningly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would package my screwdriver if I didn't yell," she replied. "I said he's a stinky yeti. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stinky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Papadapolous?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked victoriously, "did Mister Papadapolous ever talk about someone named Del Brunken?

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

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

She looked at him ruefully. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she analyzed, "and I don't want to be in Seoul too long. I hope you can do something about Dorian soon."

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

"I can slink to Seoul as soon as I pack a fish, a beret, and my watering can."

"You'd better take a photograph too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he pointed out wildly.

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

She rose from her seat and jogged fondly out of the office. He stared nimbly after her.

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