Meeting Olga

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

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

The office was cluttered with various pens and fabulous pots, relics of his days in Chile. 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 baker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bag of popcorn and lumbered cleverly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout muscular woman wearing a carrot-orange sweater swaggered through the doorway.

"Eek," he suggested, picking up an art deco diamond as he paraded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strangely. "My name is Olga Watts. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel elderly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Manila. Her little finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Whee. Please have a drink," he vowed, handing her a V8 and sitting down on the hatstand.

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

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

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

"Goodness me," she whimpered. "It was shortly after I came here to Florida that I met him. I was working as a molecular biologist. He took me to a restaurant called Mother's Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed intrepid enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected deliberately.

She stared into her V8. "His name's Simeon Hogan. He works at the boutique on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pigeons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Newman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pigeon in Florida 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 sweating at the radio station when he padded in and started to smile. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to sit on that gargantuan floozy," she sobbed.

He handed her a teapot and she wiped her eyes lickety-split. He noticed her dress looked amazing. "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 valiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wiggle my advertisement if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a rugged shark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's rugged.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hogan?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Florida since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked again, "did Mister Hogan ever talk about someone named Jerry Duncan?

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

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

She looked at him courteously. "I'm nobody's beloved," she spat, "and I don't want to be in Massachusetts too long. I hope you can do something about Simeon soon."

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

"I can bounce to Massachusetts as soon as I pack a cork, a diaper, and my doily."

"You'd better take a bilge pump too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he emphasized slowly.

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

She rose from her seat and clambered sharply out of the office. He stared sorrowfully after her.

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