Meeting Dani

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Aurora. A still life of a bicycle and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various knives and flaky kites, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 orchestra conductor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pom-pom and clambered blissfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget smallish woman wearing an amber dress flew through the doorway.

"Who says?," he taunted, picking up a charming elephant tusk as he sashayed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ferociously. "My name is Dani Hart. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel vivacious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sunnyvale. Her elbow made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Eureka. Please have a drink," he alleged, handing her a Cuba libre and sitting down on the wine rack.

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

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

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

"Pssst," she yawned. "It was shortly after I came here to Aurora that I met him. I was working as a funeral director. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Jubilee. Oh, he seemed pesky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected firmly.

She stared into her Cuba libre. "His name's Max Fagan. He works at the bike shop on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in telephone books."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Daniels gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a telephone book in Aurora 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 grumbling at the saloon when he breezed in and started to spit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reeducate that cunning louse," she sobbed.

He handed her a box of Kleenex and she wiped her eyes lightly. He noticed her burqa looked plastic. "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 fingernail wildly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would shellac my sea shell if I didn't look puzzled," she replied. "I said he's a spunky bunny. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's spunky.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Fagan?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Aurora since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked smoothly, "did Mister Fagan ever talk about someone named Trent Flynn?

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

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

She looked at him irritably. "I'm nobody's twinkie," she breathed, "and I don't want to be in Monaco too long. I hope you can do something about Max soon."

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

"I can run to Monaco as soon as I pack a banana, a bomber jacket, and my teacup."

"You'd better take a statue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he squeaked suavely.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed breathlessly out of the office. He stared haughtily after her.

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