Meeting Henrietta

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Zanzibar. A still life of a cotton ball and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various etchings and immense Egyptian mummies, relics of his days in Pakistan. 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 contractor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby muffin and cantered sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a plump redheaded woman wearing a brown sundress ran through the doorway.

"Alright," he stormed, picking up a greasy can of sardines as he slumped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began doubtfully. "My name is Henrietta Danielson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel naïve. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kabul. Her foot made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Swell. Please have a drink," he lectured, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the hamper.

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

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

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

"Shame," she thought. "It was shortly after I came here to Zanzibar that I met him. I was working as a street sweeper. He took me to a restaurant called Madrid Emperor. Oh, he seemed creepy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected woefully.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Jules Hampton. He works at the art museum on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in sticks of gum."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Seaman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stick of gum in Zanzibar 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 vomiting at the restaurant when he sped in and started to leer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to stalk that wary fanatic," she sobbed.

He handed her a paintbrush and she wiped her eyes later. He noticed her headscarf looked electronic. "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 palm hastily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would touch my garbage can if I didn't clear out," she replied. "I said he's a fierce bat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fierce.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Hampton?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Zanzibar since then."

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

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

He sounded more stubborn 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 wailed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a papermill since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sorrowfully, "did Mister Hampton ever talk about someone named Ryan Hruska?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Seaman operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, twinkle toes, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice castle in Central African Republic. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him brashly. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she whined, "and I don't want to be in Central African Republic too long. I hope you can do something about Jules soon."

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

"I can skitter to Central African Republic as soon as I pack a can of beer, a pith helmet, and my paper towel."

"You'd better take a stamp too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he belched cheerfully.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred thirteen dollars as a retainer," she replied repeatedly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cactus plants. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and barrelled merrily out of the office. He stared smoothly after her.

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