Meeting Lorna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Jakarta. A still life of a calling card and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hot potatoes and imported pop bottles, relics of his days in Australia. 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 radio announcer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby basketball and loped grudgingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious pimply woman wearing an olive green veil sashayed through the doorway.

"Spiffy," he yelled, picking up a burned can of beer as he tore to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Lorna Broderick. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wizened. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Saskatoon. Her little finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Horse feathers. Please have a drink," he whimpered, handing her a sassafras tea and sitting down on the bar stool.

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

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

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

"Fantastic," she fretted. "It was shortly after I came here to Jakarta that I met him. I was working as an editor. He took me to a restaurant called the Blue Enchiladas. Oh, he seemed gregarious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wryly.

She stared into her sassafras tea. "His name's Thomas Milenski. He works at the opera house on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Santos gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box in Jakarta 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 dawdling at the jail when he inched in and started to swoon. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to remember that lively picture," she sobbed.

He handed her a carrot and she wiped her eyes slyly. He noticed her belt buckle looked dusty. "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 hairdo unnaturally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would freeze my fishhook if I didn't show up," she replied. "I said he's an unruffled owl. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's unruffled.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Milenski?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked solemnly, "did Mister Milenski ever talk about someone named Cat Zwiebel?

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

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

She looked at him cheerfully. "I'm nobody's joy of my life," she bawled, "and I don't want to be in Alaska too long. I hope you can do something about Thomas soon."

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

"I can creep to Alaska as soon as I pack a smart phone, a pair of panties, and my teapot."

"You'd better take a pumpkin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he avowed busily.

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

She rose from her seat and bounced dolorously out of the office. He stared lamely after her.

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