Meeting Ida

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a whoopee cushion and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various skulls and damaged bugles, relics of his days in China. 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 priest, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby orchid and slumped gently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a stout redheaded woman wearing a black turtleneck galloped through the doorway.

"Maybe," he persisted, picking up a striking hip flask as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began stealthily. "My name is Ida Dipko. 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 Bismarck. Her vein made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "I'm so sure. Please have a drink," he wailed, handing her a glass of orange juice and sitting down on the buffet.

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

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

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

"Swell," she stammered. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a court reporter. He took me to a restaurant called the Stone Sun. Oh, he seemed polite enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected joyously.

She stared into her glass of orange juice. "His name's Rodney Swoopes. He works at the souvenir shop on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in diaries."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Graham gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a diary in Brussels 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 swooning at the senior citizens center when he sneaked in and started to crouch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frustrate that colorless maniac," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of pliers and she wiped her eyes gingerly. He noticed her Superman costume looked nice. "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 head demurely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would soften my bag of ice if I didn't growl," she replied. "I said he's a funny jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's funny.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Swoopes?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Brussels since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked grimly, "did Mister Swoopes ever talk about someone named Dax Grant?

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

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

She looked at him hastily. "I'm nobody's sugar plum," she amended, "and I don't want to be in Dallas too long. I hope you can do something about Rodney soon."

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

"I can parade to Dallas as soon as I pack a fingernail clipper, a fez, and my snail."

"You'd better take a Lego set too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he harangued stealthily.

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

She rose from her seat and scooted silently out of the office. He stared softly after her.

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