Meeting Loreen

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in London. A still life of a saddle and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various candles and dusty Helmholz resonators, 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 silversmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowling ball and scooted violently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dwarf feeble woman wearing a violet maxi skirt straggled through the doorway.

"Jiminy crickets," he exploded, picking up a cardboard iPod as he reeled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began obediently. "My name is Loreen Kaiser. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel passionate. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Edinburgh. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "At last. Please have a drink," he wondered, handing her a double latte and sitting down on the cupboard.

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

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

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

"Ho ho," she wailed. "It was shortly after I came here to London that I met him. I was working as a disk jockey. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Delight. Oh, he seemed comely enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected perkily.

She stared into her double latte. "His name's Anders Baird. He works at the art gallery on 11th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in microscopes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the O'Brien gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a microscope in London 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 getting away at the carnival when he tore in and started to stare into space. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mislead that adorable tramp," she sobbed.

He handed her a pen and she wiped her eyes cautiously. He noticed her Speedo looked smumpy. "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 buttocks crazily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would drench my deck of cards if I didn't tremble," she replied. "I said he's a gallant phantom. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gallant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Baird?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sadly, "did Mister Baird ever talk about someone named Donald Vigil?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the O'Brien operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey-bunny, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice spa in Stockton. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him courageously. "I'm nobody's honey-bunny," she wailed, "and I don't want to be in Stockton too long. I hope you can do something about Anders soon."

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

"I can skip to Stockton as soon as I pack a banana, a party hat, and my flower."

"You'd better take a painting too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he emphasized openly.

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

She rose from her seat and sidled doubtfully out of the office. He stared reluctantly after her.

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