Meeting Daisy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Luxembourg. A still life of a plaque and a badger hole hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various fish bowls and bizarre skulls, relics of his days in South Africa. 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 park ranger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bilge pump and jumped grimly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight beautiful woman wearing a metallic red bowler hat galloped through the doorway.

"Dum de dum dum," he voiced, picking up an ornate oriental vase as he clambered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began awkwardly. "My name is Daisy Fosbender. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel friendly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Houston. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Darn. Please have a drink," he mumbled, handing her an old fashioned and sitting down on the bathtub.

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

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

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

"Sieg Heil," she fumed. "It was shortly after I came here to Luxembourg that I met him. I was working as a factory worker. He took me to a restaurant called the Asian Emporium. Oh, he seemed daring enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected doubtfully.

She stared into her old fashioned. "His name's Angelo Kafka. He works at the candy store on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in oriental vases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Velasquez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an oriental vase in Luxembourg 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 playing solitaire at the juice shop when he lurched in and started to bark. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spill a cup of espresso on that brave fool," she sobbed.

He handed her a piggy bank and she wiped her eyes neatly. He noticed her pair of knickers looked fresh. "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 horn irritably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would strengthen my bag if I didn't slobber," she replied. "I said he's a zany ferret. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's zany.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kafka?"

"Only a week; I've only been in Luxembourg since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked unabashedly, "did Mister Kafka ever talk about someone named Boots Domínguez?

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

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

She looked at him accidentally. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she laughed, "and I don't want to be in Lebanon too long. I hope you can do something about Angelo soon."

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

"I can dash to Lebanon as soon as I pack a bouquet, a nose ring, and my pumpkin."

"You'd better take a shovel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he grunted mysteriously.

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

She rose from her seat and crawled offhandedly out of the office. He stared sorrowfully after her.

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