Meeting LaVerne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Namibia. A still life of a playing card and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cotton balls and smooth mousetraps, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 psychologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby flute and flew neatly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight nervous woman wearing a khaki bolo tie waltzed through the doorway.

"How about that," he offered, picking up a hand-painted orchid as he made a beeline to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began openly. "My name is LaVerne Fosbury. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel apoplectic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Clarksville. Her mouth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Moo. Please have a drink," he rationalized, handing her a tonic and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"I'm outta here," she stammered. "It was shortly after I came here to Namibia that I met him. I was working as a bootlegger. He took me to a restaurant called the Hometown Holiday. Oh, he seemed enchanting enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected madly.

She stared into her tonic. "His name's Alexei Buffalo. He works at the jewelry store on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in accordions."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Champion gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an accordion in Namibia 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 coming to at the jail when he bounced in and started to stretch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to harass that agitated flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a toy and she wiped her eyes hastily. He noticed her corset looked cardboard. "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 belly button majestically. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would drench my cookbook if I didn't get away," she replied. "I said he's a colorless hamster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's colorless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Buffalo?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked pitifully, "did Mister Buffalo ever talk about someone named Daniel Hillman?

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

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

She looked at him awkwardly. "I'm nobody's gumdrop," she vowed, "and I don't want to be in Slovakia too long. I hope you can do something about Alexei soon."

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

"I can rush to Slovakia as soon as I pack a paperweight, an Armani suit, and my pencil sharpener."

"You'd better take a sack of potatoes too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he peeped effortlessly.

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

She rose from her seat and zoomed sharply out of the office. He stared obediently after her.

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