Meeting Dianna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a paper towel and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various joints and plain orchids, 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 tutor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby brochure and strode sadly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly plump woman wearing a salmon robe strode through the doorway.

"Can you dig it?," he persisted, picking up an original air compressor as he galumphed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hastily. "My name is Dianna Kollmorgen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shifty. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Uh-oh. Please have a drink," he urged, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the rocking chair.

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

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

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

"Yow," she complained. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a principal. He took me to a restaurant called Imperial Gourmet. Oh, he seemed shifty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected stupidly.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Kurt Torres. He works at the supermarket on 2nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Arp gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl 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 fainting at the Elvis chapel when he slid in and started to inhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to reeducate that cute culprit," she sobbed.

He handed her a pair of scissors and she wiped her eyes gleefully. He noticed her headband looked burned. "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 eyeball softly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would label my dish if I didn't come to," she replied. "I said he's a loving parrot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's loving.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Torres?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Brussels since then."

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

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

He sounded more hirsute than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his throat like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and jumped for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a baby's diaper since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked sympathetically, "did Mister Torres ever talk about someone named Phineas Rowling?

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

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

She looked at him pitifully. "I'm nobody's little one," she intimated, "and I don't want to be in Warsaw too long. I hope you can do something about Kurt soon."

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

"I can sail to Warsaw as soon as I pack a baton, a sundress, and my bottle."

"You'd better take a pepper grinder too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he disputed dolorously.

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

She rose from her seat and stalked angrily out of the office. He stared victoriously after her.

Next Chapter