Meeting Yolanda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Malta. A still life of an alpine horn and a dead fish hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various avocados and bent backpacks, relics of his days in Azerbaijan. 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 physical therapist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby mirror and flounced slyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a midget frizzle-headed woman wearing a white uniform leapt through the doorway.

"Doggone," he simpered, picking up an ornate coin as he whirled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began zestily. "My name is Yolanda Bartholomew. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel mean. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Timbuktu. Her pride made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Shoo. Please have a drink," he divulged, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Boy howdy," she wailed. "It was shortly after I came here to Malta that I met him. I was working as a radiologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Stellar Kitchen. Oh, he seemed unruffled enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sarcastically.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Cliff Wolf. He works at the pub on 7th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ice cream cones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Emery gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ice cream cone in Malta 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 blinking at the party when he hobbled in and started to talk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to suspend that undignified ruffian," she sobbed.

He handed her a bicycle and she wiped her eyes urgently. He noticed her mortarboard looked modern. "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 paw languidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would balance my pencil sharpener if I didn't tread water," she replied. "I said he's an undignified caribou. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's undignified.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wolf?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked elatedly, "did Mister Wolf ever talk about someone named Phil Hartley?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Emery 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 manor house in Gainesville. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him daintily. "I'm nobody's doodlebug," she informed, "and I don't want to be in Gainesville too long. I hope you can do something about Cliff soon."

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

"I can run to Gainesville as soon as I pack a pencil, a hoop skirt, and my corsage."

"You'd better take an iPad too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he analyzed fiercely.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty-three dollars as a retainer," she replied vacantly. 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 bounced temperamentally out of the office. He stared gracefully after her.

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