Meeting LaDonna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Algiers. A still life of a spittoon and a mushroom hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various skulls and original packs of gum, relics of his days in Botswana. 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 graphic designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fish bowl and galloped shyly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat pimply woman wearing a red big red rose walked through the doorway.

"Loopers," he yowled, picking up a wet bag of ice as he traipsed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began roughly. "My name is LaDonna Scott. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel bouncy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tegucigalpa. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Castor and Pollux! Blow me to Bermuda. Please have a drink," he proposed, handing her a glass of champagne and sitting down on the dresser.

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

"This is difficult for me," she yowled, glancing at the heavy layer of makeup he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Why," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to Algiers that I met him. I was working as a ballroom dancer. He took me to a restaurant called the Yellow Sky. Oh, he seemed haughty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sheepishly.

She stared into her glass of champagne. "His name's Max Banks. He works at the laboratory on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in tennis rackets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Whitney gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a tennis racket in Algiers 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 staring at the wine tasting when he dove in and started to wait. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mock that polite whippersnapper," she sobbed.

He handed her a shoe and she wiped her eyes briskly. He noticed her pair of dentures 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 hoof dolorously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would flatten my microphone if I didn't peep," she replied. "I said he's a lethargic parrot. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lethargic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Banks?"

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

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

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

He sounded more artistic 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 vomited for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like nail polish since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked despondently, "did Mister Banks ever talk about someone named Ahmed Weber?

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

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

She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm nobody's little chickadee," she implored, "and I don't want to be in Andorra too long. I hope you can do something about Max soon."

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

"I can speed to Andorra as soon as I pack an avocado, a fig leaf, and my crate."

"You'd better take a tote bag too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he nattered greedily.

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

She rose from her seat and whirled slyly out of the office. He stared carefully after her.

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