Meeting Hildegarde

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Spain. A still life of a plaque and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various tablet computers and cheap clothespins, relics of his days in Laos. 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 undercover agent, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby feather and scampered gratefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a skinny beautiful woman wearing a forest green sport coat skittered through the doorway.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to," he grieved, picking up a rancid deck of cards as he scampered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began jokingly. "My name is Hildegarde Irons. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel cautious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fort Collins. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Heck. Please have a drink," he joked, handing her a root beer float and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Phew," she noted. "It was shortly after I came here to Spain that I met him. I was working as a fisherman. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Forest. Oh, he seemed absent-minded enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected suddenly.

She stared into her root beer float. "His name's Bart Diaz. He works at the psychic reading business on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in oriental vases."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Yamamoto gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an oriental vase in Spain 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 barfing at the city park when he bounced in and started to play. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to have a talk with that sweet dimwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a fossil and she wiped her eyes dubiously. He noticed her letter jacket looked papery. "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 buttocks carelessly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would roll my biscuit if I didn't chatter," she replied. "I said he's a miniscule phantom. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's miniscule.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Diaz?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Spain since then."

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

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

He sounded more hairy 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 leered for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a sardine cannery since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked jokingly, "did Mister Diaz ever talk about someone named Mario David?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she begged, "and I don't want to be in Baton Rouge too long. I hope you can do something about Bart soon."

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

"I can rush to Baton Rouge as soon as I pack a model airplane, a pair of dentures, and my pencil."

"You'd better take a cane too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered perkily.

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

She rose from her seat and slithered daringly out of the office. He stared angrily after her.

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