Meeting Marina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Brasilia. A still life of a doll and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various brushes and smelly mirrors, relics of his days in Bermuda. 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 flight mechanic, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby whistle and struggled suavely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky fair woman wearing an azure body shirt bolted through the doorway.

"Lord be praised," he stormed, picking up a stolen elephant tusk as he capered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began madly. "My name is Marina McGraw. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel suave. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sidney. Her ear made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy moley. Please have a drink," he contended, handing her an ice cream soda and sitting down on the bed.

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

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

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

"Beshrew me," she appealed. "It was shortly after I came here to Brasilia that I met him. I was working as an obstetrician. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Hideaway. Oh, he seemed maniacal enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected strictly.

She stared into her ice cream soda. "His name's Walt Sorensen. He works at the haberdashery on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in arrowheads."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the German gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an arrowhead in Brasilia 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 spitting at the city park when he hobbled in and started to sneeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to recoil from that naïve weenie," she sobbed.

He handed her a flyswatter and she wiped her eyes openly. He noticed her pair of khakis looked rancid. "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 waist thoughtfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would tweak my horseshoe if I didn't run," she replied. "I said he's a taciturn buzzard. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's taciturn.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sorensen?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gratefully, "did Mister Sorensen ever talk about someone named Everett Phillips?

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

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

She looked at him vigorously. "I'm nobody's little cherry blossom," she queried, "and I don't want to be in Mauritius too long. I hope you can do something about Walt soon."

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

"I can lumber to Mauritius as soon as I pack a bag of popcorn, a black belt, and my pink flamingo."

"You'd better take a painting too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he judged dolorously.

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

She rose from her seat and skittered wildly out of the office. He stared courageously after her.

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