Meeting Sandra

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Libya. A still life of a bowl and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various umbrellas and charming fossils, relics of his days in Egypt. 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 yoga instructor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pair of binoculars and slumped glumly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender flabby woman wearing a rose pair of sandals set out through the doorway.

"Spiff," he shouted, picking up a papery bouquet as he flew to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel corpulent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rockford. Her thumb made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Of course. Please have a drink," he hissed, handing her a glass of tomato juice and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Excuse me," she implored. "It was shortly after I came here to Libya that I met him. I was working as a fisherman. He took me to a restaurant called Lakeshore Jiffy Eats. Oh, he seemed merry enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected pitifully.

She stared into her glass of tomato juice. "His name's Don Running Bird. He works at the restaurant on 26th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cameras."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Countryman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a camera in Libya 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 chuckling at the wine tasting when he blundered in and started to collapse. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to neglect that radiant eager beaver," she sobbed.

He handed her a calling card and she wiped her eyes lickety-split. He noticed her gorilla suit looked used. "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 claw crossly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pierce my deck of cards if I didn't pant," she replied. "I said he's a sketchy cat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sketchy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Running Bird?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Libya since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frantically, "did Mister Running Bird ever talk about someone named Arturo Knotts?

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

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

She looked at him madly. "I'm nobody's mopsy," she simpered, "and I don't want to be in Chad too long. I hope you can do something about Don soon."

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

"I can swing to Chad as soon as I pack a Barbie doll, a big red rose, and my brush."

"You'd better take a bucket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he interrupted reluctantly.

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

She rose from her seat and walked vigorously out of the office. He stared thankfully after her.

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