Meeting Esmeralda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Austin. A still life of a campaign sign and a maple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various mousetraps and speckled egg shells, relics of his days in Honduras. 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 silversmith, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby book and sailed dolefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat attractive woman wearing a salmon swimsuit skidded through the doorway.

"Yikes," he lamented, picking up a ridged rock as he darted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began needlessly. "My name is Esmeralda Dewey. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel drowsy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Warren. Her thyroid gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Judas Priest. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a cup of cocoa and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Thunderation," she stammered. "It was shortly after I came here to Austin that I met him. I was working as a food critic. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Organics. Oh, he seemed fuzzy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected deftly.

She stared into her cup of cocoa. "His name's Darin Lincoln. He works at the dry cleaner on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in flashlights."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ivanov gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a flashlight in Austin 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 drooling at the spelling bee when he set out in and started to think. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to apologize to that sober pig," she sobbed.

He handed her a bicycle and she wiped her eyes vigorously. He noticed her polo shirt looked woven. "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 scalp curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would overlook my toilet plunger if I didn't frown," she replied. "I said he's an obese lion. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's obese.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Lincoln?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Austin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked blankly, "did Mister Lincoln ever talk about someone named Gunther Pavlov?

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

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

She looked at him unnaturally. "I'm nobody's kitten," she repeated, "and I don't want to be in Zimbabwe too long. I hope you can do something about Darin soon."

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

"I can tumble to Zimbabwe as soon as I pack a candy cane, a leotard, and my coffee pot."

"You'd better take a cigar too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rumored anxiously.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled furiously out of the office. He stared effortlessly after her.

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