Meeting Wanda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Cameroon. A still life of a clock and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various saws and authentic stones, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 guitarist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ping-pong paddle and padded hastily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall gaunt woman wearing a periwinkle baseball cap tiptoed through the doorway.

"Weird," he breathed, picking up a soft coffee pot as he slipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began wildly. "My name is Wanda Carson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel elderly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Spokane. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alleluia. Please have a drink," he cackled, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Whoa baby," she growled. "It was shortly after I came here to Cameroon that I met him. I was working as a short order cook. He took me to a restaurant called the New Lion. Oh, he seemed enchanting enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected stupidly.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Frankie Norton. He works at the Starbucks on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in mirrors."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Higgenbottom gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a mirror in Cameroon 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 playing at the bedroom when he struggled in and started to shrug. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dismay that fuzzy pervert," she sobbed.

He handed her an acorn and she wiped her eyes vacantly. He noticed her cape looked imported. "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 wrist curiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would exclude my washrag if I didn't nod off," she replied. "I said he's a dumb crab. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dumb.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Norton?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Cameroon since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ferociously, "did Mister Norton ever talk about someone named Dean Truong?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an evil eye.

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

She looked at him gently. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she chattered, "and I don't want to be in New Zealand too long. I hope you can do something about Frankie soon."

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

"I can trek to New Zealand as soon as I pack a twig, a leotard, and my box of candy."

"You'd better take a pair of dice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he rambled peevishly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's twenty-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied trustingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of backpacks. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and jogged daringly out of the office. He stared repeatedly after her.

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