Meeting Deirdre

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

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

The office was adorned with various calculators and filthy billiard balls, relics of his days in Rwanda. 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 soldier, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pinwheel and set out furiously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky plump woman wearing an ivory cocktail dress skidded through the doorway.

"Teehee," he observed, picking up a huge bell as he staggered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began queerly. "My name is Deirdre Milano. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ungainly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rome. Her tail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Quick. Please have a drink," he pronounced, handing her a Long Island iced tea and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Great," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Peru that I met him. I was working as a factory worker. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Retreat. Oh, he seemed cowardly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected gleefully.

She stared into her Long Island iced tea. "His name's Devlin Killeen. He works at the haberdashery on 31st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pipes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Mackintosh gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pipe in Peru 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 Farmer in the Dell at the restaurant when he straggled in and started to gaze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to touch that fearful nitwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a wrench and she wiped her eyes strictly. He noticed her body shirt looked grubby. "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 dignity defiantly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wallop my bottle if I didn't stare into space," she replied. "I said he's a stern weasel. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stern.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Killeen?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Peru since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked gratefully, "did Mister Killeen ever talk about someone named Arnie Suzuki?

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

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

She looked at him coolly. "I'm nobody's flower," she peeped, "and I don't want to be in Australia too long. I hope you can do something about Devlin soon."

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

"I can slump to Australia as soon as I pack a brochure, a necktie, and my coffee pot."

"You'd better take a flashlight too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he spewed frantically.

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

She rose from her seat and skittered repeatedly out of the office. He stared hysterically after her.

Next Chapter