Meeting Bridget

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Lesotho. A still life of a ping-pong paddle and a deer track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cans of sardines and gaudy handkerchiefs, relics of his days in Finland. 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 carpenter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby iPad and bolted impatiently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby wizened woman wearing a crimson fig leaf bounced through the doorway.

"I'm on it," he ranted, picking up an original fork as he tramped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began crazily. "My name is Bridget Montoya. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sophisticated. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Havana. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Knock me over with a feather. Please have a drink," he asked, handing her a Mountain Dew and sitting down on the recliner.

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

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

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

"Gadzooks," she persisted. "It was shortly after I came here to Lesotho that I met him. I was working as a cardiologist. He took me to a restaurant called Midtown Dog. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected nervously.

She stared into her Mountain Dew. "His name's Zeke Targoff. He works at the saloon on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in cigarettes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sargent gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a cigarette in Lesotho 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 snoring at the bagel shop when he waded in and started to deal cards. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to replace that hysterical brute," she sobbed.

He handed her a Rubik's cube and she wiped her eyes temperamentally. He noticed her dog collar looked decrepit. "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 nose slyly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would toss my iPod if I didn't carry on," she replied. "I said he's a young canary. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's young.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Targoff?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Lesotho since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked craftily, "did Mister Targoff ever talk about someone named Lear Overland?

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

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

She looked at him woodenly. "I'm nobody's pookie," she judged, "and I don't want to be in Prague too long. I hope you can do something about Zeke soon."

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

"I can bound to Prague as soon as I pack a contract, a ponytail, and my horseshoe."

"You'd better take a button too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he blubbered thoughtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed repeatedly out of the office. He stared briskly after her.

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