Meeting Bria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Egypt. A still life of a tube of glue and a rock hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various notebooks and amazing Lego sets, relics of his days in Spain. 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 typing teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby helmet and sneaked sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly bearded woman wearing a red dress paraded through the doorway.

"Sweet," he invited, picking up an automatic mop as he swung to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Bria Vickers. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sinister. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Oakland. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Big whoop. Please have a drink," he winked, handing her a whiskey sour and sitting down on the bath mat.

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

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

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

"Ultimate," she squeaked. "It was shortly after I came here to Egypt that I met him. I was working as a biologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Lucky Chophouse. Oh, he seemed vacuous enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected ruefully.

She stared into her whiskey sour. "His name's Saul Zwiebel. He works at the grocery store on 17th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in plaques."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ratwort gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a plaque in Egypt 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 grumbling at the school cafeteria when he galloped in and started to howl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to punch that awkward troglodyte," she sobbed.

He handed her a blanket and she wiped her eyes dreamily. He noticed her turtleneck looked stolen. "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 larynx solemnly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dress my lollipop if I didn't purr," she replied. "I said he's a confident kitty. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's confident.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zwiebel?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked solemnly, "did Mister Zwiebel ever talk about someone named Jesus Hogan?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ratwort 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 crypt in Suriname. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him perkily. "I'm nobody's kitten," she judged, "and I don't want to be in Suriname too long. I hope you can do something about Saul soon."

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

"I can barrel to Suriname as soon as I pack a bagpipe, a corsage, and my peach."

"You'd better take a yo-yo too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he muttered sharply.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred ninety-five dollars as a retainer," she replied viciously. I also have an extremely valuable collection of coat check tickets. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sidled quickly out of the office. He stared swiftly after her.

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