Meeting Tanya

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Benin. A still life of a candle and a spider web hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various apples and big barbells, relics of his days in Belgium. 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 sports writer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby picture and trotted lazily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly sorrowful woman wearing a yellow cowboy hat blundered through the doorway.

"Castor and Pollux! Blow me to Bermuda," he provoked, picking up a multicolored cookie as he sauntered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sternly. "My name is Tanya Prince. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel daring. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Gilbert. Her pituitary gland made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "For Pete's sake. Please have a drink," he recited, handing her a sarsaparilla and sitting down on the four-poster bed.

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

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

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

"Begad," she yammered. "It was shortly after I came here to Benin that I met him. I was working as a rock musician. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Jiffy Eats. Oh, he seemed shifty enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected uselessly.

She stared into her sarsaparilla. "His name's Buck Riley. He works at the bakery on 38th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in remote controls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Holloman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a remote control in Benin 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 shaking at the restaurant when he waltzed in and started to swoon. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to disparage that funny wretch," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of toilet paper and she wiped her eyes clumsily. He noticed her pair of cowboy boots looked large. "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 calf sourly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refurbish my bowl if I didn't whirl," she replied. "I said he's an absent-minded polar bear. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's absent-minded.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Riley?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Benin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked joyously, "did Mister Riley ever talk about someone named David Welles?

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

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

She looked at him glibly. "I'm nobody's lambkin," she breathed, "and I don't want to be in the Swiss Alps too long. I hope you can do something about Buck soon."

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

"I can stagger to the Swiss Alps as soon as I pack a potato, a stovepipe hat, and my broom."

"You'd better take a broom too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he whined proudly.

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

She rose from her seat and climbed fervently out of the office. He stared noisily after her.

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