Meeting Daisy

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Orlando. A still life of a spinning wheel and a seed pod hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cameras and jagged elephant tusks, relics of his days in Slovenia. 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 referee, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby oriental vase and waltzed breathlessly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous sorrowful woman wearing an olive drab midi skirt hopped through the doorway.

"Buzzards," he retorted, picking up a grubby box of candy as he galumphed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began bravely. "My name is Daisy Owens. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel modest. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Casablanca. Her aorta made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Diddly poo. Please have a drink," he maintained, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"WTF," she yelled. "It was shortly after I came here to Orlando that I met him. I was working as a dermatologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Blazing Diner. Oh, he seemed ungainly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected bravely.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Kirby Cantrell. He works at the convenience store on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in balloons."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Gomez gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a balloon in Orlando 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 Duck Duck Goose at the tanning salon when he tiptoed in and started to frown. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to forget that phlegmatic hooligan," she sobbed.

He handed her an air compressor and she wiped her eyes coolly. He noticed her letter jacket looked heavy. "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 wig suavely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unwrap my piece of candy if I didn't snicker," she replied. "I said he's a brash prairie dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brash.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cantrell?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked suavely, "did Mister Cantrell ever talk about someone named Jerry Quintero?

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

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

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's beefcake," she snarled, "and I don't want to be in Swaziland too long. I hope you can do something about Kirby soon."

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

"I can bounce to Swaziland as soon as I pack a spider, a wristwatch, and my advertisement."

"You'd better take a ticket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he roared firmly.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked confidently out of the office. He stared busily after her.

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