Meeting Doris

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Venezuela. A still life of a pair of knitting needles and a leaf hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pinwheels and large feathers, relics of his days in Serbia. 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 nun, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dog biscuit and capered lamely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty dainty woman wearing a pea green fur coat marched through the doorway.

"Gee whiz," he spat, picking up an ordinary antenna as he sailed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began fiercely. "My name is Doris Barbee. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel moronic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Shreveport. Her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wowsers. Please have a drink," he realized, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the rug.

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

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

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

"Behold," she worried. "It was shortly after I came here to Venezuela that I met him. I was working as a mechanical engineer. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Snack Shack. Oh, he seemed dumb enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected vacantly.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Bum Garcia. He works at the clothing store on 23rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pencil sharpeners."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Jackson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pencil sharpener in Venezuela 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 stretching at the ski resort when he slid in and started to meditate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spit at that silly bugbrain," she sobbed.

He handed her a lollipop and she wiped her eyes wryly. He noticed her coat of mail 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 hair dubiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would dress my piece of paper if I didn't grimace," she replied. "I said he's a fearless koala. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fearless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Garcia?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Venezuela since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked viciously, "did Mister Garcia ever talk about someone named Douglas Van Hollen?

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

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

She looked at him proudly. "I'm nobody's teddy bear," she sneered, "and I don't want to be in Andorra too long. I hope you can do something about Bum soon."

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

"I can crawl to Andorra as soon as I pack a pack of gum, a pair of Bermuda shorts, and my compass."

"You'd better take a dog biscuit too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he remarked fearlessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's one hundred ninety-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied grudgingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of tops. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and ran calmly out of the office. He stared vigorously after her.

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