Meeting Roxanne

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the tenth floor of an aging building in Croatia. A still life of an urn and a tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various diamonds and frilly nails, relics of his days in Iran. 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 author, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby campaign sign and trotted crossly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine adorable woman wearing a rose bracelet zipped through the doorway.

"Aha," he moaned, picking up a torn advertisement as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began joyously. "My name is Roxanne Potatohead. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel slimy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Washington DC. Her abdomen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Golly whiz. Please have a drink," he amended, handing her a Shirley Temple and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"Fiddlesticks," she lamented. "It was shortly after I came here to Croatia that I met him. I was working as a film producer. He took me to a restaurant called London Bell. Oh, he seemed powerful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected admiringly.

She stared into her Shirley Temple. "His name's Hendrick Abbey. He works at the fortune teller shop on 36th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in primroses."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Akiyama gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a primrose in Croatia 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 adjusting the clock at the poetry reading when he slithered in and started to snarl. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dismay that pigeon-toed monkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a contract and she wiped her eyes obediently. He noticed her tattoo looked crusty. "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 vein grudgingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would smudge my box of candy if I didn't crouch," she replied. "I said he's a pert chameleon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's pert.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Abbey?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Croatia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked humbly, "did Mister Abbey ever talk about someone named Dorian Doe?

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

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

She looked at him dolorously. "I'm nobody's apple of my eye," she phrased, "and I don't want to be in Belarus too long. I hope you can do something about Hendrick soon."

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

"I can scurry to Belarus as soon as I pack a ball, an Armani suit, and my accordion."

"You'd better take a tube of toothpaste too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he invited thoughtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and barrelled nimbly out of the office. He stared strangely after her.

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