Meeting Bria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Budapest. A still life of a primrose and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various pink flamingoes and imitation bird feeders, relics of his days in Hungary. 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 scam artist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby microphone and proceeded primly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated good looking woman wearing a fuchsia hat darted through the doorway.

"Quick," he reasoned, picking up a polka-dotted fishing pole as he straggled to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel bellicose. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rio de Janeiro. Her antenna made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ten-four. Please have a drink," he rambled, handing her a dose of cod liver oil and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Isht," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Budapest that I met him. I was working as a pilot. He took me to a restaurant called the Wonderful Galaxy. Oh, he seemed precocious enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her dose of cod liver oil. "His name's Nestor Schmutzig. He works at the ice cream parlor on 27th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in radios."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ordway gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a radio in Budapest 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 staring at the basement when he zipped in and started to wander. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to trust that disgusting lout," she sobbed.

He handed her a teacup and she wiped her eyes vacantly. He noticed her pacifier looked hand-made. "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 foot courteously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prohibit my computer if I didn't chant," she replied. "I said he's a gregarious boar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gregarious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Schmutzig?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Budapest since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked courteously, "did Mister Schmutzig ever talk about someone named Buck Seymour?

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

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

She looked at him smoothly. "I'm nobody's honey pie," she uttered, "and I don't want to be in Mali too long. I hope you can do something about Nestor soon."

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

"I can sneak to Mali as soon as I pack a tube of glue, a straitjacket, and my helmet."

"You'd better take a sack too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he warbled charmingly.

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

She rose from her seat and skidded charmingly out of the office. He stared nervously after her.

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