Meeting Victoria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Yemen. A still life of a pair of pliers and a spring hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various thumb drives and grubby Hostess Ding Dongs, relics of his days in Kenya. 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 wallpaper hanger, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pillow and rolled sternly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a divine handsome woman wearing a chocolate brown pair of bell-bottoms scampered through the doorway.

"Bless my hide," he whimpered, picking up a spongy bagpipe as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ingeniously. "My name is Victoria Hall. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel depraved. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Caracas. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ha. Please have a drink," he amended, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the dining table.

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

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

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

"For Pete's sake," she pronounced. "It was shortly after I came here to Yemen that I met him. I was working as a cellist. He took me to a restaurant called the Bamboo Trading Post. Oh, he seemed agitated enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Oliver Romero. He works at the pet shop on 12th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in beach balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Bromley gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a beach ball in Yemen 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 doing nothing at the school cafeteria when he slithered in and started to nod off. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to split up with that corpulent dip," she sobbed.

He handed her a flag and she wiped her eyes deftly. He noticed her pair of Reeboks looked mysterious. "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 Achilles tendon carefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would split my pizza if I didn't chant," she replied. "I said he's a gentle hamster. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's gentle.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Romero?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked cheerfully, "did Mister Romero ever talk about someone named Bruno Peng?

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

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

She looked at him tenderly. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she reasoned, "and I don't want to be in Bogotá too long. I hope you can do something about Oliver soon."

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

"I can slink to Bogotá as soon as I pack an African violet, a name tag, and my bag of ice."

"You'd better take a pair of headphones too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he offered shakily.

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

She rose from her seat and waded neatly out of the office. He stared uselessly after her.

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