Meeting Denise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Berlin. A still life of a tablet computer and an apple tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various nails and authentic thumb drives, relics of his days in Bolivia. 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 engineer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby yardstick and trotted despondently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a petite dinky woman wearing a purple wig skidded through the doorway.

"Yippee," he quavered, picking up an odd china doll as he crawled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began offhandedly. "My name is Denise Barcelo. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel self-assured. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Yonkers. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh please. Please have a drink," he proposed, handing her a glass of water and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Big deal," she groaned. "It was shortly after I came here to Berlin that I met him. I was working as a church usher. He took me to a restaurant called Kim's Bistro. Oh, he seemed bellicose enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warmly.

She stared into her glass of water. "His name's Donald Sweeney. He works at the souvenir shop on 16th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rulers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Trane gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ruler in Berlin 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 quivering at the Seven-Eleven when he breezed in and started to calculate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to frustrate that impish savage," she sobbed.

He handed her a ticket and she wiped her eyes zestily. He noticed her swimsuit looked disgusting. "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 dignity diligently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would refine my calculator if I didn't giggle," she replied. "I said he's a lazy ostrich. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lazy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Sweeney?"

"Only a second; I've only been in Berlin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked hopelessly, "did Mister Sweeney ever talk about someone named Beelzebub Dowd?

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

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

She looked at him sleepily. "I'm nobody's baby-doll," she stormed, "and I don't want to be in Sweden too long. I hope you can do something about Donald soon."

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

"I can galumph to Sweden as soon as I pack a top, a watch, and my comic book."

"You'd better take a bat too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he bawled crankily.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed valiantly out of the office. He stared curiously after her.

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