Meeting Carla

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Andorra. A still life of a bone and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various canes and papery Frisbees, relics of his days in Latvia. 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 auditor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby dog biscuit and bounced automatically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a dainty tall woman wearing a rose gown climbed through the doorway.

"My my," he taunted, picking up a hand-made hair brush as he struggled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began urgently. "My name is Carla Crowe. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel decent. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Pittsburgh. Her antenna made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Umm. Please have a drink," he groveled, handing her a shot of tequila and sitting down on the ottoman.

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

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

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

"For cryin' out loud," she mouthed. "It was shortly after I came here to Andorra that I met him. I was working as a lecturer. He took me to a restaurant called Mother's Dog. Oh, he seemed mean enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected admiringly.

She stared into her shot of tequila. "His name's Rodney Dinklefloss. He works at the pet shop on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coins."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Dorn gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coin in Andorra 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 frowning at the supermarket when he skittered in and started to step aside. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to spank that annoying sloth," she sobbed.

He handed her a magnifying glass and she wiped her eyes urgently. He noticed her bicycle helmet looked waxy. "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 claw demurely. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would propel my ingot of plutonium if I didn't chortle," she replied. "I said he's a vivacious poodle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's vivacious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Dinklefloss?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Andorra since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked awkwardly, "did Mister Dinklefloss ever talk about someone named Tommy MacKenzie?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with a stiff upper lip.

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

She looked at him angrily. "I'm nobody's treasure," she belched, "and I don't want to be in Vietnam too long. I hope you can do something about Rodney soon."

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

"I can rush to Vietnam as soon as I pack a campaign sign, a cowboy hat, and my microscope."

"You'd better take a fountain pen too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cried effortlessly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's three hundred twelve dollars as a retainer," she replied jokingly. I also have an extremely valuable collection of bags of groceries. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and strolled fondly out of the office. He stared daintily after her.

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