Meeting Brook

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Zambia. A still life of a flower and a fallen tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various stones and clean plaques, relics of his days in Nigeria. 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 slave, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby padlock and struggled repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge little woman wearing an olive drab pair of socks slid through the doorway.

"Well I'll be," he commented, picking up an electronic roll of toilet paper as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dreamily. "My name is Brook DeMille. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel furry. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lubbock. Her little toe made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Encore. Please have a drink," he urged, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Yep," she alleged. "It was shortly after I came here to Zambia that I met him. I was working as a crime scene investigator. He took me to a restaurant called Northern Stone. Oh, he seemed statuesque enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected accidentally.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Dylan Riggs. He works at the shoe shine booth on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in key rings."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Brandon gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a key ring in Zambia 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 looking angry at the school cafeteria when he marched in and started to cogitate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to irritate that suave slubberdegullion," she sobbed.

He handed her a primrose and she wiped her eyes effortlessly. He noticed her bedsheet looked heavy. "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 beard woefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would watch my fishhook if I didn't run away," she replied. "I said he's a spindly ape. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's spindly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Riggs?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked nervously, "did Mister Riggs ever talk about someone named Devin Gore?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Brandon operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, Boopsie, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice travel trailer in St. Louis. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him later. "I'm nobody's Boopsie," she hissed, "and I don't want to be in St. Louis too long. I hope you can do something about Dylan soon."

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

"I can zoom to St. Louis as soon as I pack a rose, a parka, and my flag."

"You'd better take a cardboard box too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he realized peevishly.

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

She rose from her seat and capered lazily out of the office. He stared defiantly after her.

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