Meeting Dierdre

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Philadelphia. A still life of a Van Gogh and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall. The office was adorned with various pails and striped cans of sardines, relics of his days in Slovakia. 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 mason, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby telephone book and barrelled lamely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby good looking woman wearing a polka dotted leotard sashayed through the doorway.

"Quick," he recited, picking up a valuable model airplane as he zoomed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began ruefully. "My name is Dierdre Binkley. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel tactful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bonn. Her eye made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Mommy. Please have a drink," he blurted, handing her a cambric tea and sitting down on the umbrella stand.

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

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

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

"Ay chihuahua," she smiled. "It was shortly after I came here to Philadelphia that I met him. I was working as an upholsterer. He took me to a restaurant called Exotic Orchid. Oh, he seemed thoughtful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected cheerfully.

She stared into her cambric tea. "His name's Ricky Cole. He works at the supermarket on 33rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coffee pots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Warren gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coffee pot in Philadelphia 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 typing at the synagogue when he traipsed in and started to rest. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to jab that sophisticated pigdog," she sobbed.

He handed her a pop bottle and she wiped her eyes gracefully. He noticed her set of dentures looked brittle. "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 hangnail stupidly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would fix my pain pill if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's a maniacal mongoose. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's maniacal.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cole?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Philadelphia since then."

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

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

He sounded more dismal than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his piehole like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and dilly-dallied for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like mountain air since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked testily, "did Mister Cole ever talk about someone named Garth Fischer?

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

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

She looked at him sympathetically. "I'm nobody's tootsy-wootsy," she realized, "and I don't want to be in Lubbock too long. I hope you can do something about Ricky soon."

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

"I can blunder to Lubbock as soon as I pack a telephone book, a Superman costume, and my baby doll."

"You'd better take an ashtray too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he affirmed later.

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

She rose from her seat and went merrily out of the office. He stared slyly after her.

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