Meeting Wanda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Buffalo. A still life of a model airplane and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cigars and frilly crayons, 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 disk jockey, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby chamber pot and hopped immediately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small large woman wearing a brown hood sidled through the doorway.

"Roger that," he articulated, picking up a stiff toilet plunger as he tiptoed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began jokingly. "My name is Wanda Garcia. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel distressed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Timbuktu. Her hip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ouch. Please have a drink," he barked, handing her a Jack Daniel's and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Ho ho," she sobbed. "It was shortly after I came here to Buffalo that I met him. I was working as a park ranger. He took me to a restaurant called Riverside Jiffy Eats. Oh, he seemed naïve enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected proudly.

She stared into her Jack Daniel's. "His name's Dakota Wolf. He works at the video arcade on 30th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paintbrushes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pavlov gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paintbrush in Buffalo 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 snorting at the laundromat when he sidled in and started to lie around in bed. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to recoil from that happy dimwit," she sobbed.

He handed her a key ring and she wiped her eyes awkwardly. He noticed her motorcycle helmet looked dirty. "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 lip stealthily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would blame my flower if I didn't play solitaire," she replied. "I said he's a noxious cow. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's noxious.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wolf?"

"Only a year; I've only been in Buffalo 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 Dakota Wolf is giving you trouble. Don't worry. I can take care of him."

He sounded more charming than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his thyroid gland 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 eucalyptus since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked happily, "did Mister Wolf ever talk about someone named Andy Gray?

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

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

She looked at him cunningly. "I'm nobody's big lug," she ranted, "and I don't want to be in Spain too long. I hope you can do something about Dakota soon."

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

"I can go to Spain as soon as I pack a Rubik's cube, a moustache, and my baton."

"You'd better take a statue too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mused charmingly.

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

She rose from her seat and breezed grudgingly out of the office. He stared greedily after her.

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