Meeting Regina

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Utah. A still life of a coloring book and a stick hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various packages and synthetic paper towels, relics of his days in Ecuador. 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 banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby piece of paper and set out sorrowfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a scrawny good looking woman wearing a periwinkle beard bounced through the doorway.

"Goodness gracious," he lectured, picking up a charming billfold as he sallied forth to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began openly. "My name is Regina McClain. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel peculiar. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Kampala. Her claw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Absolutely. Please have a drink," he exclaimed, handing her a chamomile tea and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Yipes," she barked. "It was shortly after I came here to Utah that I met him. I was working as a cartographer. He took me to a restaurant called the Neighborhood Stone. Oh, he seemed dignified enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected hopefully.

She stared into her chamomile tea. "His name's Lucian Arnold. He works at the McDonalds on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in billfolds."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Titus gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a billfold in Utah 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 belching at the bookstore when he sidled in and started to meow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to thump that rapacious slug," she sobbed.

He handed her a Hostess Ding Dong and she wiped her eyes anxiously. He noticed her kilt looked synthetic. "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 Adam's apple gratefully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would return my rubber chicken if I didn't deal cards," she replied. "I said he's a bubbly worm. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's bubbly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Arnold?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked craftily, "did Mister Arnold ever talk about someone named Malcolm Dirkson?

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

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

She looked at him nonchalantly. "I'm nobody's honey bunch," she barked, "and I don't want to be in Portland too long. I hope you can do something about Lucian soon."

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

"I can saunter to Portland as soon as I pack a screwdriver, a cloak, and my ball."

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

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred thirty-six dollars as a retainer," she replied frenetically. I also have an extremely valuable collection of Barbie dolls. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and sprinted swiftly out of the office. He stared nicely after her.

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