Meeting Ida

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the sixth floor of an aging building in Uganda. A still life of an elephant tusk and a poison ivy plant hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various lollipops and bent dolls, relics of his days in Canada. 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 actor, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby box of candy and strode intensely toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated smallish woman wearing a beige pair of boxer shorts lurched through the doorway.

"Remarkable," he yowled, picking up a cotton sack as he trotted to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel confident. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Riverside. Her knee made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Hold your horses. Please have a drink," he decided, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the washing machine.

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

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

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

"I think not," she raved. "It was shortly after I came here to Uganda that I met him. I was working as a taxi driver. He took me to a restaurant called the Tasty Mess Hall. Oh, he seemed cowardly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected narrowly.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's José Buffalo. He works at the auto repair shop on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in baskets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Rice gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a basket in Uganda 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 preaching at the basement when he staggered in and started to meow. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to poison that haggard loser," she sobbed.

He handed her a mousetrap and she wiped her eyes sagely. He noticed her garland looked greasy. "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 chest wryly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would prepare my toy if I didn't grunt," she replied. "I said he's a colorless jackal. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's colorless.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Buffalo?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked jokingly, "did Mister Buffalo ever talk about someone named Robert Hoffmann?

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

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

She looked at him properly. "I'm nobody's patootie," she chattered, "and I don't want to be in Seychelles too long. I hope you can do something about José soon."

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

"I can sally forth to Seychelles as soon as I pack a hurdy gurdy, a set of scrubs, and my compass."

"You'd better take an etching too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wondered zestily.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's four hundred ninety-seven dollars as a retainer," she replied crazily. 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 whirled timidly out of the office. He stared angrily after her.

Next Chapter