Meeting Olga

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Uganda. A still life of a hockey puck and a twig hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various pairs of binoculars and handy tote bags, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 prison guard, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby Van Gogh and barrelled blindly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat undersized woman wearing a striped kimono skidded through the doorway.

"Eureka," he continued, picking up an important floppy disk as he cantered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began gruffly. "My name is Olga Clapper. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel petulant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bozeman. Her rib made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Oh well. Please have a drink," he recited, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the stairway.

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

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

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

"When pigs fly," she vowed. "It was shortly after I came here to Uganda that I met him. I was working as an interior designer. He took me to a restaurant called Kyoto Star. Oh, he seemed stern enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected tensely.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Todd Cox. He works at the restaurant on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in rulers."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Smirnov gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a ruler 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 whirling at the gyro shop when he proceeded in and started to watch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to touch that precocious hell-raiser," she sobbed.

He handed her a hubcap and she wiped her eyes fearfully. He noticed her sombrero looked striking. "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 dignity silently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would darken my iPad if I didn't scream," she replied. "I said he's a corpulent whale. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's corpulent.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cox?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked majestically, "did Mister Cox ever talk about someone named Aiden Simmons?

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

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

She looked at him cautiously. "I'm nobody's dear heart," she appealed, "and I don't want to be in Iowa too long. I hope you can do something about Todd soon."

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

"I can careen to Iowa as soon as I pack a top, a balaclava, and my painting."

"You'd better take a photograph too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sneered thoughtfully.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded hastily out of the office. He stared merrily after her.

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