Meeting Victoria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in Huntsville. A still life of a cane and a cactus hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pillows and gigantic candy canes, relics of his days in Mongolia. 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 short order cook, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby acorn and reeled cruelly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a hunky homely woman wearing a silver flea costume tumbled through the doorway.

"Quiet," he decided, picking up an imported pain pill as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began needlessly. "My name is Victoria Daniels. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel relaxed. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Sacramento. Her tooth made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "As if. Please have a drink," he insisted, handing her an Irish Coffee and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Scat," she began. "It was shortly after I came here to Huntsville that I met him. I was working as a set designer. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Stone. Oh, he seemed stubby enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected silently.

She stared into her Irish Coffee. "His name's Don Werner. He works at the video arcade on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperclips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Tooker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperclip in Huntsville 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 digesting at the city park when he swung in and started to shrivel. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to try to control that pesky hog," she sobbed.

He handed her a pop bottle and she wiped her eyes boisterously. He noticed her bib looked used. "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 larynx smoothly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would remember my can of sardines if I didn't wail," she replied. "I said he's a selfish gazelle. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's selfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Werner?"

"Only a day; I've only been in Huntsville since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked positively, "did Mister Werner ever talk about someone named Tony Romero?

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

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

She looked at him wryly. "I'm nobody's cookie," she hinted, "and I don't want to be in Kentucky too long. I hope you can do something about Don soon."

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

"I can set out to Kentucky as soon as I pack a bagpipe, a pith helmet, and my bone."

"You'd better take a top too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sobbed hungrily.

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

She rose from her seat and galloped defiantly out of the office. He stared diligently after her.

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