Meeting Merna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Germany. A still life of a paper towel and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various statues and fancy bullets, relics of his days in the Congo. 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 window washer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby sponge and capered sourly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a massive hairy woman wearing a beige thong pranced through the doorway.

"Of course," he taunted, picking up a coarse Barbie doll as he leapt to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began carefully. "My name is Merna Kilroy. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wicked. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Canberra. Her pinky made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Alrighty-roo. Please have a drink," he emphasized, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the coat rack.

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

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

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

"Wild," she recited. "It was shortly after I came here to Germany that I met him. I was working as a peanut vendor. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Bison. Oh, he seemed tactful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected noisily.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Patrick Nurbabayev. He works at the tobacco shop on 21st Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in blank checks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Biggs gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a blank check in Germany 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 falling asleep at the miniature golf course when he galumphed in and started to itch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to shock that petulant screwball," she sobbed.

He handed her a clipboard and she wiped her eyes effortlessly. He noticed her sari looked stolen. "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 toe pitifully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would extinguish my pair of binoculars if I didn't curtsey," she replied. "I said he's a brilliant hornet. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's brilliant.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nurbabayev?"

"Only a century; I've only been in Germany since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked woodenly, "did Mister Nurbabayev ever talk about someone named Anatoly Bell?

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

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

She looked at him hastily. "I'm nobody's main squeeze," she quoted, "and I don't want to be in Bagdad too long. I hope you can do something about Patrick soon."

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

"I can dive to Bagdad as soon as I pack a houseplant, a cheerleader's uniform, and my hip flask."

"You'd better take a bag of ice too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he cackled fondly.

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

She rose from her seat and sauntered vacantly out of the office. He stared mysteriously after her.

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