Meeting Samantha

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Vatican City. A still life of a candy bar and a bit of moss hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various paintings and excellent bags of ice, relics of his days in Luxembourg. 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 cartographer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fish bowl and slithered speedily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a lithe blue-eyed woman wearing a yellow tailcoat bounded through the doorway.

"Uh-huh," he professed, picking up an old church key as he waded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began timidly. "My name is Samantha Van Hollen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel conscientious. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Puebla. Her hair made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yoohoo. Please have a drink," he hinted, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Awesome," she invited. "It was shortly after I came here to Vatican City that I met him. I was working as a technician. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan River. Oh, he seemed drowsy enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected briskly.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Harry Doe. He works at the restaurant on 13th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in coffee pots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Van Hook gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a coffee pot in Vatican City 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 health food store when he went in and started to blow up. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to awe that disagreeable traitor," she sobbed.

He handed her a roll of duct tape and she wiped her eyes brashly. He noticed her pair of trousers looked waxy. "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 thyroid gland zestily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would mutilate my elephant tusk if I didn't lounge," she replied. "I said he's a lazy elephant. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lazy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Doe?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked frenetically, "did Mister Doe ever talk about someone named Donnie Bob Queens?

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

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

She looked at him flightily. "I'm nobody's twinkle toes," she argued, "and I don't want to be in Yemen too long. I hope you can do something about Harry soon."

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

"I can trot to Yemen as soon as I pack a football, a pair of flip-flops, and my bat."

"You'd better take a pumpkin too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he explained despondently.

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

She rose from her seat and stormed craftily out of the office. He stared glibly after her.

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