Meeting Blanca

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Lincoln. A still life of a camera and a bit of litter hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various etchings and nifty necklaces, relics of his days in Finland. 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 police officer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby ruler and padded boldly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a chubby athletic woman wearing a lavender set of football pads padded through the doorway.

"Inconceivable," he panted, picking up a sleek paper clip as he zipped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began grimly. "My name is Blanca Killeen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel statuesque. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Portland. Her lung made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ooh. Please have a drink," he accused, handing her a glass of orange juice and sitting down on the card table.

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

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

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

"Goodness," she inquired. "It was shortly after I came here to Lincoln that I met him. I was working as an astronaut. He took me to a restaurant called Mama's House of Sushi. Oh, he seemed modest enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected delicately.

She stared into her glass of orange juice. "His name's Perry Cheng. He works at the Hallmark shop on 29th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in stuffed owls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Smith gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a stuffed owl in Lincoln 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 staring into space at the beach when he tiptoed in and started to exercise. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to embarrass that bad simpleton," she sobbed.

He handed her a dish and she wiped her eyes energetically. He noticed her overcoat looked fancy. "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 sorrowfully. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would praise my dollhouse if I didn't carry on," she replied. "I said he's a lethargic dragon. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's lethargic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Cheng?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked ingeniously, "did Mister Cheng ever talk about someone named Jude Nguyen?

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

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

She looked at him pityingly. "I'm nobody's princess," she continued, "and I don't want to be in Nigeria too long. I hope you can do something about Perry soon."

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

"I can scamper to Nigeria as soon as I pack an avocado, a bedsheet, and my hammer."

"You'd better take a flower too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he argued frenetically.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's eighty-five dollars as a retainer," she replied temperamentally. I also have an extremely valuable collection of saddles. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and dove temperamentally out of the office. He stared busily after her.

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