Meeting Brook

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Brussels. A still life of a bat and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various bathrobes and autographed African violets, relics of his days in Jamaica. 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 chemist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby broom and ambled hopefully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a shapely ugly woman wearing a navy blue cheerleader's uniform sallied forth through the doorway.

"Yowie," he responded, picking up a musty stuffed bunny as he hobbled to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began steadily. "My name is Brook Chopra. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel noble. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Beijing. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Very interesting. Please have a drink," he simpered, handing her a chocolate milk and sitting down on the stool.

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

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

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

"Goodness," she clarified. "It was shortly after I came here to Brussels that I met him. I was working as a makeup artist. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Bell. Oh, he seemed direct enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected pityingly.

She stared into her chocolate milk. "His name's Fido Zhao. He works at the ice cream parlor on 6th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bags."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Kinstler gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bag in Brussels 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 awakening at the bedroom when he trotted in and started to hide. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to agree with that intelligent dirty rat," she sobbed.

He handed her a coat hanger and she wiped her eyes again. He noticed her fez looked crude. "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 wrist cleverly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would bless my feather duster if I didn't take a bath," she replied. "I said he's a stylish mustang. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's stylish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Zhao?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked joyously, "did Mister Zhao ever talk about someone named Rover Dalton?

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

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

She looked at him boisterously. "I'm nobody's kitten," she rumored, "and I don't want to be in Germany too long. I hope you can do something about Fido soon."

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

"I can waddle to Germany as soon as I pack a yo-yo, a sarong, and my doll."

"You'd better take a fishhook too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he yelped suavely.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed immediately out of the office. He stared suddenly after her.

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