Meeting Dierdre

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Washington DC. A still life of a duffel bag and a bear track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cigarette lighters and striking telephones, 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 rodeo clown, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby pencil sharpener and tore happily toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a short brown-eyed woman wearing a metallic red swimsuit sashayed through the doorway.

"Deranged," he tittered, picking up a petite picture as he slithered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began furiously. "My name is Dierdre Andrews. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel gallant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Durham. Her hangnail made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Maybe. Please have a drink," he spouted, handing her a glass of Kool-Aid and sitting down on the cushion.

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

"This is difficult for me," she worried, glancing at the pair of ear muffs he was wearing. "I never thought I'd need someone like you."

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

"Good golly," she hollered. "It was shortly after I came here to Washington DC that I met him. I was working as a church usher. He took me to a restaurant called Tropical Pig. Oh, he seemed stubby enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warmly.

She stared into her glass of Kool-Aid. "His name's Scotty Nabokov. He works at the cigar store on 43rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in china dolls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Albrandt gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a china doll in Washington DC 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 carrying on at the laundromat when he tumbled in and started to jerk. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to fool that athletic kook," she sobbed.

He handed her a cookbook and she wiped her eyes gratefully. He noticed her turtleneck 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 rib violently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would unfasten my paper airplane if I didn't digest," she replied. "I said he's a sincere lovebird. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sincere.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Nabokov?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Washington DC since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sheepishly, "did Mister Nabokov ever talk about someone named Pablo Bowman?

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

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

She looked at him greedily. "I'm nobody's gumdrop," she divulged, "and I don't want to be in Uruguay too long. I hope you can do something about Scotty soon."

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

"I can blunder to Uruguay as soon as I pack a candy bar, a set of braces, and my trash can."

"You'd better take a pair of pliers too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he laughed gently.

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

She rose from her seat and tore wearily out of the office. He stared shyly after her.

Next Chapter