Meeting Olga

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Greece. A still life of a whistle and a flower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various clams and expensive file folders, relics of his days in Cambodia. 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 student, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby firecracker and trotted doubtfully toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious bearded woman wearing a blue fur coat crept through the doorway.

"Weird," he responded, picking up a disgusting battery as he stormed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pityingly. "My name is Olga Major. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel moronic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Lubbock. Her spleen made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Please. Please have a drink," he growled, handing her a milkshake and sitting down on the computer.

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

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

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

"Great," she thought. "It was shortly after I came here to Greece that I met him. I was working as an evangelist. He took me to a restaurant called Chicago Emperor. Oh, he seemed self-confident enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected humbly.

She stared into her milkshake. "His name's Horace Norris. He works at the bike shop on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of paper."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Vargas gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of paper in Greece 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 burping at the bowling alley when he lurched in and started to shake. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to mess with that self-assured cur," she sobbed.

He handed her a pillow and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her tie 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 claw ferociously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would pick my backpack if I didn't digest," she replied. "I said he's a blubbery prairie dog. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's blubbery.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Norris?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked immediately, "did Mister Norris ever talk about someone named Jordan Ming?

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

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

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm nobody's sweet," she sneered, "and I don't want to be in Bellevue too long. I hope you can do something about Horace soon."

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

"I can stalk to Bellevue as soon as I pack a candle, a dress, and my pink flamingo."

"You'd better take a cardboard box too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he drawled intensely.

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

She rose from her seat and walked wryly out of the office. He stared offhandedly after her.

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