Meeting Diane

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Fort Worth. A still life of a flowerpot and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various bats and brittle horseshoes, relics of his days in Vietnam. 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 gastroenterologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowl and dashed dolorously toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tubby filthy woman wearing a fuchsia rain coat galumphed through the doorway.

"Pssst," he hissed, picking up a disgusting bag of groceries as he rushed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began nonchalantly. "My name is Diane Glidden. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel hairy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Amarillo. Her finger made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Bless your heart. Please have a drink," he quavered, handing her a glass of apricot juice and sitting down on the beanbag chair.

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

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

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

"The joke's on me," she groveled. "It was shortly after I came here to Fort Worth that I met him. I was working as an interior designer. He took me to a restaurant called Gourmet Plate. Oh, he seemed decisive enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected grimly.

She stared into her glass of apricot juice. "His name's Vic Wright. He works at the furniture store on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in buckets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Ireland gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bucket in Fort Worth 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 coming along at the taco shop when he clambered in and started to cringe. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to injure that decent ninnyhammer," she sobbed.

He handed her a Hostess Ding Dong and she wiped her eyes sleepily. He noticed her pair of gloves looked electronic. "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 face truculently. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would replace my ping-pong paddle if I didn't meditate," she replied. "I said he's a selfish reindeer. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's selfish.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Wright?"

"Only an eternity; I've only been in Fort Worth since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked narrowly, "did Mister Wright ever talk about someone named Kevin Turner?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Ireland operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, honey-babe, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice KOA Kampground in Norway. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him immediately. "I'm nobody's honey-babe," she winked, "and I don't want to be in Norway too long. I hope you can do something about Vic soon."

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

"I can lurch to Norway as soon as I pack a coconut, a towel, and my whoopee cushion."

"You'd better take a sea shell too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he winked shyly.

"I don't have a lot of money, but here's two dollars as a retainer," she replied accidentally. I also have an extremely valuable collection of cardboard boxes. It's yours if you can resolve this for me."

She rose from her seat and traipsed carelessly out of the office. He stared oddly after her.

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