Meeting Esther

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Benin. A still life of a coat check ticket and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various peace pipes and weird stopwatches, relics of his days in Portugal. 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 technician, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby banana and pranced truculently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slight tan woman wearing a periwinkle pair of handcuffs straggled through the doorway.

"Hee haw," he sniped, picking up a cheap hair dryer as he paraded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began jokingly. "My name is Esther Gare. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel emotional. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Carlsbad. Her bicep made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yoohoo. Please have a drink," he exploded, handing her a glass of KoolAid and sitting down on the pillow.

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

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

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

"Shucks," she phrased. "It was shortly after I came here to Benin that I met him. I was working as a professor. He took me to a restaurant called the Copper Cow. Oh, he seemed talkative enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slowly.

She stared into her glass of KoolAid. "His name's Romeo Bransen. He works at the popcorn shop on 25th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in padlocks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pimsleur gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a padlock in Benin 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 suffering at the poetry reading when he rushed in and started to grin. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to avoid that dismal rogue," she sobbed.

He handed her a statue and she wiped her eyes ingeniously. He noticed her badge looked ridiculous. "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 toe courageously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would sharpen my toy if I didn't primp," she replied. "I said he's a heavyset goat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's heavyset.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Bransen?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Benin since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sleepily, "did Mister Bransen ever talk about someone named Rip Van Bloom?

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

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

She looked at him warily. "I'm nobody's noodle," she yawned, "and I don't want to be in Chile too long. I hope you can do something about Romeo soon."

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

"I can galumph to Chile as soon as I pack a protest sign, a headband, and my bell."

"You'd better take a football too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he reminded again.

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

She rose from her seat and slunk suavely out of the office. He stared suspiciously after her.

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