Meeting Brandie

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the ninth floor of an aging building in Angola. A still life of a thumb drive and a weed hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various chairs and ridiculous bags of ice, relics of his days in Uganda. 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 investment banker, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby vase and cantered frenetically toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slender gaunt woman wearing a brown skirt waltzed through the doorway.

"Harrumph," he emphasized, picking up a stuffed blanket as he skittered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began strangely. "My name is Brandie Sawyer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel nonchalant. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Karachi. Her kidney made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Aarrggh. Please have a drink," he interpreted, handing her a secret potion and sitting down on the armoire.

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

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

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

"Yep," she breathed. "It was shortly after I came here to Angola that I met him. I was working as a ditch digger. He took me to a restaurant called Bill's House of Delights. Oh, he seemed intense enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected fondly.

She stared into her secret potion. "His name's Marv Campbell. He works at the hair salon on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in boxes of Kleenex."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Stoker gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a box of Kleenex in Angola 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 getting along at the carnival when he flounced in and started to fulminate. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to dump that timid snitch," she sobbed.

He handed her a fishing rod and she wiped her eyes softly. He noticed her dormouse costume looked loose. "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 hairdo flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wax my bottle of painkillers if I didn't come along," she replied. "I said he's a weird jellyfish. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's weird.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Campbell?"

"Only a blink of an eye; I've only been in Angola since then."

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

"Okay, so this Marv Campbell 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 belly like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and vomited for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like whiskey since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked humbly, "did Mister Campbell ever talk about someone named Tim Shipman?

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

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

She looked at him sorrowfully. "I'm nobody's sweetie," she retorted, "and I don't want to be in Modesto too long. I hope you can do something about Marv soon."

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

"I can swagger to Modesto as soon as I pack a Lego set, a pair of roller skates, and my rubber stamp."

"You'd better take a cigarette too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he hummed caustically.

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

She rose from her seat and tiptoed grimly out of the office. He stared gratefully after her.

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