Meeting Dianna

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Poland. A still life of an antenna and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various fish bowls and stolen brooms, relics of his days in Singapore. 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 kindergarten teacher, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby corncob and skipped diligently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gangly obese woman wearing a terra cotta toga blundered through the doorway.

"Teehee," he queried, picking up a gross teddy bear as he lumbered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began sleepily. "My name is Dianna Anderson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wicked. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Moscow. Her stomach made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "By all the saints at the backside door of purgatory. Please have a drink," he squawked, handing her a glass of apple juice and sitting down on the futon.

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

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

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

"Fun," she disputed. "It was shortly after I came here to Poland that I met him. I was working as a distiller. He took me to a restaurant called Peking Gems. Oh, he seemed pesky enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected lovingly.

She stared into her glass of apple juice. "His name's Parson Frizzlewump. He works at the fabric store on 28th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in chains."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Pattel gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chain in Poland 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 passing out at the saloon when he proceeded in and started to jiggle. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to soothe that bubbly dunderhead," she sobbed.

He handed her an ironing board and she wiped her eyes thankfully. He noticed her smartwatch looked woven. "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 toenail flightily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would crush my can of beans if I didn't roll," she replied. "I said he's a fuzzy boar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's fuzzy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Frizzlewump?"

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

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

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

He sounded more apoplectic than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his lip like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and hid for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like fresh-baked bread since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked speedily, "did Mister Frizzlewump ever talk about someone named Geoffrey Parsons?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Pattel operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, cuddle-bear, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice tent in New York. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him daintily. "I'm nobody's cuddle-bear," she jeered, "and I don't want to be in New York too long. I hope you can do something about Parson soon."

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

"I can climb to New York as soon as I pack a horseshoe, a ski mask, and my bicycle."

"You'd better take an acorn too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he sneered gingerly.

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

She rose from her seat and cantered delicately out of the office. He stared softly after her.

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