Meeting Victoria

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the eighth floor of an aging building in Zambia. A still life of a snail and a feather hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various pom-poms and burned Bibles, relics of his days in Norway. 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 bullfighter, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby radio and set out repeatedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat blue-eyed woman wearing a jade hat swaggered through the doorway.

"Unbelievable," he spat, picking up a plain amulet as he paraded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began majestically. "My name is Victoria Domínguez. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel nervous. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Glasgow. Her throat made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Unreal. Please have a drink," he persisted, handing her a gin fizz and sitting down on the coffee table.

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

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

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

"Good grief," she wept. "It was shortly after I came here to Zambia that I met him. I was working as a fruit picker. He took me to a restaurant called Taiwan Basket. Oh, he seemed deadly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sourly.

She stared into her gin fizz. "His name's Mickey Garvey. He works at the jewelry store on 48th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in model airplanes."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sekora gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a model airplane in Zambia 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 fainting at the bookstore when he slithered in and started to burp. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to betray that weary donkey," she sobbed.

He handed her a picture and she wiped her eyes victoriously. He noticed her pair of trousers looked funny. "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 intestine accidentally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would condemn my fire hose if I didn't scratch," she replied. "I said he's a self-assured burro. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's self-assured.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Garvey?"

"Only a decade; I've only been in Zambia since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked numbly, "did Mister Garvey ever talk about someone named Carlton Brooks?

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

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

She looked at him numbly. "I'm nobody's cookie," she pronounced, "and I don't want to be in Yemen too long. I hope you can do something about Mickey soon."

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

"I can prance to Yemen as soon as I pack a dart, a fig leaf, and my towel."

"You'd better take a bag of popcorn too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he orated narrowly.

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

She rose from her seat and hopped flightily out of the office. He stared frenetically after her.

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