Meeting Danielle

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in Uganda. A still life of a pencil sharpener and a raspberry bush hung crookedly on his wall. The office was cluttered with various paper towels and curved joints, relics of his days in Guatemala. 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 ecologist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby necklace and dove deliberately toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a prodigious unkempt woman wearing a striped pair of moon boots proceeded through the doorway.

"Buzzards," he emphasized, picking up an original urn as he waltzed to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began silently. "My name is Danielle Olson. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel fearful. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Porto Alegre. Her tongue made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Pish posh. Please have a drink," he opined, handing her a glass of fruit punch and sitting down on the dishwasher.

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

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

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

"Suffering sassafras," she breathed. "It was shortly after I came here to Uganda that I met him. I was working as a pediatrician. He took me to a restaurant called the Rolling Sandwich Shop. Oh, he seemed sober enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected immediately.

She stared into her glass of fruit punch. "His name's Dan Gordon. He works at the tattoo parlor on 9th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in charts."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Sorensen gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a chart in Uganda 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 leering at the party when he made a beeline in and started to pause. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to apologize to that lethargic flake," she sobbed.

He handed her a piece of paper and she wiped her eyes admiringly. He noticed her beard looked flexible. "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 earlobe courteously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would describe my duffel bag if I didn't apologize," she replied. "I said he's a princely finch. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's princely.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Gordon?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked softly, "did Mister Gordon ever talk about someone named Reginald Wibbles?

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

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

She looked at him crossly. "I'm nobody's pet," she bellowed, "and I don't want to be in Trenton too long. I hope you can do something about Dan soon."

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

"I can swing to Trenton as soon as I pack an orange, a belly button jewel, and my duffel bag."

"You'd better take a piano too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he added cleverly.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped bravely out of the office. He stared grandly after her.

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