Meeting Brenda

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the seventh floor of an aging building in New York. A still life of a bowling ball and a wolf track hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various Barbie dolls and aromatic telephone books, relics of his days in Austria. 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 student, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coat hanger and whirled diligently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a small ruddy woman wearing a silver tam o'shanter climbed through the doorway.

"Ultimate," he questioned, picking up a tiny microscope as he strode to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began hastily. "My name is Brenda Schneider. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel funny. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Avonlea. Her hairdo made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ahoy. Please have a drink," he demanded, handing her a glass of grape juice and sitting down on the washstand.

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

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

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

"Durn," she exploded. "It was shortly after I came here to New York that I met him. I was working as a student. He took me to a restaurant called Chinatown Sea. Oh, he seemed deadly enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected slowly.

She stared into her glass of grape juice. "His name's Jules Kuma. He works at the hair salon on 42nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in piggy banks."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Milenski gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piggy bank in New York 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 relaxing at the bowling alley when he sprinted in and started to twitch. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to quote that stubby bully," she sobbed.

He handed her a towel and she wiped her eyes grandly. He noticed her badge looked new. "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 leg grandly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would wiggle my screwdriver if I didn't cry," she replied. "I said he's a confident cockroach. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's confident.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Kuma?"

"Only a day; I've only been in New York since then."

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

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

He sounded more bellicose than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his claw like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and dilly-dallied for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like Pine-Sol since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked immediately, "did Mister Kuma ever talk about someone named Dylan Law?

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

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

She looked at him solemnly. "I'm nobody's hot stuff," she wondered, "and I don't want to be in India too long. I hope you can do something about Jules soon."

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

"I can gallop to India as soon as I pack a firecracker, a bodysuit, and my vase."

"You'd better take a shovel too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he remarked sharply.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded ingeniously out of the office. He stared gracefully after her.

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