Meeting Dinah

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

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

The office was adorned with various snails and miniature bags of potato chips, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 dentist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby coffee pot and walked jokingly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a slinky well-built woman wearing a brilliant orange cape slumped through the doorway.

"Eureka," he fretted, picking up a dirty brochure as he marched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dolefully. "My name is Dinah Cantada. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel prickly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Rapid City. Her gut made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Goodness gracious. Please have a drink," he uttered, handing her a bottle of Gatorade and sitting down on the chair.

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

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

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

"Bravo," she remarked. "It was shortly after I came here to Orlando that I met him. I was working as an actor. He took me to a restaurant called Beijing Diner. Oh, he seemed arrogant enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected sternly.

She stared into her bottle of Gatorade. "His name's Salvatore Maxwell. He works at the saloon on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in clarinets."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Grover gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a clarinet in Orlando 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 scribbling at the Elvis chapel when he capered in and started to spit. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to leave that wary loon," she sobbed.

He handed her a pinwheel and she wiped her eyes cunningly. He noticed her girdle looked dusty. "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 spinal cord deftly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would balance my cardboard box if I didn't meow," she replied. "I said he's a dependable shark. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's dependable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Maxwell?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked sternly, "did Mister Maxwell ever talk about someone named Rosario Blake?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Grover operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, cream puff, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice travel trailer in St. Petersburg. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him openly. "I'm nobody's cream puff," she bragged, "and I don't want to be in St. Petersburg too long. I hope you can do something about Salvatore soon."

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

"I can parade to St. Petersburg as soon as I pack a bottle of painkillers, a suit of armor, and my basket."

"You'd better take a sack of potatoes too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he groveled sweetly.

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

She rose from her seat and galloped deftly out of the office. He stared cheerfully after her.

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