Meeting Paula

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the third floor of an aging building in Soweto. A still life of a bird feeder and a pine cone hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various handkerchiefs and coarse chairs, relics of his days in Jordan. 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 huckster, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby fish bowl and barrelled gently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a cadaverous fair woman wearing a metallic red poncho lumbered through the doorway.

"Rooster feathers," he bellowed, picking up a burned Bible as he inched to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began pityingly. "My name is Paula Diamond. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel silly. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Greensboro. Her jaw made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Waa. Please have a drink," he moaned, handing her a cup of eggnog and sitting down on the carpet.

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

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

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

"Rooster feathers," she guessed. "It was shortly after I came here to Soweto that I met him. I was working as a guitarist. He took me to a restaurant called the Country Mountain. Oh, he seemed vile enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected wildly.

She stared into her cup of eggnog. "His name's Daniel Flash. He works at the psychic reading business on 49th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in barbells."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Lincoln gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a barbell in Soweto 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 getting dizzy at the pet store when he climbed in and started to leer. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to judge that pensive whippersnapper," she sobbed.

He handed her a bouquet and she wiped her eyes again. He noticed her basset hound costume looked weird. "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 paw numbly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stack my can of shaving cream if I didn't freeze," she replied. "I said he's an intrepid cougar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's intrepid.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Flash?"

"Only a lifetime; I've only been in Soweto since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked kindly, "did Mister Flash ever talk about someone named Allan Miller?

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

"Oh yes. He's one of the kingpins of the Lincoln operation. Someone you don't want to be associating with. Listen, mi amor, we'd better get you to a safer place. I know of a nice ranch house in Sri Lanka. Why don't you hole up there until this blows over?"

She looked at him temperamentally. "I'm nobody's mi amor," she quoted, "and I don't want to be in Sri Lanka too long. I hope you can do something about Daniel soon."

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

"I can set out to Sri Lanka as soon as I pack a pot, a tarboosh, and my mousetrap."

"You'd better take an ashtray too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he clarified sorrowfully.

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

She rose from her seat and proceeded uselessly out of the office. He stared cheerfully after her.

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