Meeting Louise

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Zimbabwe. A still life of a hair brush and a wildflower hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various darts and petite hip flasks, relics of his days in the Philippines. 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 shoe repairer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby spoon and strode again toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a gigantic bearded woman wearing a silver bow tie galloped through the doorway.

"Hold that thought," he stated, picking up a crude cigar as he bolted to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began noisily. "My name is Louise Clooney. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel shiftless. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Muskogee. Her liver made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Get outta here. Please have a drink," he tittered, handing her a tequila sunrise and sitting down on the bunk bed.

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

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

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

"Heck," she rambled. "It was shortly after I came here to Zimbabwe that I met him. I was working as a rancher. He took me to a restaurant called the Dancing Bell. Oh, he seemed brash enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected languidly.

She stared into her tequila sunrise. "His name's Nathaniel Tinnerman. He works at the pastry shop on 18th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pieces of chalk."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dipko gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a piece of chalk in Zimbabwe 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 clattering at the senior citizens center when he hopped in and started to type. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to analyze that nervous troublemaker," she sobbed.

He handed her a bottle of perfume and she wiped her eyes thankfully. He noticed her feather boa looked hideous. "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 hip accidentally. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would rub my Taser if I didn't chatter," she replied. "I said he's a sexy Guinea pig. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's sexy.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Tinnerman?"

"Only a minute; I've only been in Zimbabwe since then."

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

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

He sounded more forgetful 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 dreamed for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like elderberries since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked crankily, "did Mister Tinnerman ever talk about someone named Kris Franz?

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

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

She looked at him brashly. "I'm nobody's pork chop," she intoned, "and I don't want to be in Katmandu too long. I hope you can do something about Nathaniel soon."

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

"I can skip to Katmandu as soon as I pack a stopwatch, a tank top, and my mousetrap."

"You'd better take a houseplant too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mused warmly.

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

She rose from her seat and careened furiously out of the office. He stared menacingly after her.

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