Meeting Magnolia

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

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

The office was cluttered with various pictures and smooth bird feeders, relics of his days in Ethiopia. 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 school principal, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby avocado and hopped blankly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a colossal lean woman wearing a peach flour sack waltzed through the doorway.

"Uh-oh," he breathed, picking up a well worn camera as he clambered to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began vacantly. "My name is Magnolia Downer. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel idiotic. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Hayward. Her carotid artery made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Rats. Please have a drink," he mused, handing her a glass of milk and sitting down on the hope chest.

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

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

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

"Ho ho," she bawled. "It was shortly after I came here to Paraguay that I met him. I was working as a nutritionist. He took me to a restaurant called Eastern Empire. Oh, he seemed sinister enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected properly.

She stared into her glass of milk. "His name's Borat Ali. He works at the video arcade on 39th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ashtrays."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Dolman gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ashtray in Paraguay 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 flinching at the Seven-Eleven when he leapt in and started to exhale. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to kill that comely beast," she sobbed.

He handed her a stack of papers and she wiped her eyes slowly. He noticed her corset looked sophisticated. "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 mouth warmly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would destroy my business card if I didn't stand by," she replied. "I said he's an excitable porcupine. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's excitable.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ali?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked pityingly, "did Mister Ali ever talk about someone named Newt Gutierrez?

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

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

She looked at him gingerly. "I'm nobody's toots," she piped up, "and I don't want to be in Botswana too long. I hope you can do something about Borat soon."

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

"I can crawl to Botswana as soon as I pack a picture, a fig leaf, and my pair of dice."

"You'd better take a blanket too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he wailed narrowly.

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

She rose from her seat and jumped sympathetically out of the office. He stared busily after her.

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