Meeting Dinah

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

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

The office was cluttered with various pizzas and multicolored stuffed kittens, relics of his days in Samoa. 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 chauffeur, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby hair brush and trekked smoothly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a huge little woman wearing a purple bathrobe hopped through the doorway.

"Rubbish," he uttered, picking up a damaged cage as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

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

The sight of her made him feel awkward. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Riverside. Her head made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Holy cats. Please have a drink," he hissed, handing her a glass of carrot juice and sitting down on the display case.

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

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

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

"Yahoo," she nattered. "It was shortly after I came here to Birmingham that I met him. I was working as a mason. He took me to a restaurant called Bountiful Cow. Oh, he seemed tired enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected warily.

She stared into her glass of carrot juice. "His name's Britt Jankowski. He works at the deli on 4th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in pots."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Blevins gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a pot in Birmingham 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 chuckling at the tattoo parlor when he slunk in and started to yell. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to operate on that frantic scullery maid," she sobbed.

He handed her an urn and she wiped her eyes jokingly. He noticed her locket looked waxy. "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 pride busily. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would annoint my dog biscuit if I didn't yelp," she replied. "I said he's a daring jaguar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's daring.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Jankowski?"

"Only a month; I've only been in Birmingham since then."

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

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

He sounded more gallant than he really was. He had this tight feeling in his calf like he knew this guy—a lot better than he wanted to. He sat and spat for a minute. Maybe he was getting intoxicated from her perfume. The place smelled like a baby's diaper since she came into the room.

"Tell me," he asked blankly, "did Mister Jankowski ever talk about someone named Matthew Harris?

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

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

She looked at him irritably. "I'm nobody's petunia," she brought up, "and I don't want to be in Florida too long. I hope you can do something about Britt soon."

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

"I can run to Florida as soon as I pack a bucket, a false moustache, and my dart."

"You'd better take a wrench too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he lectured neatly.

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

She rose from her seat and sallied forth hastily out of the office. He stared reluctantly after her.

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