Meeting Renee

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Sierra Leone. A still life of a watering can and an egg shell hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various hammers and multicolored ashtrays, relics of his days in Austria. 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 author, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby toy and careened offhandedly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a fat stocky woman wearing a green earring trekked through the doorway.

"Abracadabra," he explained, picking up a well worn bag of ice as he proceeded to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began neatly. "My name is Renee Deng. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel ladylike. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Albuquerque. Her eyelash made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Wild. Please have a drink," he complained, handing her a gimlet and sitting down on the ping-pong table.

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

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

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

"Oh joy," she spoke up. "It was shortly after I came here to Sierra Leone that I met him. I was working as a sales clerk. He took me to a restaurant called the Dancing Food Factory. Oh, he seemed dreadful enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected merrily.

She stared into her gimlet. "His name's Rob Ivanov. He works at the Starbucks on 3rd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in peaches."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Barrett gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a peach in Sierra Leone 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 sleeping at the tanning salon when he tramped in and started to do the Hokey Pokey. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to bite that fascinating wastrel," she sobbed.

He handed her an Egyptian mummy and she wiped her eyes diligently. He noticed her coonskin hat looked ancient. "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 aorta trustingly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would patch my Egyptian mummy if I didn't raise an eyebrow," she replied. "I said he's an anemic jaguar. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's anemic.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Ivanov?"

"Only an hour; I've only been in Sierra Leone since then."

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked uneasily, "did Mister Ivanov ever talk about someone named Mason Weiss?

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

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

She looked at him craftily. "I'm nobody's rose petal," she griped, "and I don't want to be in Italy too long. I hope you can do something about Rob soon."

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

"I can trot to Italy as soon as I pack a potato, a balaclava, and my air compressor."

"You'd better take a can of beans too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he opined silently.

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

She rose from her seat and loped firmly out of the office. He stared deftly after her.

Next Chapter