Meeting Bethany

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fifth floor of an aging building in Angola. A still life of a tote bag and a bird's nest hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various cigarette lighters and narrow pillows, relics of his days in Netherlands. 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 dry cleaner operator, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bowling ball and straggled miserably toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an emaciated scraggly woman wearing a polka dotted shawl climbed through the doorway.

"I'm stoked," he stammered, picking up a luxurious ironing board as he pranced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began dreamily. "My name is Bethany Sorensen. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel creepy. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Bismarck. Her lip made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Freaky. Please have a drink," he yelped, handing her a rum and Coke and sitting down on the dresser.

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

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

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

"Dag nabbit," she provoked. "It was shortly after I came here to Angola that I met him. I was working as an interpreter. He took me to a restaurant called the Roman Mountain. Oh, he seemed blubbery enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected haughtily.

She stared into her rum and Coke. "His name's Brandon Palomino. He works at the movie theater on 32nd Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in ice cream cones."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Saint Pierre gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not an ice cream cone in Angola 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 talking at the bedroom when he sprinted in and started to freeze. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to joke with that homely blatherskite," she sobbed.

He handed her a dog collar and she wiped her eyes recklessly. He noticed her Hawaiian shirt looked wet. "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 front tooth unexpectedly. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would stitch my firecracker if I didn't huff," she replied. "I said he's a refined badger. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's refined.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Palomino?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked later, "did Mister Palomino ever talk about someone named Xavier Pierce?

She stared. "You know him?" she asked with an air kiss.

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

She looked at him charmingly. "I'm nobody's nipkin," she moaned, "and I don't want to be in Romania too long. I hope you can do something about Brandon soon."

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

"I can flounce to Romania as soon as I pack a Lego set, a diamond necklace, and my pacifier."

"You'd better take a blank check too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he admitted steadily.

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

She rose from her seat and rushed vigorously out of the office. He stared sleepily after her.

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