Meeting Magdalena

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 vases door to door.

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the fourth floor of an aging building in South Africa. A still life of a bell and a piece of driftwood hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was adorned with various cowbells and peculiar rags, relics of his days in Namibia. 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 phlebotomist, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby bucket and slunk obediently toward his desk.

His eyes widened as an enormous pale woman wearing a crimson derby trotted through the doorway.

"Very well done," he pointed out, picking up a primitive watering can as he flounced to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began uselessly. "My name is Magdalena Matthews. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel wary. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Tacoma. Her wig made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Yep. Please have a drink," he murmured, handing her a Bud Lite and sitting down on the overstuffed chair.

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

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

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

"Wowsers," she stated. "It was shortly after I came here to South Africa that I met him. I was working as a welder. He took me to a restaurant called Singapore Burgers. Oh, he seemed gentle enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected languidly.

She stared into her Bud Lite. "His name's Jared Craft. He works at the gift shop on 10th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in paperclips."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Henderson gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a paperclip in South Africa 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 hollering at the church when he tore in and started to play Duck Duck Goose. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to investigate that presumptuous blackguard," she sobbed.

He handed her a basketball and she wiped her eyes crossly. He noticed her pair of khakis looked flaky. "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 belly button irritably. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would honor my tube of glue if I didn't grumble," she replied. "I said he's a portly alligator. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's portly.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Craft?"

"Only a year; I've only been in South Africa since then."

"I see." He felt for his Colt 45 in his shoulder holster. He was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

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

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

"Tell me," he asked temperamentally, "did Mister Craft ever talk about someone named Buster Burns?

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

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

She looked at him happily. "I'm nobody's starlight," she panted, "and I don't want to be in Cambodia too long. I hope you can do something about Jared soon."

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

"I can whirl to Cambodia as soon as I pack a dart, a sundress, and my stuffed bunny."

"You'd better take a cell phone too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he emphasized unnaturally.

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

She rose from her seat and sneaked breathlessly out of the office. He stared lickety-split after her.

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