Meeting Liz

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

He was standing in a small and somewhat dusty office on the second floor of an aging building in Soweto. A still life of a fountain pen and a mulberry tree hung crookedly on his wall.

The office was cluttered with various apples and hand-painted toilet plungers, relics of his days in Ireland. 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 set designer, he thought. He crushed his cigarette on a nearby whoopee cushion and dashed brashly toward his desk.

His eyes widened as a tall flabby woman wearing a pea green dirndl danced through the doorway.

"Ahem," he warbled, picking up a handy rope as he hopped to his makeshift bar.

"How do you do," she began viciously. "My name is Liz Sweeney. I've come because I need help."

The sight of her made him feel sincere. She vaguely reminded him of someone he once met in Fremont. Her chin made it hard for him to concentrate on what she was saying. "Gadzooks. Please have a drink," he demanded, handing her a Pepto Bismol and sitting down on the mattress.

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

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

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

"Whew," she divulged. "It was shortly after I came here to Soweto that I met him. I was working as an ichthyologist. He took me to a restaurant called the Great Barn. Oh, he seemed sweet enough at the time. Little did I know...

"Who is this guy?" he injected thoughtfully.

She stared into her Pepto Bismol. "His name's Maximilian Albrandt. He works at the Starbucks on 5th Street," she continued, "but on the side, he's been trafficking in bowling balls."

"If so, I bet he's in cahoots with the Niebels gang. They've been on my radar for a long time. There's not a bowling ball in Soweto 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 swearing at the recycling bin when he waltzed in and started to slobber. I thought he liked me, but I know now what he really wanted. I'd like to snuggle with that pensive toilet vulture," she sobbed.

He handed her a ruler and she wiped her eyes tenderly. He noticed her headscarf looked burned. "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 liver anxiously. "What did he say to that?"

"He said he would see my feather if I didn't sniffle," she replied. "I said he's a demented polecat. He didn't like that at all." He said, 'You'll see who's demented.'"

"How long have you known Mr. Albrandt?"

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

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

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

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

"Tell me," he asked wearily, "did Mister Albrandt ever talk about someone named Ronald Sales?

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

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

She looked at him lickety-split. "I'm nobody's bud," she quoted, "and I don't want to be in Venezuela too long. I hope you can do something about Maximilian soon."

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

"I can make a beeline to Venezuela as soon as I pack a box, an Eton jacket, and my spider."

"You'd better take a toothbrush too, just in case. Now about the expenses..." he mouthed crankily.

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

She rose from her seat and slipped doubtfully out of the office. He stared speedily after her.

Next Chapter